Early Sunday afternoon found Brian at his desk, checking through Kinnetik accounts. He had one eye on the spreadsheet he'd opened on his desktop computer and the other on the blond boy on his couch, who was surfing the Net on Brian's laptop. 

He'd had to stop himself more than once from jumping up to rescue his laptop, which was somewhat precariously balanced on the arm of the sofa. The third or fourth time, Justin caught him half out of his chair, leaning over as if he could reach the couch from his computer desk. 

"I don't have to use this," the brat had claimed, his lower lip jutting out. "I can always read a book or something." 

Justin gave him a dubious glance, which made the brunet burst out laughing. From the sour expression on the kid's mug, you'd think Brian had just handed him a copy of Oui magazine to peruse. As if he'd have a mag for straight men - and muff divers - in his loft - the adman thought, laughing harder.

An offended look on his face - the little twat must've thought Brian was laughing at him - Justin flipped the lid of the laptop down and made to hand it to Brian.

Once he stopped chuckling, Brian realised he no longer cared about the laptop. Bloody thing was a few years old and would probably need replacing soon anyhow, so what did it matter if it fell off the sofa? Besides, the kid was way more important than a piece of tech...

As he watched the lad fondly, Justin cracked a big yawn and shifted a little, querulously muttering, "Cold."

The adman had to stifle a yawn of his own. They hadn't been asleep for very long when the kid had to get up and pee this morning; no surprise considering all the liquid the lad downed at the ER and then at the loft. By the time he manoeuvred Justin into the bathroom, helped him relieve himself - which inspired Brian to follow suit - and they shuffled back to the bed and got settled again, they were in that muzzy-headed, overtired, half-aware state which made it impossible to either sleep or fully wake up.

Brian thought that was sometime around eight o'clock, just over two hours since they'd first drifted off to sleep, although the numbers on his bedside clock blurred as he looked at them, so he couldn't be certain. The two men dozed fitfully for a few more hours, before Justin whispered, "You awake?"

The older man grunted something that resembled a yes.

"Do you think I could have a couple more aspirin?" the boy asked, his voice laced with pain. "If it's been long enough," he unsteadily tacked on.

Brian cracked one eye open and looked into beseeching blue eyes, Justin's fingers tightening involuntarily around his as the teen fought off a wave of pain.

It took a moment before Brian could bring the digital readout on the clock into focus. The numbers 11:08 blinked at him. His thought process impeded by lack of sleep, the adman needed another moment to reason it out. Guilt stabbed at him as he realised it had been six hours since the kid took his first dose of aspirin - no wonder he wanted more. "Yeah," he croaked, disentangling his fingers from the lad's and laboriously sitting up. "You want juice or water with the good stuff?" he joked, waggling his eyebrows at Justin.

Naturally, Justin had wanted guava juice, Brian thought approvingly as he eyed the yawning boy on his sofa. Guava juice way outclassed plain old OJ, which probably would have been too acidic for the kid's queasy stomach anyhow.

After downing the extra-strength aspirin and juice, the lad had jumped on Brian's suggestion of moving to the living room area from the bedroom and resting on the sofa. He sipped occasionally from the bottle of water that Brian had handed him, mindful that the liquid would help him absorb the aspirin. The adman was pleased that, a couple hours later, Justin no longer looked quite as wan and that, together with the pain reliever, an ice pack wrapped in a towel and tucked underneath his scrotum was doing a pretty good job of keeping the pain at bay. 

Right as Brian thought that, Justin shivered, drawing the cashmere throw closer to his body.

"You want to try it without the ice pack for a while?" he asked. "Maybe just keep your balls elevated with the towel?"

"Yeah, maybe," Justin agreed, his teeth chattering a little. "I mean, it's good to have the pain numbed, but fuck, my nads are cold!"

Brian got up from his desk, and with a few long strides, was up the steps to the bedroom and into the bathroom.

He grinned to himself when he heard a forlorn, "Bri?" from the sofa.

Moments later, he was kneeling down in front of the blond, ready to replace the icy-cold towel with a warm one. "Lift up the family jewels, okay?"

Closing the laptop and letting it slide down between the arm of the sofa and the cushion he was sitting on, Justin complied, his face screwed up in the expectation that it would hurt.

The brunet carefully removed the towel with an ice pack in the center, before placing the new towel, already folded, under the lad's balls. "Lower away," Brian playfully commanded.

"That didn't hurt as much as I thought it would," Justin panted. "Guess they're numb enough that I can't feel all that much. Oh," he added a couple beats later, warmth seeping through to his groin, "that's nice."

Brian smiled up at the boy, glad he'd had the forethought to put a couple more hand towels on the warming rack in the bathroom. "It probably won't be long before you want to ice it again - numbing your balls really is the best way to keep the pain at bay - but there's no reason you can't trade out between a warm towel and a chilled one. As often as you'd like," he assured the boy, gently rubbing one of his bruised knees through the silky pyjama bottoms.

Shit. When the teenager winced, Brian realised they'd forgotten to ask Singh whether there was anything that could be used on Justin's knees to ease the swelling and bruising. No big deal, he then decided; a pharmacist should be able to recommend something - if there was anything besides ice that would help. Brian, who had plenty of experience with bruises and swelling, doubted such a product existed, but it wouldn't hurt to ask. They needed to get the antibiotic prescription filled anyway, so they might as well stop at a pharmacy on the way to Deb's for Sunday dinner. Heck, he could run inside with Justin's ID while the kid waited in the car; that way his nads wouldn't be jostled more than necessary. While the chemist was filling the prescription, which could take twenty minutes or longer if there was a queue, Brian would grab a couple more bottles of extra-strength aspirin and also another ice pack or two. He'd had a couple on hand, but one of them had sprung a leak and was no longer usable. An actual ice pack was better than getting stuck wrapping ice cubes - or an awkwardly sized bag of frozen veggies - in a towel. It didn't leave behind a messy wet spot either. 

If a salve would help, the druggist should be able to recommend one that didn't require a prescription but would still do the job. If not, Brian would have him get on the horn to Allegheny General's ER and insist that they fax a prescription over to the pharmacy, stat.

"You know, this is way cool," Justin commented, retrieving the laptop and opening it up again.

"What's that?" Brian asked absently, his knees creaking as he stood up, only half listening as the boy rattled on about some kind of blindness. Christ, even unwashed, his hair sticking up in all directions like a just-hatched chick's, bags under his eyes, the kid still looked radiant. Brian wanted to kick himself for sounding like a muncher, but fuck! Justin's skin was translucent, and his downy hair shone like a blond halo against the sapphire blue of the throw. Brian, on the other hand, had stubble all over his face and a horrible case of bedhead, that damned cowlick having reappeared overnight. On top of that, rather than the bronzed tone he'd spent months acquiring at the tanning salon, he'd noticed his skin had a sallow cast when he made the mistake of glancing in the bathroom mirror a few minutes ago. Getting older sucked, he thought grouchily, his right knee popping again.

His stomach grumbled a counterpoint to the creaking, prompting Brian to interrupt the lad's ramblings. "How about I order Thai?" he suggested. If Brian was hungry, the kid must be starving. "We could get something mild that would be easy on your stomach." 

"Um, I'm not really hungry," Justin demurred, exactly as he had earlier when he'd taken his second dose of aspirin. A weird gurgle from the boy's midsection seemed to emphasise his point, although it could also be an indication that Justin was actually hungry.

The brunet considered just going ahead and ordering something - the aroma of Paneng Kai, without the chili peppers, would probably tempt Justin's appetite, despite any wariness about the food staying down. Brian could understand not wanting to upchuck again, but too much aspirin without eating anything would be hard on his stomach. Then again, it probably wouldn't hurt to wait till they got to Deb's, the adman reckoned as he sauntered over to the kitchen and plucked a green apple out of the basket on the counter. Justin could take his next antibiotic pill, as well as another dose of aspirin, with dinner.

Crunching into the apple, Brian thought that he wouldn't mind something to relax himself as well. He'd already started toward the bedroom - Justin still babbling about whatsit - intent on extracting a joint from his stash, when he recalled the deal he'd made with the teen mere hours ago. Stalled on the first of the steps up to the bedroom, he wondered whether he really wanted to take such drastic action. Did he really need to give up drugs? It was Justin, not Brian who had a problem - he didn't have anything dodgy, just the good shit from Anita.

He wasn't at all sure he was ready for such a major change. Going clubbing and not popping or snorting something? That would put a heckuva damper on his enjoyment of the club scene. Plus, the gang - especially Mikey, with whom he usually shared whatever he got from Anita - was bound to notice and give him shit about it.

But... fuck. It wasn't like he could go back on his word now - a bargain was a bargain - unless Justin let him off the hook. In the adman's estimation, there was no chance of that happening, unless Brian acted like a mopey jerk who couldn't enjoy himself without drugs. He wasn't that fucking pathetic, was he? 

Wait a minute. What had his reasoning been in the wee hours of the morning when he made the deal? Brian fished around inside his sleep-deprived brain for a second before remembering something about Justin being better than drugs - like some sort of ‘natural high.' Christ, how fucking lesbianic, the brunet thought, wincing. Even if it was true.

Veering away from the mawkish sentimentality, the adman reflected that there were other reasons - besides Justin - to cut back on his drug intake. That jackass Ryder might've even had a point that there was a time or two when Brian wasn't completely on top of his game during an early morning presentation. He wasn't an addict, but he had gotten totally fucked up on Anita's shit a number of times. 

It hadn't just affected his job, Brian silently acknowledged, more of his late night and early morning musings coming back to him. He had broken a promise to Justin when he didn't turn up at Babylon on Friday night, and he could've easily set his loft, his building, and who knew how much of the Pittsburgh skyline on fire, rather than just burning a hole in his ridiculously expensive duvet. 

As he thought about the hole, he glanced at the ruined quilt, which was rucked up in the middle of the bed. Had he remembered to flip the duvet around so that the hole was on the reverse side at the bottom of the bed? Brian wondered, finally making his way up the last step and into the bedroom area. It would be fucking embarrassing if he had to field questions from Justin about what had happened. 

Brian sighed in relief when he fluffed the pillows and straightened out the duvet - the burnt spot was hidden on the underside. He was gonna have to replace the quilt stat, though, before the blond noticed the damage. Otherwise, he'd for sure get outraged comments like, ‘You had a hissy fit because I came on your comforter, but it's okay to burn a hole in it?'

All in all, it really was a smart idea to change his habits, Brian decided. It wasn't like he was giving up drugs completely; he'd just be cutting way back. He could still share the occasional joint with Justin on the weekend or split a tab of E at Babylon to celebrate a major achievement. Besides, there was always bourbon-

Brian's thoughts stuttered to a halt, his eyes narrowing in concentration. It wasn't just the dope he'd inhaled on Friday that caused him to pass out and drop a lit joint on his quilt; he'd also swilled ‘a bit' of Beam Black label. Shit. Technically, alcohol was a drug. Did that mean he should cut back on his alcohol consumption too? Surely he'd be okay if he didn't mix booze with-

Justin's voice from the living room provided a welcome distraction. "Am I boring you?" the kid called out.

He'd think about it some more later on, Brian decided, shelving his concerns. "I just wanted to check something," he answered vaguely, returning to the living room and taking a seat next to Justin. "What were you saying about fake blindness?"

"Not fake. Face," Justin remonstrated, elbowing Brian in the side. "Did you hear a word I said?" 

Brian shrugged, neither confirming or denying.

Unfortunately, that meant he was clueless as to who the lad was talking about when he nattered on about how helpful ‘Olga' had been. Who in the fuck was Olga? 

"You shoulda seen the brick she pulled out of her pocket," Justin exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't know how she fit it into the smock she was wearing over her clothes. The phone was, like, ancient - it must've been from the early eighties or something. Anyway, Hatchet Face was about to use it to call for a doctor-"

It took a moment for Brian to recollect that Hatchet Face was what Justin had called the canteen monitor last night, when he fessed up about what that shithead Hobbs had done to him in the St James cafeteria. Hatchet Face and Olga must be one and the same, he realised, a bit surprised that the woman would be on a first-name basis with the students.

He had a fleeting thought that he should get her a new mobile to replace her brick for helping Justin, but then he dismissed the notion as unfeasible. He didn't know whether the school had supplied her phone, and he wouldn't want to shine an unwelcome spotlight on her by sending a fancy new phone to her at St James. It would also be difficult to give it to Olga anonymously, which was the only way he'd be willing to do it. He wouldn't want someone with a moniker like ‘Hatchet Face' gushing all over him in thanks.

"So, see, with a real name like that, she really is an angel," Justin was saying as Brian tuned back in.

Huh? Did ‘Olga' mean angel in some obscure Slavic dialect? Brian wondered, confused all over again. He was saved from having to ask - and piss off his lover because he hadn't been listening, again - when someone knocked on the metal door.

"Fucking super," Brian grumbled, levering himself up off the couch and going over to the door. The fucktard still hadn't gotten the hinky downstairs latch repaired, which meant anyone could waltz into the building.

"What the fuck do you-" Brian started as he slid the loft door open, immediately cutting himself off upon seeing who was on the other side. "Uh, Detective Horvath, Detective Wen," he greeted his visitors a little sheepishly.

"Kinney," Carl replied cordially, while Wen nodded at him in a way which wasn't completely murderous. "You have a couple of minutes for us?" the older man asked.

"Yeah, sure." Brian gestured them inside, hiding a wince as he lifted his arm and got a whiff of himself. Why the fuck did Horvath and his scary Asian have to show up before he had cleaned up? Not only was he crusty, he was also wearing the rattiest clothes in his closet - an old Smeal College of Business sweatshirt, along with sweatpants that had been darned so many times they were about to fall apart. He suspected, in fact, that they were developing a hole in the rear. He'd have to be careful not to turn his back to the detectives.

"Oh, hello, detective!" Justin chirped from the sofa, craning his neck to see the newcomers. 

The blond boy, Brian thought a little sourly, didn't look all that bad. Of course, that might be because he was wearing Brian's silk pajama bottoms and bathrobe - both in a midnight blue so dark they were almost black. With the sapphire cashmere throw topping off the ensemble, he looked positively posh. 

"Hello, Justin," Carl returned the greeting. "How are you doing, lad?"

"Uh, better," Justin replied, his smile dimming and his expression turning rather sheepish, "but uh, kind of stupid, you know?"

"Good," Wen grunted, her gaze fixed on Carl.

Justin seemed to take that as a weird kind of approval - like the Asian detective was proud of him for recognising his own stupidity or something.

"You want to have a seat?" Brian asked. "I'd offer you coffee but I'm afraid I'm fresh out," he lied through his teeth. No way was he gonna wrestle with that damned coffee maker while Wen was watching. Not that she was paying him any attention at the moment with how she was staring intently at her partner, but still.

"Are you sure?" Justin asked. "Did you look-" He abruptly amended what he'd been about to say when he noticed the way Brian was unsubtly side-eyeing the Braun coffee machine. "Oh, erm," he fumbled for an excuse, "we're out of go-juice. There's only decaf. You wouldn't want that."

A wordless grunt from Wen clearly conveyed her contempt for decaffeinated coffee.

"Um, is something wrong?" Justin enquired, a bit unnerved by the way the Asian woman was steadily staring at Carl.

Good question, Brian thought. It was hard to tell from the detective's stony countenance, but she looked a skosh more steely-eyed than usual, leading Brian to think she was pissed off about something. Then again, she always looked pissed off, so maybe he was imagining things.

"Nothing's wrong," Horvath replied as he clomped across the wood floor and took a seat next to Justin on the sofa. "Other than me being a bit disappointed in you, son," he continued, his eyes spearing into the blond boy. 

Shame coursing through him, Justin wished there was somewhere he could hide, so he wouldn't have to see that sorrowful look in Carl's eyes. 

"It's hardly been a month since you promised me and Wen that you'd report any further instances of bullying to us," the bulky detective noted. "And we've even talked about bullying since then - how important it is to put a stop to it."

The Asian policewoman, who'd followed silently along behind her partner and took a seat in the armchair across from them, briefly lifted her gaze from Carl to give Justin the stink-eye. 

Her stare only touched the lad for a millisecond before she returned to her intent perusal of Carl's face, but Justin still felt like he'd been flayed alive. Fuck. Now everyone was gonna think he was an unreliable muppet who didn't keep his word. 

Just as he thought there was no way he could possibly feel worse, Carl sighed heavily, "I thought you knew you could confide in me, son."

Ouch. Justin ducked his head in shame, unable to hold his dad's gaze any longer. "Sorry," he choked out, his eyes welling up with tears. "I'm s- sorry." 

While he was glad that Horvath was driving home the lesson about how fucking stupid the kid had been, Brian couldn't help feeling a surge of sympathy for Justin. "Hey," he murmured, sauntering over to the couch, and wrapping his arms around the younger man from behind, "it's gonna be okay. Right, detective?" he asked Carl.

Justin peeked imploringly at Carl through damp eyelashes.

"I wouldn't be so hard on you, lad," Horvath reassured Justin, "if I didn't care about you. You'll come to me right away if anything else happens?"

Justin nodded vehemently. "I promise! Pinky swear!" the teen tacked on, colouring up when he realised he sounded like a little kid.

"I'm good with a pinky swear," Carl responded, smiling and crooking his little finger so that Justin could loop his pinky around it.

The blond gave him a watery smile as they ‘shook' on it. This was so different from how Craig would've reacted if he had made such a ‘childish' promise, Justin reflected. Craig would have cut him to pieces with the sharp side of his tongue, but Carl just took it in stride - the way a dad should.

Before Justin's thoughts had a chance to turn more maudlin, Carl jerked his head around and snapped at his partner, "For God's sake, Wen, stop glaring at me!"

Justin jumped at Horvath's booming voice, his eyes flitting to and fro as he looked around in alarm.

Wen merely glared even harder.

Carl sighed. "You couldn't have stopped it," he told her; "you were almost fifty yards away."

"I could've shot him," the Asian bit out through clenched teeth, one shoulder twitching in an aborted shrug.

Confused as hell and anxious, Justin asked, "What happened?" 

Horvath sighed again. "It wasn't that big a deal. I got headbutted by a suspect."

Justin leaned closer to Carl, barely refraining from patting down the detective to check for injuries as his eyes swept over him. The injury must be somewhere he couldn't see, hidden beneath the man's clothing. "Where'd he get you?" he asked anxiously. "In the ribs?"

"The face," Wen informed him, her expression warming marginally as she looked at Justin.

"Erm, I don't see anything," Justin admitted, puzzled as he again studied Carl's countenance. 

Wen quirked an eyebrow, but to Justin, the older man looked the same as always - brown eyes perceptive, cheeks stubbly, complexion florid, expression world weary but determined.

Carl heaved a gusty sigh as he turned to his partner. "See?" he challenged. "It's bloody well invisible."

"It is not," his partner gritted out through clenched teeth. "You have a bruise below your eye."

"That little red mark?" Justin asked doubtfully, inspecting Carl's face closely. The detective did indeed have a tiny, little pink mark underneath his eye, right above the cheekbone.

"There shouldn't be any kind of mark," Wen huffed. "He's going to have a black eye come morning."

"Um," Justin mumbled haltingly. "It doesn't look that bad; it's tiny."

"Careful," Horvath deadpanned, "or she'll go on a diatribe about how it's not the size that matters."

Justin heard a muffled laugh from behind him, while Wen's glare turned more glacial. The Chinese detective was clearly now more ticked off at her partner than at what had happened.

"Oh, come on, Wen," Carl tried to jolly her out of her irritation, and himself out of the doghouse, "we all know you're a perfect example of that, uh, size thing not mattering."

Despite the godawful pun, Justin was certain he saw the woman's lips twitch as if she were amused. "That's not exactly what I meant when I said that," she demurred.

Carl guffawed, while Justin fell back on his upbringing, smiling politely since it was obviously an in-joke.

"Perhaps," Wen suggested, her tone mild but her eyes steely, "we should get down to the reason we're here."

Reminded of the purpose for the detectives' visit, Justin shrank back on the couch. 

"Relax," Brian whispered in his ear. "It'll be okay." The brunet squeezed his shoulders reassuringly as he stood up and moved around to take a seat on the arm of the sofa, right next to Justin.

"We just need to get a statement from you," Carl explained, taking a small microcassette recorder out of his coat and setting it down on the coffee table.

Alarmed, Justin squeaked, "You're gonna record me? Why?"

"It's a back-up, in case we need to double-check anything," Horvath clarified, now removing a small notepad and pen.

"You're the victim, not a suspect," Wen added.

Although she doubtless meant to be reassuring, Justin's anxiety didn't ease. He just wanted to get through his last semester of high school with as little trouble as possible; ‘tattling' to the police like this would probably just result in getting harassed even more. He didn't want to be a victim. 

"I can take care of myself," the teenager protested sullenly. It was patently untrue, but he should be able to handle this himself. He didn't care that much about changing the culture at St James - fat chance that would actually happen anyroad. Besides, while it might be nice to make things better for other picked-on students, he was mostly worried about himself. "I'm not a sissy faggot," he added, his lower lip jutting out. To his dismay, Justin could feel tears pooling in his eyes, and he bit down hard on his lip in an effort to stave them off. Could he look any more like a weakling?

"Lad, no one thinks you're a coward or a pushover," the fatherly detective stated firmly. "Anyone can be a victim, no matter how strong and brave they are, so a man has to know when to ask for help."

From the corner of his eye, Justin caught Wen making a sharp motion with her chin, which looked like a nod of agreement. "Even you?" he scoffed, turning his head to stare at the formidable Asian woman. He couldn't believe she had ever asked anyone for help.

Wen's only reply was another sharp dip of her chin.

Justin's imagination failed him; he simply couldn't conjure up the circumstances under which she would've asked for help. Anyone else, sure. But not Wen. It must've happened at least once, however, since it was even harder to imagine the policewoman lying about it. 

"Like I said, a man needs to know when to ask for help," Carl reinforced his point. "Er," he fumbled with a quick look at his partner, "or a woman."

Brian cleared his throat before concurring, "He's right, you know."

The teen glanced at his lover, who looked back at him seriously while soothingly rubbing his fingers across the skin at the nape of Justin's neck. Justin silently acknowledged that it did make him feel a little better to know that Brian sometimes had to ask for help. Probably only when he was a kid, but still.

"If you'd reported the latest bullying right away," Carl resumed speaking, "Wen could have confronted Perkins on Friday, letting him know that some students are still running amok with the gay bashing."

Justin hung his head, again mentally kicking himself.

"After we discussed it, though, we reasoned that it may work better to confront the St James' principal at the start of the next term."

Expecting to be chastised again - fuck knew, he deserved it - Justin peered up at Carl in surprise.

"Maybe," the burly detective explained, "it'll put a halt to the bullying before it can really start up again. Not just for you, son, but also for all the other kids Hobbs and his cronies are tormenting."

Maybe, Justin mused dubiously. If anything- 

Carl broke into his thoughts with, "Just think of Wen's first visit as a prelim to the main event. Softening Jer- er, Perkins up, so to say."

A brief huff of laughter came from Brian, and Wen's lips twitched upward in what might've been a smile.

Justin had to grin, recalling how discombobulated Jerkins had been after the first ‘chat' with the scary Asian detective. Maybe it would work this time. There had been a lull in the bullying after Wen's visit to the school. If the headmaster was worried about the police, he was bound to lean harder on the faculty, who would in turn keep a closer eye on Hobbs and his cronies.

"So, uh, what do you need from me?" he asked hesitantly. 

"I'm going to turn on the recorder-"

Justin tensed up, his face paling at the reminder that the interview would be taped.

"Hey, it's okay," Brian murmured, his fingers digging into the tight muscles in Justin's neck.

"Easy, lad," Horvath rumbled at the same time. Before Justin could get even more nervous, the cop depressed a button on the cassette player and went through a spiel with his and Wen's names and ranks, identifying who else was present, and giving the date, time, and their location. He wound up with, "This is Justin Taylor's statement about an incident on Thursday, December 14th, 2000, during the lunch hour, at the St James high school cafeteria. Mr Taylor" - Carl smiled warmly at Justin to ease his apprehension - "could you please take us through what happened?"

"Uh, hi," Justin said, immediately wincing at how stupid that sounded. "It all started when I was in the canteen, studying the bubble and squeak that the cooks had served up." His face screwed up in disgust as he recalled the foul stench that had assaulted him. "It smelled awful, and I couldn't decide whether or not to try a bite - that, like, maybe the taste wouldn't be as bad as the smell."

A sympathetic chuckle from Carl made Justin feel more comfortable, and he grinned at the copper.

"I can't believe you even thought about eating something with an aroma that putrid," Brian muttered.

"I was hungry!" the blond defended himself. "But having my face shoved into the potatoes and cabbage," he continued, "didn't make it any more palatable."

"What happened after that?" Wen asked in a calm tone.

"I wanted to just, you know, get up and walk away," Justin explained, his face flaming with embarrassment. Fuck, he was such a coward.

"That was exactly the right reaction," Carl noted, his voice resolute. "It takes a lot more smarts to walk away from a situation like that - to try and defuse it - than it does to confront a bully."

That made Justin feel a little less like a wimp, especially when Wen nodded firmly in assent.

"Yeah, I thought maybe whoever it was would just let me go," Justin agreed. "It didn't work, though. The guy - well, I figured it had to be a guy to be that strong-" Justin stuttered to a halt, sending the Asian detective an apologetic glance.

An amused glint in her eyes, Wen gestured for him to continue.

"Uh, the person just pushed me into the table when I tried to stand up. I hit the sharp corner of the table with my ba- uh, groin," Justin corrected himself, his face reddening some more. Logically, he knew that the two detectives had heard way worse than the word ‘balls' before, but it was really awkward to talk about his private parts, not only in front of the man he'd come to think of as his dad, but especially in front of Wen. 

"The next few minutes are kind of hazy," the boy admitted, cupping his hands protectively over his groin as he recollected the blinding pain. "It, uh, really hurt. I fell down on my knees and kind of blacked out, I think."

"What can you remember?" Carl questioned. "Did anyone try to help you?"

"Erm, when I looked up, it was like I suspected. It was Hobbs who attacked me. He was there with his girlfriend and a bunch of his jock friends. I don't remember exactly what they said, but they were, like, making fun of me for being a-" Justin had gotten quieter and quieter as he spoke, and his voice was barely audible as he finished, "-you know, a pathetic little fairy."

"You're the bravest fucking man I know," burst out of Brian, causing Justin to look at him in surprise. "Don't you forget it, you hear?" the brunet added fiercely, resting his forehead against Justin's temple for a moment.

"I'll second that," Carl concurred, giving Justin's thigh a squeeze. "It was foolish not to report this right away, but only someone as gutsy and determined as you could have made it through his exams the next day while in excruciating pain."

The blond lad blinked hard in an effort to hold back the tears that wanted to fall. It was hard to believe that they thought so highly of him, especially after he'd royally fucked up, but he was warmed by their support.

"What about the other students?" Wen inquired. "Did any of them try to stop this Hobbs?"

"Heck, no," Justin blurted. "I mean, I get it, you know? Pretty much everyone is afraid of Chris and his buddies. They're, like, big and strong and fucking mean."

"Some of the students probably got off on the live entertainment," Brian observed cynically. It used to be the case during his own high school years anyway.

"Yeah," Justin acknowledged. "The ones who didn't chime in with taunts just watched. Until Hatchet Face arrived that is."

"Hatchet Face?" Wen prompted.

"The cafeteria monitor," Justin clarified. "Erm, that's not really her name." Well, duh, he immediately thought, talk about obvious.

"Quite the name to be lumbered with," Carl wheezed out, suppressing a laugh.

Justin rushed to defend his new hero. "Um, she's kind of ugly but she's, like-" The boy floundered, searching for a way to describe the woman that wouldn't sound lame. He discarded ‘got a heart of gold' and ‘an angel,' settling for, "-a good person. Really," he tacked on in an effort to make his opinion of Angela clear.

"So she stepped in and put a halt to the harassment?" Carl surmised.

"Kinda. Someone saw her coming and shouted a warning, so most of the gawkers and even a couple of Chris' friends, scrammed," Justin elaborated.

"Not Hobbs?" Wen inquired.

"No," Justin gritted out. "When the monitor asked what happened, he claimed I fell out of my chair. That I was always doing things like that because I'm so clumsy."

Justin was pretty sure Carl had almost rolled his eyes at that and had to stifle the urge to giggle. "She couldn't be sure if it was true," he explained, "'cause she didn't see what happened. I was all hunched over and in too much pain to say anything, so I couldn't naysay Chris. When Hatch- I mean, the canteen monitor, asked if I was hurt, it was all I could do to nod."

"What next?" the kind detective prompted.

"Uh, she laid into everyone for not helping me. I think she threatened them with detention or something."

Wen grunted wordlessly, while Carl went on to ask, "Did Hobbs and the rest of the students scarper then? I can't imagine any of them would want to start the spring semester with detention."

"Or have to explain to their parents what had happened," Brian threw in.

Justin doubted any of the parents would care, but he liked the idea of his tormentors getting grounded for, like, the entire spring semester. Not able to watch TV, their cell phones confiscated, no parties...

"Justin?" Horvath prompted, recalling the teen from his pipe dream.

"It was really weird," Justin said, thinking back. "Chris normally would've backed down and turned tail. He was, like, so fixated on me, though, that I don't know if he even heard her."

"What happened then?" Carl questioned.

Justin hmmed in thought. "I think most of the onlookers split when they were threatened with detention."

"And Hobbs?" the fatherly detective probed.

Remembering how crazed Chris had looked, Justin couldn't quite suppress a shudder. "He didn't want to let it go," he confessed, swallowing hard. "I mean, his girlfriend was pulling on his arm, but he just ignored her." The teenager shivered again as he relived that awful moment.

"Fucker," Brian grunted, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing his hand up and down Justin's right arm.

"Yeah," Justin whispered in agreement, bestowing a weak smile on his lover. Fuck, he never would have expected this to be so difficult. Carl and Wen were gonna think he was a total sissy.

"You're doing fine, son," Horvath encouraged Justin; "I know this isn't easy. Can you tell me what happened next?"

Grateful that his ‘dad' didn't think he was a total wuss, Justin let out his breath in a whoosh of relief and managed to stammer, "Uh, Chris, uh, just stared at me for what seemed like forever, even though it can't have been more than a few seconds, you know?"

Carl nodded.

"I thought maybe he was gonna spit on me or something, but all he did was laugh and call me a ‘fag' one more time. Then he finally let his girlfriend drag him out of the canteen." 

"What about the monitor? What did she do?" the portly detective wondered, tiredly rubbing a hand over his face.

"She threatened him with detention for the whole spring term," Justin recalled fondly. Then, with a resigned sigh, he added, "It's not gonna happen, though."

"Why not?" Wen curtly demanded, her face even stonier than usual.

"'Cause she doesn't know who Hobbs is," Justin replied, shame making him turn red again. "I, uh, never told her Chris' name."

Exasperation plain in his voice, Carl observed, "Setting aside the fact that it sounds like you were trying to protect him for some reason, it doesn't matter, Justin. She's going to recognise him the next time Hobbs sets foot in the cafeteria."

Justin couldn't help wondering if that's what everyone would think - that he was trying to protect Hobbs even after the boy had injured him so severely. He hoped not, since that wasn't what he'd been trying to do. "Um, actually, she's not going to recognise him," Justin corrected the detective sheepishly, before launching into the tale of how Syd had figured out the monitor had trouble recognising people. 

"She seemed to be physically incapable of remembering faces - only going by body stature, hair and clothes - and it got me curious about what kind of condition she might have. In fact, I was just researching it when you arrived. It's called ‘prosopagnosia,'" Justin wound up, shrugging.

"Wait a minute," Carl murmured, his brow furrowed in thought. "I've heard that before, this ‘prosuh' thing, but I can't remember where."

"That murder-mugging in Beltzhoover a couple years ago," Wen jogged her partner's memory. 

"That's right!" Horvath snapped his fingers. "The lineup! Our witness couldn't identify the culprit and claimed everyone in the lineup looked too similar. We had to grill him before he admitted to his disability."

"We had to let the suspect go," Wen noted, looking as if she'd bitten into a lemon, "because the witness was ‘compromised.'"

"Yeah." Carl heaved a deep sigh. "He was thrown by having to identify someone in a police line-up. If we'd just known about his pros- uh, that condition of his-"

"Face blindness," Justin interjected helpfully, fascinated to hear about another person who suffered from the same neurological disorder as Angela. "That's the layman's term."

"Yeah, that," Carl replied. "If we'd known, we might have been able to arrange the line-up in a way that wouldn't confuse the face-blind guy."

"We could have had the guys in the lineup walk around," Wen bit out. "Then the witness might have identified the perp by their stride, gestures, or body movement. Instead, the whole case got tossed out."

Justin, who'd been listening raptly, winced. Given the canteen monitor's troubles, he could see how it would've been hard for the police witness to fess up about his condition and felt a surge of sympathy for the unknown man. The guy probably had it as bad as Angela, which prompted him to earnestly note, "From what I read, the severity of the condition varies. Hatch- er, the canteen monitor," Justin corrected himself again, "seems to have a really tough time with it."

"Not that it matters much." Carl accompanied another sigh with a resigned shrug. "Since she didn't actually witness the incident, it will be mostly your word against Hobbs' anyway."

"So there's basically nothing you can do," Brian asserted in a bitter tone.

"Now, hold up; I didn't say that," Carl differed. "Pressing charges might be chancy - unless one of the other students who was there speaks up-" 

"Fat lot of good that would do," Brian snorted. "They'd probably be too shit scared of Hobbs to tell the truth."

Justin could hardly imagine the students being more cowed than they already were. "What's the point of all this then?" he asked bitterly.

"The point," Carl reminded him, his voice sterner than before, "is that we do have the episode on record - both in our files and with the hospital. The more documentation of bullying and slander, the better."

"Sorry," Justin muttered. "I just get, you know, discouraged. I-"

"It's okay, lad." Horvath patted him on the leg. "Regardless, this provides more than sufficient reason for Wen to visit St James again and give the principal an earful about student endangerment and lack of oversight."

It was Justin's turn to sigh. "I just wish Jerkins didn't have to know it was me that was attacked, or that Hobbs was the one responsible. I know word'll get to Chris, and then it'll be worse than ever for me."

"It's true that the police can't do much of anything to stop most bullying - verbal taunts; pushing your books off your desk; ‘accidentally' bumping into you," Carl allowed. "It's only when there's actual bodily harm that we can step in. That is where documentation can help with building a case - the more evidence in the file that points to a pattern of behaviour, the better."

"That's why you're going to report to us every single incident, no matter how trivial." The Chinese detective speared Justin with a direct look. "Correct?"

Justin gulped audibly. Fuck, he'd face Hobbs any day rather than cross Detective Wen. "Right," he promised, pleased when his voice came out at a normal register instead of the usual nervously high pitch that made him sound like a frightened rabbit.

"Recording ended at 1:17 p.m.," Justin heard Carl say, followed by a click when he pressed the off button on the recorder.

The teenager sagged back into the sofa, relieved to have his statement done with. His relief was only momentary, though, the avuncular detective turning to him and suggesting, "Now why don't you tell us about what happened at Babylon, son."

At least he wasn't being recorded any longer, Justin mused to himself. He wouldn't want a tape of him admitting to doing drugs - and sounding like some sort of crazed addict - on file at the police station, even if it was locked away in Carl and Wen's office. 

There was unfortunately no way to spin his stupidity at Babylon in a positive way, even if he trotted out the feeble excuse that he'd done it for the money. He wasn't about to reveal that he was saving up to pay Brian back, and he doubted the detectives would buy his reasoning that it was to earn tuition for university studies. Not when he'd come close to permanently injuring himself.

Maybe if he owned up to his own stupidity about the drugs, acting like it was a really bad, spur-of-the-moment decision, they wouldn't have to go into the whys and wherefores. They might be too busy talking about the illicit drugs... right?

"I just made a really dumb decision," Justin blurted out so fast that he could barely be understood. "I really didn't think-"

"Whoa, slow down, lad," Carl called a halt to the spate of words. "No one's accusing you of anything. We just want to know what happened, okay?"

"Take a deep breath and start over," Brian murmured into his ear, massaging the tense muscles in Justin's neck.

Taking the recommended deep breath, Justin tried again. "I didn't think... I really didn't" - he looked around beseechingly - "that my injury was as bad as it turned out to be, and I didn't want to cut out on my job if I didn't need to."

The blond lad made the mistake of looking over at Detective Wen as he finished his impassioned plea. Somehow, without so much as a twitch of her lips or the lift of an eyebrow, she managed to convey her skepticism.

"Uh, maybe I did have an inkling," Justin hastily corrected himself. "My, erm, testicles were literally blue and swollen. And sort of a deep purple," he babbled, "like my knees. Anyway, when one of the other go-go boys offered me a couple of pills on Friday night, I just thought, why not? A little boost - uppers of some kind - would help me get through my shift. At least give me some energy even if it didn't help with the pain. You know?"

Wen, he thought, didn't look like she ‘knew' at all.

Clutching at his knees, Justin soldiered on with his confession. "So, um, I took the pills and swallowed them down with most of a bottle of water before going to my assigned platform at the end of the bar."

"Did the pills help?" Carl asked, his tone non-judgemental.

"They just made me feel kind of dizzy and out of it," Justin admitted. "I barely made it through the half hour till my first break. That's when I, like, compounded my stupidity. I looked for the other dancer, 'cause he said he had something even stronger if I needed it. I, um," the teenager looked down at his lap, nervously twiddling his thumbs, "figured the pills were probably old and had lost their potency, and that's why they didn't have much effect. When the powder I got just made the pain... disappear in, like, just a few minutes, I was sure I was right."

"That's one of the worst mistakes you can make, lad - mixing drugs, especially when you don't know what the drugs are." There was no accusation in Carl's words, just warm concern.

"Yeah," Justin acknowledged, "I knew better, but the pills I'd taken, and the pain, had me all screwed up. I didn't seriously consider that the pills might be having an effect, albeit the wrong one, when I got dizzy and spaced out. I thought that was just an effect of the pain. I mean, when a guy's junk hurts..."

"I get that," Carl conceded, a sympathetic expression on his face. "I assume, too, that you've learned your lesson about taking drugs. Am I right?"

"Never gonna take illegal drugs again." Justin nodded hard to emphasise his point. "It was, like, really dumb to trust someone I barely know. And to take the drugs just 'cause everyone else did them too was even dumber. Stupidly, I thought it would be okay because I hadn't seen anyone take seriously ill at the club before, no matter what kind of drugs they swilled down with alcohol."

"Drugs and alcohol aren't a smart combination either," Wen curtly observed. "In fact, alcohol is just another drug."

Justin heard a low groan from next to him, but he didn't look at Brian to see what that was about since Carl asked, "Did you pay the other dancer for the powder, or the pills?"

"No, Sv- uh, he never asked for a cent," Justin replied. "That normally would've made me suspicious, and I would have asked him about it. I was so desperate, though, for something to get me through Friday night, and then the next night, that I let it slide," he added, his voice getting more hushed as he admitted to taking drugs two nights in a row.

"You might as well call the little drug-dealing sleazeball by his name," Brian cut in. 

"Sven," Justin mumbled.

"It's not like the cops are gonna arrest him. Right?" Brian finished a trifle uncertainly, looking around Justin at Horvath.

"There wouldn't be much point," Carl sighed heavily, "since Justin accepted the drugs." Transferring his gaze from Brian to Justin, he observed, "Just possessing certain drugs is illegal, so if we arrested the other go-go dancer for possession, we'd have to arrest you too, son."

Justin gulped, perspiration breaking out on his brow. "I didn't buy anything off of him, though."

"It's the distribution of illegal drugs that's a felony," Horvath expounded, "so whether you paid Sven or not is moot."

The blond boy wasn't sure why he'd thought it was okay if there was no exchange of money for the drugs, but he really had been that dumb. He bit at his thumbnail, his imagination going wild as he pictured himself in an orange jumpsuit at a maximum security prison, two burly, tattooed guys closing in on him...

"There's no way we can expose the other dancer without exposing Justin, so we won't be pursuing this," Horvath finished.

In a panic, Justin had stopped listening. "Am I gonna go to jail?" he blurted out, worrying at his thumbnail some more.

"Don't be a twat," Brian muttered, although the concern underlying his admonishment wasn't completely disguised.

"No, son," Carl reassured him. 

As Justin slumped against his partner, the relief that he wouldn't be going to jail leaving him boneless, Brian's arm tightened around his shoulders to the point where it was painful.

"You made a monumentally stupid decision when you took the drugs," the sympathetic detective continued, "but if we arrested every single person who took drugs-"

"The majority of the clubgoers," Wen inserted dryly.

Horvath nodded in agreement with his partner before concluding, "There'd be no room in prison for the real criminals. Besides," he added, "we know you've learned your lesson, Justin. We just need to figure out whether what's going on at Babylon needs police intervention."

"Sven can't be very high up on the totem pole," Wen observed. "It's probably his job to rope in new customers with freebies."

The Asian detective had just echoed Brian's contention from Saturday night - Justin remembered the brunet saying something or other about Sven only handing out the drugs for free until a ‘customer' was hooked and then making them pay through the nose. There'd been more than that, the teenager was certain, but it was lost in a hazy recollection of blowing up at Brian for being such a hypocrite. He still wanted Brian to take better care of himself - it wasn't healthy to down drugs, often mixing different substances, on a regular basis - but he hadn't meant to push the brunet into giving up drugs entirely. Regardless, Brian shouldn't have to pay for Justin's monumental mistake. He'd have to let Brian know he wasn't going to hold him to the promise he'd made in the wee hours of the morning. 

"Justin?" Horvath recalled his wandering attention for the second time.

The youngster sat up slightly - as much as the arm Brian had tightly wrapped around him allowed - and looked at the detective blankly. Had Carl asked a question while he was woolgathering?

"Did you see the other dancer distribute drugs to anyone else?

"Um, I saw him give one of the other go-go boys some of the pills," Justin admitted. "Sven, uh, saw me, and after that's when he offered me some."

"When you went back for more, did you get an idea of what kind of stash he had?" Wen probed. 

"Not really," Justin mumbled, frustrated that he couldn't offer any real information. "I mean, he approached me with more of the powder on Saturday night - kinda shoved it at me. He seemed to have plenty, but I didn't, like, get a look in his locker or anything."

After mulling it over for a moment, Carl summed up, "It sounds like Sven is probably fairly penny ante as far as the drug dealing goes; he may only be supplying drugs to the other dancers. It's probably not worth devoting police resources to catching him."

Wen grunted something that sounded like assent.

Was that it? Justin hoped, glancing from one detective to the other. They weren't gonna go after Sven? If they did, he was sure the other go-go boy would figure out Justin was the one who'd spilled the beans and would spread the word. He really didn't want to be fingered as a nark; that would be a bad reputation to earn. He might even end up on the outs with Arthur, which would make him feel really shitty; after all, the man had done Justin a good turn by hiring him.

Running a hand through the thinning hair on his pate, Carl mused, "My main concern is that mystery powder. It could've been dodgy stuff that Sven cut with something he wouldn't otherwise sell. If he knew about your allergies, and that you could have an extreme reaction, he probably wouldn't have targeted you, Justin, but-"

The blond lad hung his head, feeling miserable all over again. "But I made the perfect dupe," he noted glumly. "I was so out of it - and so desperate - that I didn't ask any questions."

"I suppose this could be a new substance someone's trying to push," Horvath commented, his brow furrowing, "but Wen and I have no way to confirm that. That's Narcotics' turf."

Brian shifted uneasily from one butt cheek to the other. This was the perfect opportunity for him to suddenly ‘remember' the baggie that was still burning a hole in his coat pocket. Justin obviously had no memory of Brian waving the Ziploc bag at him last night; he'd been too doped up at that point to register much of anything. If he did remember, he'd hand the baggie over to Horvath without a second thought.

Justin immediately confirmed his supposition. "I had some of the powder in my locker. Er, I think I did," he amended, his brow furrowing. "I can double-check the next time I'm at Babylon."

A few seconds ticked past, with Brian debating whether to hand the baggie over or not. If the cops ended up paying a visit to Babylon, it wouldn't put a halt to the drug dealing for long. Unless Brian coughed it up, they wouldn't have any evidence, so the most that would happen was that the known dealers would either lie low or skedaddle. Someone way worse could end up replacing Anita; at least she could be tracked down if she sold a bad product. Then again, there were the real lowlifes like Dr Crystal and whoever was supplying drugs to Sven...

Before Brian could make up his mind, Horvath shrugged philosophically. "We won't be investigating, so don't fash yourself about it, lad. It's nearly impossible to put a halt to drug dealing in the clubs anyroad. I suspect Narcotics mostly leaves that small-time stuff alone. Regardless, we're not in the know as to what they're investigating and they don't like us sticking our conks in. We might screw up an ongoing op if we infringe on their territory." 

That was good enough, Brian decided. Handing the Ziploc bag over to Carl wouldn't do any good; it would just get everyone worked up all over again. He'd either stick the baggie in with his other trash and toss it down the garbage chute, or he'd flush the mystery powder down the toilet.

"Despite your allergies," Carl continued, "the powder didn't do you any lasting harm, so it's probably not all that dangerous."

"Thank fuck," Justin sighed, thumping himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. "I mean, how dumb can you get? I tell everybody how I'm, like, the only person on the planet who's allergic to Tylenol, and then I go and take drugs I don't know anything about."

What a drama queen, Brian thought fondly. Justin could hardly be the only person allergic to Tylenol - even if he was the only one the adman had ever heard of.

When Horvath suggested in a reasonable tone, "You might want to think again about giving up the dance gig," Brian could've grabbed the portly detective and planted a big wet one on him. Well, not really, but he was grateful to the detective for making the suggestion. If the brat was gonna listen to anyone, it'd be the man who was becoming a second dad to him.

Then it hit Brian that Carl had said ‘again.' Did that mean the detective had recommended Justin stop dancing before this? he wondered, his eyes sharpening as he studied the blond. Given the way another blush rose to cover the kid's cheeks, he had a feeling that the detective's ‘recommendation' had probably been worded pretty strongly.

"Um, yeah, maybe," Justin muttered, a bit of lingering reluctance evident. Rather than look at Horvath, he looked down at his lap, his fingers restlessly fidgeting.

"You're going to be working for Brian, right? Doing some freelancing?"

Justin nodded, his downcast expression perking up at that reminder.

"If you aren't dancing, you'll doubtless have more time and energy for the freelancing," Carl gently but implacably drove his point home. "I think that would be good for you, lad. You love to draw, and you're darned good at it from what I can tell, even if I'm hardly an art critic. Working for Brian, well, you'd be doing what you love."

Justin nodded again, and even though he didn't commit himself to dropping the go-go boy gig, Brian could tell he was seriously considering it. Finally.

Carl glanced over at his partner and stood up, presumably in response to some sort of signal from his Asian partner. Shrewd enough not to belabour the point, he didn't say anything further about giving up the dance job. Instead, he sighed plaintively, announcing, "We'd better get a move on. Wen and I have to take care of the paperwork for that stakeout we were on."

Huh, thought Brian as he looked over at the woman and caught the scowl that flitted across her face before her features smoothed out again. There was something that could crack her composure after all - having to deal with paperwork. The adman felt a spurt of fellow feeling for the detective - fucking paperwork - but then she turned her basilisk gaze on him and his sympathy dried up.

"You'll stop by the diner soon?" Justin pled, obviously not pleased that Horvath was leaving and moping a little. "Or maybe your girlfriend's house?" he inserted slyly.

"The cheek of you, lad," Carl chuckled. "You must be feeling better."

The brat giggled and grinned at the bluff detective. His grin immediately changed to a grimace, though, when he tried to get up off the sofa.

"Don't be foolish, son. Stay there," Horvath admonished Justin. "You've got a ways to go before you'll have recovered from your injury."

"Yeah," Justin acknowledged in a strained voice, causing Brian to glance at him worriedly. He'd have to see to it that the boy took a nap once the police were gone, and little as Justin would like it, he needed to apply an ice pack to his groin again.

As if he'd read Brian's thoughts, Carl remarked, "You're looking kind of droopy, lad. Why don't you get some rest before you try to do anything else today?"

"'Kay," came the muffled response as Brian got up to accompany the two detectives to the door, while Horvath leaned over and enveloped Justin in brawny arms.

His arms dropping to his sides, the blond boy looked wistfully after Carl as the man plodded toward the door and over to the lift. But then Wen snagged his attention as she rounded the coffee table and stopped right in front of him. "Take care," she ordered, briefly resting a hand on his shoulder.

The intimidating Asian then followed her partner to the door, glancing briefly at Brian, who was waiting to close the door behind the two detectives. Whatever he saw on Wen's face caused Brian to flinch almost imperceptibly. 

Justin wasn't sure, since he could only see Wen's profile, but it looked like the woman's lips twitched ever so slightly before she purposefully strode out of the loft, past Carl, and down the stairs, barely making a sound on the normally echoey concrete.

Horvath cast a long-suffering glance after his nimble partner, and from inside the lift, lowered the wooden grate that he'd been holding open. "Tell Justin I'll be by to see my girlfriend," he bade Brian farewell with a rather cheeky grin of his own before disappearing from view as the lift descended.

Justin's eyelids fluttered open with some difficulty, and he gazed around in bemusement. His head was resting on Brian's bony shoulder, with the brunet's head leaning against his. The teen wasn't sure how long it had been since the detectives left, but they both must've dozed off, as evinced by the soft, wheezing snore from his lover, clueing him in that the older man was still asleep.

In a bit of a predicament, Justin squirmed in place. Not only did he want to move his head before he got more of a crick in his neck, he also needed to empty his very full bladder. All that liquid with no food to absorb it was taking a toll on the boy. Then there was the ice pack, which felt like it had come straight from the freezer and was causing his balls to crawl up into his body.

Since he didn't want to awaken Brian - his lover had gotten barely any sleep while taking care of him - Justin carefully reached up with one hand and held up Brian's head so he could ease out from underneath. The teenager held his breath when straightening his neck caused a loud ‘pop,' but he was reassured when another soft snore came from Brian. Grabbing hold of the throw pillow from the end of the sofa, Justin again held his breath as he inserted it between the brunet's head and the back of the sofa, slowly lowering Brian's head a couple of centimeters.

Another snore. So far, so good. 

Next, he lifted Brian's arm off of his legs and placed it across the brunet's lap. That didn't work so well. Brian frowned in his sleep and shifted closer to the blond, his arm flopping back down on top of Justin and his fingers burrowing between his legs.

Justin gritted his teeth, bracing himself for pain from his groin as he raised Brian's arm again, scooted over holding onto the limb, and then lowered it to the sofa cushion. Fortunately, he'd numbed his scrotum so thoroughly that all he felt was sort of a dull ache. That intensified as he rocked back and forth in an effort to get up off the couch, but he finally succeeded in standing up - knocking the ice pack to the floor in the process.

Although he was more than a bit out of breath by the time he took care of business and wobbled his way back to the sofa with a weird shuffling-limp, Justin was chuffed to have managed the trip to the bathroom all by himself. All would be well as long as he didn't need to pee again anytime soon.

The lad meant to descend slowly as he sat back down on the couch, but he lost control, landing with a flump.

"Mmph," Brian mumbled in protest, slitting one eye open just a sliver.

"Sorry," Justin apologised. "I didn't mean to-"

Coming more awake, Brian sat up a little and blinked at Justin. "You need help getting to the bathroom?"

"Did self!" Justin carrolled, immediately blushing up to the roots of his blond hair when he realised he sounded like a two-year-old who'd just gone potty by himself for the first time.

"You did, huh?" Brian's lips twitched in amusement.

"Yeah," Justin responded sheepishly. "It felt like a big deal, though, you know?"

Brian squinted at the almost empty bottle of water on the coffee table before asking, his tone deceptively mild, "Didn't you get another bottle of water?"

"Uh," Justin couldn't quite keep the whine out of his voice as he picked at the white leather of the sofa, "I'm practically floating. Do I really need to drink more water?"

The brunet quirked an eyebrow at him. "Didn't you just go?"

"Yeah, but I swear I can feel the liquid heading straight to my bladder. You know?" Ugh, thought Justin; I'm competing with the bladder-challenged girl from maths class. Thank fuck it was the term break, and he wasn't in class, crossing his legs and jiggling in his seat while he waited for the bell to ring.

"Okay," Brian relented, imagining it must be similar to when he'd gone on a bender, and it took multiple trips to the loo to get rid of all the liquid.

"Thanks. I promise I'll drink some water if I get thirsty," Justin replied, looking earnestly at Brian through big, blue eyes.

He'd feel more reassured, the adman thought, if he hadn't been treated to a similarly sincere expression from Mikey more than once, the only difference being the eye colour. Well, that and the fact that he could see both of Justin's hands - no fingers crossed. To this day, Michael had a penchant for crossing his fingers behind his back, ameliorating if not outright cancelling the sincerity of whatever he'd just said.

"Where's the ice pack?" he tried a different tack.

"Uh, I knocked it to the floor when I was getting up." The lad nudged the pack with his foot, and Brian immediately bent over to retrieve it.

He offered, "I can put it back in the freezer for a few minutes."

"Nah, I'm really numb down there right now. I think my balls are frozen solid," Justin complained. "Oh" - a crestfallen look dawned on his face - "I forgot to get one of those towels you've been warming for me."

"No worries, Sunshine." Brian hefted himself off the sofa, stating, "I'll get you a warm towel."

"Really, I'm okay," the boy protested. "I didn't want to roust you off the couch, Bri."

"It's not a big deal. I'm not the one with blue balls. Er, not that kind of blue balls anyroad." Brian bestowed a teasing grin on the teen.

Justin smiled uncertainly back at him, making it clear he really hadn't wanted to disturb Brian.

As he traipsed up the stairs to the bathroom, Brian couldn't help castigating himself. If he'd just kept his word and showed up at Babylon when he said he would, none of this would have happened. He was so disgusted with himself that as he returned to the sofa, rolled up the towel, and squatted down to nestle it under Justin's balls, he muttered, "I should've been there on Friday, Sunshine. I'm s-"

"Don't you dare say you're sorry!" Justin fiercely shushed him. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who decided to take drugs, not you. Even if you'd been there, I bet I still would have popped some of those pills. I still would have been well out of it and would've wanted something to stop the pain. And come the break, I still probably would have tried that damned powder."

A little short of breath after spewing that out, Justin glared at his lover. "Besides," he added, "it's not like you'd have been watching me every single second."

Justin was a stubborn little twat, the adman silently acknowledged as he sat back on his heels and looked up at the irate teen. He probably would have done just that, taking drugs rather than asking Brian or anyone else for help. Not that Brian had provided a sterling example in that regard - he'd rather have a tooth pulled than ask anyone for help.

It was a good thing the brat didn't know how wrong he was about the rest of what he'd said. Brian had a hard time tearing his eyes off Justin, period. But when he danced, he was absolutely dazzling. It had nothing to do with the miniscule, ridiculously sexy briefs he'd wear; after all, he was just as appealing in his baggy tighty-whities. No, it was because of the fluid way he moved his body to the music, his alabaster skin shining under the strobe lights. There wasn't a single, solitary fag who didn't want Justin when he danced like that - Brian was sure of it.

When Brian didn't say anything, Justin carried on, "You and Ted not only rescued me from a really bad situation and took care of me, you even made sure I got the money I was so worried about." The lad curled his lip at the banknotes that Brian had stacked at one end of the coffee table.

The way Justin was looking over Brian's shoulder at the neatly stacked bills, you'd have thought it was blood money, Brian mused. Then again, the boy had almost lost a ball for the dough, so it was a pretty apt image.

"I'm sorry," Justin apologised again, his voice lowering until it was a mere whisper, his eyes still glued to the banknotes. "You shouldn't have had to do any of that."

"Don't be an idiot." Brian brushed off the apology. "We've established that you made a really dumb decision, and that you're not gone to repeat the mistake. You'll find a different way to screw up," he kidded.

"Shit, I hope not," Justin retorted.

"It's inevitable, you twat."

At the affectionate ‘twat,' Justin's lips curved up into a smile. 

Brian laughed, finishing, "We all mess up at times, although usually not so spectacularly. Maybe try to moderate it next time, huh?"

"Yeah, okay," Justin agreed, his smile brightening before it dimmed again. "But uh-"

"What now?" Brian prodded when Justin paused. He hoped the boy was about to announce he was quitting the dance gig.

No such luck; not yet anyhow.

"It's just- I don't want you to have to pay for my stupidity, okay?"

Not following, Brian lifted an eyebrow in question.

"You shouldn't have to give up drugs," Justin elaborated. "You made, like, a spur-of-the-moment decision."

Christ, couldn't the kid leave the second-guessing to him? Justin was pretty much echoing his thoughts from earlier this afternoon. Brian still planned to think about it some more - the alcohol consumption anyroad - but he'd made up his mind about the rest.

"Do I ever do anything I don't want to do?" he asked.

"No, but-"

"No, buts," Brian insisted, doing his best to suppress a smile at the unintended pun.

Justin giggled, challenging, "You sure?"

"Unless it's your butt," Brian countered with a chuckle of his own. "Besides, I'm not giving up drugs; I'm just cutting back. I still expect you to split the occasional tab of E with me or share a spliff. Capisci?"

He paused, waiting for assent.

Justin stared at him sombrely, looking for the slightest hint of doubt from his lover. "Capito," he capitulated, drawing out the word slowly to give Brian another chance to change his mind.

"Good," Brian grunted.

Suddenly feeling more chipper, the teenager itched to go into a PSA about all the benefits of cutting back on drugs, but he curbed his tongue. Instead, getting a whiff of a foul odor, he screwed up his nose, complaining, "Phew, is that you or me?" His disgust deepened as he lifted his arm and inhaled. "Gross, it's me."

Brian made the mistake of sniffing quickly at his own armpit. Christ, talk about revolting. "We both reek," he clarified, breathing shallowly as he spoke. "How about we take a shower before any more visitors turn up - and keel over from our stench?"

"I just got comfortable again," Justin groaned. "Besides, you aren't expecting anyone else, are you?"

"We," Brian corrected him. Then, shrugging, he added, "And you never know who's gonna show up at the loft, Sunshine. Both Mikey and Linds have a penchant for turning up out of the blue."

Justin was less than thrilled by the idea of visitors, especially the first one Brian had mentioned. But if Brian's oldest friend did show up, he'd rather not give the whiny man anything new to criticise him for - as long as he kept the cashmere throw over his lap and didn't get up, Michael wouldn't know he was incapacitated. Sure, he'd find out about Justin's flagrant stupidity sooner or later, but the teen would rather it was later.

There was only one problem... "I don't know if I can get back up," Justin admitted. All his oomph was gone.

"No problemo. I can lift a lightweight like you," Brian asserted. The way he ungracefully rose from his crouched position, narrowly avoiding tripping over his own feet, belied his statement. Loud popping sounds from both knees contributed to the brunet's embarrassment.

"Uh-huh." One blond eyebrow shot up, underlining Justin's doubts.

He'd only stumbled because he was utterly knackered, Brian reassured himself. He might not be quite as fleet of foot as the young'un, but he didn't normally flounder about like some old sot.

"C'mon." Disregarding the teen's amusement, he bent over and placed his arms under Justin's armpits, interlocking his fingers behind the lad's back. "Upsy-daisy," he instructed.

"What; am I five?" Justin giggled as he pushed down on the sofa with his palms in an effort to assist Brian. He wasn't that much of a lightweight, no matter what his lover thought.

"Uh," Brian coloured up, smiling shyly at Justin as he leaned back, shifted his weight, and easily hauled the teen to his feet. "That is what I usually say to Gus."

Justin couldn't resist that smile, which he'd only ever seen Brian bestow on two people - Gus and him. Brian could say ‘upsy-daisy' to him as often as he wanted if it made him smile like that. "Thanks," he murmured, smiling back at the older man.

"You're welcome," came the soft reply. Brian rubbed his nose against Justin's before stepping to the side, one arm wrapped around the lad's waist.

They slowly navigated their way to the bathroom, where Justin leaned against the wall while Brian turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature so it wouldn't scald the blond's skin. A bit cool for him, but he'd make do.

Brian then divested first Justin and then himself of the little they had on, letting their garments fall to the floor. Although it would normally bother him to leave dirty clothes piled up on the floor, right now he didn't care about that. He just wanted to take care of Justin. Pushing the clothes out of the way with one foot, he escorted Justin into the shower, both of them sighing in pleasure as the water coursed down their bodies. After soaping up a loofah, the brunet began running the sponge across Justin's torso and arms, making sure to thoroughly clean his armpits.

"Tickles," Justin giggled.

"Stinks good, though," Brian murmured, sticking his nose in the hollow under his left arm. 

Justin giggled some more at Brian's antics. He abruptly stopped giggling, however, when his lover slowly lowered himself to his knees, the loofah nearing the boy's junk. "Uh," he nervously stammered.

"Don't worry; I'll be careful," Brian murmured, his green-flecked hazel eyes warm and caring. "Just brace your hands on my shoulders, okay?"

"'Kay," Justin sighed, his trepidation melting away.

His lover was just as gentle as promised, carefully running the loofah over and around Justin's cock, balls, and rear end. "First time I've been in your crack like this," joked Brian, peeking up at Justin through his long eyelashes.

Justin grinned in appreciation at the sally.

The brunet proceeded to soap up Justin's legs, before applying the sponge to one foot and then the other. Satisfied that the boy was clean, he stood up, perfunctorily ran the loofah across his own body, and then reached again for his Guerlain shampoo and body wash. 

Brian wasn't sure why - fuck knew he'd never had the urge do this with anyone else - but he got a kick out of washing the lad's hair. It was strangely relaxing and satisfying. He was working up a good lather in the short blond strands - wishing Vic hadn't cut the hair quite so short - when he felt Justin's fingers wrapping around his dick.

Befuddled, he foolishly enquired, "What're you doing?" 

Justin blinked at him innocently. A couple beats went by during which he languidly stroked down Brian's shaft and then back up, before he shrugged and stated the obvious, "You have a boner."

The brunet looked down at the boner he'd popped before they even got into the shower. With a shrug of his own, he observed, "It's just a natural reaction to being in the shower with you."

"And naturally," Justin coyly replied, his hand continuing its up and down motions, "I thought I'd help you out with your ‘natural reaction.'" 

"Stop," Brian requested, wrapping his hand around Justin's and stilling the teen's fingers. "I can wait until you feel better."

"But why?" Justin frowned. "I want to do this for you."

"Are you trying to pay me back for helping you?" Brian shrewdly guessed.

"Kinda," the boy allowed, "but-"

"No buts, remember?"

An obstinate expression on his face, Justin opened his mouth to protest that he wanted to give Brian a handjob; it wasn't like he was good for anything else right now. Unfortunately, his strength deserted him right at that moment, and he collapsed against Brian.

Good thing he'd half expected something like this might occur, the brunet mused. "Just put your arms around me," he instructed. "We're almost done - I just need to rinse the shampoo out of your hair, and give mine a quick once-over."

Justin mumbled something into the hollow of Brian's neck that sounded like "jerk you off."

Christ, but the kid could be stubborn. "Don't be a twat," Brian commanded as he washed his own hair and then rinsed the shampoo out of their hair. "I don't need a handjob every time I have a hard-on." He laughed ruefully within the confines of his mind, shocked that Brian Kinney had just uttered that statement. It was true, though, that he'd rather wait till Justin had recovered from his injury, and they could both enjoy themselves. Heck, he'd wait forever for the kid, although he hoped he'd never let such a lesbianic sentiment escape his lips.

Not long after they got out of the shower, Brian had Justin comfortably ensconced on the sofa again. The biggest difficulty had lain in finding something the teenager could wear. He had to smother a laugh as he glanced over at Justin; clothed in a pair of Brian's jeans and one of his sweatshirts, he looked like a little boy playing dress up. The black Armani jeans were rolled up at the cuff, and although they hugged Justin's arse in just the right way, they bagged at the waist. Even with the sleeves rolled up, Brian's old, oft-laundered sweatshirt swamped the kid's slender frame. 

He hadn't really expected Justin to look good in all black. Not only was black supposed to be Brian's colour, it should have made Justin look washed out. But instead, the black made the waif's blond hair shine all the brighter and his pale skin even more translucent.

Regardless of the lad eclipsing him in black, there was something oddly appealing about seeing Justin in his clothes, Brian mused as he poured guava juice into a mug and carried it over to the sofa along with a bottle of water. He couldn't quite pinpoint why, though. Partly, having the brat dressed in his clothes - hardly the first time he'd nicked something of Brian's, after all - provided tangible proof that Operation Twat Retrieval was working. Brian suspected, however, that it had more to do with Justin looking right in the loft, in his life... The brunet winced, shying away from that line of thought. Just because he'd admitted - in front of Carl, as well as Theodore, for Christ's sake - that Justin was his partner, that didn't mean he wanted to sound like a muncher, even if it was just in the privacy of his own mind. Fuck, it was like he was having an internal vagina monologue or something.

Double fuck! Since when did he even know the phrase ‘vagina monologue'? Revolted and a tad worried, the stud reached down and palmed his crotch, relieved to feel two balls and his cock safely nestled beneath the jock he was wearing underneath his jeans. 

His internal freakout was interrupted by an amused snort coming from Justin.

"AdStud?" the blond giggled, eyeing the mug Brian was holding out to him. "Tell me you weren't the one to come up with that."

"As if," Brian grunted, his eyes narrowing into a glare. The brat must be feeling better to be giving him this kind of cheek. Not that the adman was buying the blond boy's attempt at innocence. He knew Justin had come up with the image, but he was equally certain the boy had nothing to do with the AdStud mug itself. That had to be Theodore or Cynthia's brainchild. Ted must've got hold of the drawing somehow or other, but the mug... his employees must have been in cahoots. Brian just needed to trap them into coughing up the details.

"Where'd you get it?" the lad asked, his attempt at nonchalance hampered by another giggle.

"Fucking Cynthia," Brian replied curtly, although his voice came out more fond than angry.

The adman could see the wheels turning as Justin sussed out the connection, before whispering, "Ted," and then muttering, "but how?"

"It won't take much for Theodore to crack and spill the deets," Brian stated with an evil smile as he eyed his AdStud cup. "I'll just threaten to fire-"

It dawned on Justin right then that his lover, whose chest had puffed out a bit to match that of the stud on the cup, not only wasn't upset but that he liked the mug - more than liked it. He sat upright, crowing, "You love it!" 

"Uh, it's not bad," Brian allowed as he scrutinised the image on the mug. "I mean, it's okay," he back-pedalled, not wanting to be seen so obviously admiring himself. In fact, he'd better hit the gym soon, or his muscle mass wouldn't compare to that evident beneath his alter ego's pinstriped shirt. 

"You love it!" Justin repeated. "You'd fuck him," he added with a naughty giggle.

Brian rarely blushed, but he could feel himself colouring up now. He could hardly deny the assertion since Justin had caught Brian in the ‘I'd fuck you' moment as he regarded his mirror image - more than once, in fact. "Listen, Twat," he growled, "I-"

"Superhero ad exec by day," the boy steamrolled right over the interruption, "and..." 

He paused, leaving Brian hanging, anxious to hear the rest. It had to be something good, didn't it? "And?" he croaked, his throat suddenly dry.

"...studly lover by night." Justin eyed the brunet possessively, amending what he'd said to, "My studly lover."

Perfect, Brian thought, arching an eyebrow at his twat. "That works both ways, you know. We're-" He stopped and took a deep breath. He could do this. After all, he'd decided he wasn't afraid of the P-word last night, so he wasn't gonna start dithering around about it like a muncher this afternoon. "-partners," he finished.

Justin wanted to shout his agreement, but he restrained himself. "Partners," the lad agreed quietly but firmly, smiling brightly at his lover.

"So, partner," Brian drawled, "you wanna work on that logo for me? Come up with something better than that drunken, lopsided K?" 

"If you saw the design I came up with on Frau Rose's computer, you wouldn't knock that off-kilter K," Justin informed him scrunching up his nose as he recalled his rather pathetic initial effort, the one he'd played off as a ‘thought process.' "Even Frau Rose thought my second try was ‘blah,' although she said something more like it ‘lacked pizzazz.' I mean," the boy let out a sigh, "even the colours looked more muted than gay, and overall it looked more like a computer processor logo than a cutting-edge emblem."

Although the adman was starting to get a little anxious - he'd rather have had the emblem for his new agency yesterday - he also knew what it was like to get hit with a block and have trouble finding the right catchphrase for a product. Trying to force it only made it worse.

"Don't worry," Justin attempted to soothe Brian - and himself, if he was honest; "I'll come up with a few good ideas for you to choose from." The lad's fingers twitched and he looked around. "Uh, can you bring me some sheets of paper and a pencil, and maybe a clipboard?"

He had something better than that, the adman thought smugly. Sauntering over to his computer desk, he retrieved a couple of items he'd picked up the other day and casually set them down on the coffee table in front of the boy.

Justin's eyes went wide as he snatched up the set of forty premium coloured pencils. "These are from Blick's!" he exclaimed, his delight palpable. "How- When- Why-" he stammered, unable to formulate a coherent question.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Brian surreptitiously slid another set of pencils on top of the sketch pads the excited teen had yet to look at. "I was in the neighbourhood."

Uh-huh, Justin thought. The adman could, of course, have been meeting with a prospective client in Shadyside or even visiting an upscale store, but that he was also conveniently near Blick Art Materials? Brian must have made a special trip in the for-shit wintry conditions just to buy pencils for him - really fucking expensive pencils at that. "These must've cost a mint," he blurted. "Caran d'ache is, like, artist-grade!"

The adman raised an eyebrow and smoothly interjected, "That's what you are, right? An artist."

"Well, yeah," Justin agreed. "But I don't need a Swiss import to draw. I can just use a No. 2 pencil, or really, any other pencil." Even if he would far rather use a pencil specifically designed for drawing.

"You don't want those then?" Brian asked, tongue-in-cheek.

The young artist tightened his hold on the pencil set. "Er-" His brow furrowed in confusion when he realized Brian was looking past him at the coffee table. "Jesus, Brian," he breathed as he picked up the second, much larger set that was enclosed in a wooden box. "These are watercolour pencils. I've only tried them once; even though it was a way less expensive brand, it was like holding a paintbrush in my hand. I definitely don't need these," he declared, reluctantly placing the box back on the coffee table. You should retur-"

Rolling his eyes, Brian cut in before the boy could complete that other dreaded R-word. As if Brian Kinney ever returned anything; he'd rather give a misguided purchase away or donate it to a fucking charity. "Don't be a twat," he ordered. "You work for me; in fact, you're my entire art department at the moment. How can I expect you to produce quality drawings with substandard materials?" When Justin opened his mouth to issue another protest, he concluded, "You can save the watercolour pencils for the final draft or when we've really gotta impress the client, okay?"

Giving in to temptation, the blond lad nodded in agreement. Picking up the box of watercolour pencils again, he paid attention to the short stack of sketchbooks for the first time. Cripes, he thought, he could've gotten, like, five normal sketch pads for the cheapest one Blick's produced. He knew how much even their basic items cost, 'cause he'd drooled over them when he wandered through the store. None of these could be described as basic; even the medium-priced ones had to run around thirty dollars. And the premium pads...

He looked over at Brian, who grunted, "Same deal goes for those, Sunshine. Save the good ones for when we really need to wow someone."

Like any of these pads weren't ‘good,' Justin reflected a trifle hysterically, nodding again.

When the teen just sat there, apparently content to admire the packaging, Brian prompted, "You gonna use them, Picasso?"

"Erm, I guess," Justin replied dubiously.

Fuck, who would've guessed that his little artiste would be reluctant to use the pencils? Brian mused, frowning. But then inspiration struck. "Hey, you like drawing me, right?" he asked.

Justin looked up, a ‘duh' expression on his face.

"How about drawing on me instead?" 

"Huh?" was the baffled lad's comeback.

"Create something on my back," Brian suggested, already shucking his crimson pullover.

Justin's tongue peeked out from between his lips as his eyes locked on the brunet's torso, watching the muscles rippling beneath Brian's skin.

"Jus?" the ad exec prodded, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

His thoughts scrambled, it took Justin a moment to remember what they'd been talking about. "Um, I don't know if these will work on skin," he mumbled, sorely tempted to give it a try. "They're not really brushes. And even though they're watercolours and should just, like, wash off, I'm not sure they'll vanish that easily. I mean, I've never used them on skin before."

"Doesn't matter," Brian grunted. He didn't care if it took a while for the drawing to wear off. He had no intention of scrubbing it away - unless, of course, it went awry like that initial stab at a logo. If he didn't know better, he'd think the kid was three sheets to the wind when he sketched that K. "Besides," he added, "they're non-toxic. I checked." They'd damned well better be toxin-free, considering all the money he'd dropped at Blick's. Justin didn't know the half of it yet. 

Using his thumbnail, Justin slowly pried up one of the seals that had been placed over two bronze latches on the wooden box. He toyed with the idea of recreating his first drawing of Brian, but decided that would be feeding his lover's oversized ‘ego' a bit too much. "How about a K?" he asked uncertainly as he switched to the second latch.

"Try a different letter," Brian recommended. Maybe success with another letter would inspire the lad when it came to Kinnetik's trademark. "How about a B?"

A curved letter like a B would make a nice change, Justin mused, relieved not to have to tackle another K. "Your lower back okay?" he asked.

"Sure," Brian agreed. "Where do you want me?"

A giggle and then a wistful sigh escaped the boy. If only his equipment were working... 

"Jus?" Brian gave him a nudge for the second time in a matter of minutes.

"Um, could you maybe kneel down in front of the coffee table, and like, rest your arms on it?" Justin proposed. Another giggle escaped, making his request come out garbled.

Just as well that the boy wasn't up for more, Brian supposed, suppressing a sigh of his own, or the drawing would never get done. He tossed a throw pillow down on the floor - the Natuzzi area rug wasn't enough to cushion his knees - pushed the table over a bit, and knelt down. "How's that?"

"Scooch back toward me a little?"

Brian splayed his legs a little which gave him just enough wiggle room to move a couple centimeters closer to the sofa. Christ, he hoped none of the gang happened by, or he'd never hear the end of it.

"Good boy," Justin chirped.

Cheeky little sod, Brian thought, grinning down at the table. The lad might guess that he wouldn't necessarily have objected under different circumstances, but it wouldn't do to confirm that.

The blond artist lifted the lid to the box, reassured to find that the tips of the pencils were blunted at an angle, like the ones he'd used before. He didn't think Brian would take too kindly to having his skin pricked by a sharp point.

Red and black would be the primary colours, he determined as he snagged the bottle of water from next to Brian, unscrewed the cap, and dipped a pencil inside to wet the tip. The red and black would be accented by a hennaed brown, Navajo white, and a dash of greenish-gold. Without really thinking about it, he'd decided to shape the B to look like Brian dressed in clubbing clothes. Brian's legs and torso would form the straight, upright line of the B. His feet - in those cowboy-style boots with the pointy, curved toes Justin had once seen him wear - would form the bottom curve of the B. Brian would fling his head forward to form the top curve, droplets of sweat flying from brunet strands. Then, somehow, he'd join everything together with Brian's arms and hands to create the crossbar of the B. He wasn't sure how that last bit was gonna work, but he'd figure it out as he went along.

As Justin placed a pale grey pencil against Brian's back, planning to lightly trace an outline that he could then colour over, the older man commented offhand, "You might as well add a J."

"Wha?" Justin asked, stunned, the pencil skipping and leaving a small blotch on Brian's skin. Had he heard his lover right?

Brian shot another grin at the table, this one quite smug.

When the brunet didn't repeat himself, Justin was left in a bit of a quandry. Did he mean it about the J? If so, he was gonna have to rethink the drawing. He stared at the grey blotch - the only thing that marred the perfection of Brian's back - for a few beats and then smiled. He wouldn't have to make much of an adjustment after all. Sucking in a deep breath, Justin moved the pencil over to the left a few centimeters and began outlining Brian's body with swift, sure strokes. 

The strokes across his back were like some kind of weird, completely useless, feather-light massage Brian thought, fighting the urge to squirm as the pencil caressed a knobby spinal protrusion. Fuck. He'd never realized before that he was ticklish in that spot.

In an effort to distract himself from the maddening tickle, the adman started thinking about Kinnetik's upcoming campaigns and ways to secure more clients. "We're missing out on prime advertising slots for the holidays," he complained out loud. "That's when people really go on a buying spree. After the holidays, it's all about fuckin' sales."

"But aren't there lots of sales before Christmas too?" Justin wondered as he poured a few drops of water onto Brian's back to create a smudged effect. "Don't they, like, start with Black Friday?"

Brian snorted. "Just 'cause an advert shows the price of a pair of jeans-"

Justin giggled since he was in the process of making Brian's jeans - Armani, of course - look stonewashed.

The brunet shifted in discomfort, Justin's giggle having a predictable effect on him. 

"Don't move!" Justin commanded, frowning down at the smear of black that now extended beyond the outline of Brian's leg.

Unfortunately, the pair of denims Brian had put on after showering weren't nearly as accommodating as the old, holey ones he'd had on earlier; not only did they restrict his manhood, they also rode up into his crack. "Sorry," he apologised, resisting the need to reach around and tug down his jeans.

"'S okay," Justin mumbled as he carefully wiped away the blob with the pad of a damp forefinger. "What were you saying about the cost of jeans?" he asked, giggling again.

The brat had to be doing that on purpose, Brian thought, forcing himself to hold still. "The markup on most goods - clothes, jewelry, cars, furniture - is astronomical," Brian explained. "Even when it goes on sale, there's plenty of profit left over for the seller. Until the original price is slashed by at least half, the buyer is still paying well above cost."

Justin hmmed in understanding as he ‘painted' the jeans in the drawing so that they closely hugged Brian's behind. Just like the ones in front of his nose moulded themselves to the man's glutes.

"The stuff that goes on sale," the adman went on, "is stock that needs to go anyway, to make room for new stock. By convincing the customer that they're getting a bargain, they move out last season's styles and still make a profit." 

"Or maybe they promote it as, like, something exclusive?" Justin wondered as he switched to a red pencil, wetted the tip, and began inking in Brian's shirt in the drawing. "I mean, Harry waited in line on Black Friday for the latest Nokia, even though it wasn't on sale. I don't know what the big deal was," he continued a trifle enviously; "it looked just like his old one, just a different shade of red." That it was a really cool cherry red, he kept to himself.

"Advertising at its best," Brian observed in satisfaction, even as he wondered who in the heck Harry was. He was having enough trouble keeping track of all the Bobs; he didn't need a Harry thrown into the mix.

"So that's a thing?" Justin questioned.

"Yep. Rolling out exclusive new merchandise during ‘sales season' can be a really effective ploy," Brian offhandedly replied as he mulled over who Harry might be. Oh wait, was he the dolt who didn't know how to make an Americano?

His guess was soon confirmed, as Justin chattered, "Harry sure fell for that. He was late for his shift, and natch, so was Kiki - all because of the Black Friday ‘deals.' I was dead on my feet after a ten-hour shift, and I thought I was gonna be stuck at the diner till midnight or something." Justin couldn't help exaggerating his Black Friday plight a little. His feet really had been sore, and he was still trying to figure out how his mum could regularly work double shifts. "Anyway, I still don't get it," he pondered as he brought out a rich crimson hue in the shirt he was drawing. "I mean, some kind of fantastic sale where you save, you know, lots of money, okay, but to stand in line just to pay full price?"

"That's the power of good marketing," Brian informed the youngster. "I'm not keen on targeting Black Friday for ads, though. Brand loyalty might work for big, established names like Nokia, Mercedes, and famous Italian designers, but unless a company's got the reputation, it's gonna be expected to sell at a discount over the Black Friday weekend. That's a major way to ensure customer loyalty."

"Aren't those the same? Brand and customer loyalty?" a puzzled Justin interjected as he added a touch of gold to Brian's eyes. "It's about getting the customers to come back to you, right?" He thought longingly of the Nike store that he used to patronise at Ross Park Mall before shaking his head to dismiss all thoughts of the expensive footwear. Nikes were no longer part of his budget.

"They're related concepts," Brian acknowledged, "but customer loyalty is more about getting customers to return to a specific store by maintaining fair, competitive pricing and offering rewards to return."

"Like a ten-dollar coupon good against your next purchase for every hundred dollars you spend?" Justin speculated.

"Yeah," Brian confirmed, pleased that the lad had caught on so quickly. "It could also be in the form of a reward card that gives them exclusive benefits on the first Tuesday of the month, or whatever day the merchant designates. It's smart to choose a weekday when their store otherwise wouldn't see much traffic. Most customers will end up buying extra items because they're already in the store."

"What about brand loyalty?" Justin prompted. "My, uh, mum," he stumbled over calling Jennifer that, "goes to the GNC store at Ross Park 'cause they have a reward programme like that, but I don't get the difference. The brand and the store are the same, right?"

"Yes and no. Your mother is loyal to the GNC brand - she trusts the product - but she could go to a different GNC store if she felt like that one wasn't providing good customer service or didn't have the items she wanted in stock," the ad exec elaborated. "If, however, she feels like the quality and level of service are consistent, she probably won't ever check out another GNC. She probably doesn't even care that much about the reward programme; it's the idea that she's being catered to as a customer that matters and makes her ready to drop a significant amount of money for vitamins that probably aren't any better than what you could buy from any chemist for a lot less money - and that probably don't do much for you anyway."

"So..." the boy paused as if taking his time to absorb this all-important information "...it's a lot like your French anti-wrinkle cream."

"Anti-aging," Brian immediately rebutted. "Besides, it's a quality product, so there's no comparison."

"Is that what it said in the advert?" Justin giggled. "That it was quality? Or were you hooked because it's French?"

Little fucker, Brian thought, letting out an inarticulate growl. He was an adman, for Christ's sake. He wouldn't buy something just because it was French.

"You know," the blond boy segued into a PSA as he inked in Brian's chin in the drawing, "if you're worried about more than just wrinkles - like age spots-"

Brian growled again. "I don't fucking have age spots."

"You will if you keep using a tanning bed," Justin noted sharply. "It's, like, way worse for your skin than natural sunlight, and even then you should use a sunblock to prevent harmful rays."

It wasn't like he didn't know that, Brian mused. But he'd never planned to live past thirty - which was still, thankfully, months away - so he'd figured it didn't matter.

Careful not to touch the sketch or jostle his achy balls, Justin leaned forward and kissed Brian beneath his right ear. "I want you around for a long time," he husked.

A pleasurable tingle instantly shot down to Brian's groin. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he thought hazily, to stay around after he hit thirty. He might even consider giving up the tanning salon. But... "I look sickly when I don't have a tan," he kvetched.

"Oh, please," Justin retorted, sitting back up after giving his lover another kiss beneath the ear. "I bet you look like one of those marble statues of a Greek god."

A pale body suddenly sounded good.

The teenager carefully melded a small brown fleck - one he hadn't realised till now was there - on Brian's skin into the rich auburn of his hair in the drawing. It was a good thing that the older man didn't spend as much time admiring his back as he did his front, or he'd have a hissy fit if he caught sight of it. Maybe Justin could find something to remove or fade the spot before Brian noticed it. "So no Black Friday adverts?" he returned to the original topic. "Do you think your clients will go for that when, you know, Black Friday has been around forever?"

"Not forever, Twat," Brian huffed out on a laugh. "Using Black Friday to signal the start of the Christmas shopping season wasn't really a thing until the 1980s."

"Like I said, forever," Justin gravely intoned.

Brian snorted, although he allowed it might seem that way to someone who wasn't born until the eighties. Ignoring the impudent remark, he clarified, "What I want is a different day during the holiday season for my clients to roll out their new products - start to build brand loyalty and customer loyalty from the get-go. Maybe even have demos - either in person or in a large-screen video - to show customers the bang they get for their buck. Make them believe they're getting something unique that's of high quality, not the kind of mediocre shit that's on sale."

"Um, hasn't anyone else ever done that?" Justin asked a trifle hesitantly. "I mean, I know you're a great adman, but-"

"But not that great, huh?"

The lad didn't answer, concentrating as he dipped the watercolour pencil into a different shade and then dabbed at Brian's back, carefully making the transition from the rich hue of his lover's locks to his own pale blond. It was a good thing Brian, for the sake of this endeavour anyway, did have a bit of colour to his naturally pale skin tone. 

The teen was vaguely aware of Brian saying something a couple of times, but he didn't pay attention since he didn't want the Justin facsimile to look totally washed out, especially his hair. It did have a bit more gold to it at this time of year, thankfully; in the summer, it got bleached by the sun and ended up at the whiter end of the spectrum. The boy couldn't help pouting a little; he didn't want it to look like Brian was embracing a ghost.

Christ, had the kid gone into some kind of artistic trance? Brian wondered. Even if there was a kernel of truth in the brat's remark, Brian really was a top-notch adman; he'd left Marty Ryder, the other ad execs at the agency, and pretty much everyone else in Pittsburgh in the dust long ago. He couldn't help being irritated that the kid didn't have faith in his advertising savvy.

"Jus!" he called out for the third time, more sharply than before.

"Hmm?"

"What do you think?" Brian bit out, barely holding back a ‘for fuck's sake.'

"About?" Justin asked inattentively as he began to outline his face. He could really use a mirror right about now, to make sure he got his features right.

"An alternative to Black Friday," Brian reminded him. "C'mon, Justin, stick with the programme."

Justin winced, glad Brian wasn't looking at him. He'd been lost in the zone and must've been a little rude for his lover to use both that tone and his full name. As he selected just the right shade of blue for his jumper, he tried to come up with an idea. He almost blurted out a suggestion about getting a jump on Black Friday - starting like a week before that or something - but then thought better of it. That would probably just get the sales going even earlier, which wasn't what Brian wanted.

"Um, maybe create your own special day?" he tentatively suggested. "Maybe include the name of your agency, if you can do it without making it too clunky?"

"Like?"

"Like... Kinnetik Monday?" Justin tested out a possibility, liking the way it tripped off his tongue. "Mondays are, you know, normally a bad day. All the nine-to-five office workers are low energy and bitching about a whole work week stretching out before them."

"Hmm."

The rise in pitch told the lad that Brian was intrigued. "In early December - maybe the second Monday? - it probably not only seems like Christmas is still an age away, but also like there won't be nearly enough time to get ready for the holiday. All those presents to buy, decorations to go up, baking to-"

"Hold the carbs," Brian interrupted. Fuck, all it took was a mention of baking - and the resultant frenzy from his surrogate mum - to feel the calories glomming onto him.

It figured baking was the only thing his body-conscious lover heard, Justin thought, huffing out a laugh.

"What I meant," he chided, carefully smudging the paint he'd used for his face with the edge of his thumb to add texture, "was that Monday might be a good day to catch people's interest, when they're that weird combination of stressed and-" The teenager paused, holding his pencil up in the air as he struggled to come up with the right word. Shrugging, he tacked on "Bored? I mean, they've got plenty to do, but they've got a whole week to do it, and-"

"I get it," the adman interjected dryly.

"Oh, right," Justin spluttered, feeling like a dunce.

"It's not a bad idea." Maybe not exactly unique, the adman mused. Other companies and stores had experimented with various days of the week in a similar fashion, but that didn't mean it wouldn't work. He was really tempted to try it out; it was the type of ambitious plan that appealed to him. A few years down the road, Kinnetik could have a solid base of clients for whom they would promote ‘Kinnetik Monday.' Not only that, but the ‘Kinnetik Monday' concept could be used to hook clients in the first place. It'd take a while to catch on - he'd need at least a five-year plan for it - and he'd have to convince clients to promote themselves under the Kinnetik ‘brand' as well as their own. If he could convince clients to give it a go, however - demonstrate how it would improve their bottom line - Brian thought he could get it to take off. If, on the other hand, it didn't develop as he expected it to, he could always ditch that label. Whatever it was called, adverts for that day would cover the whole spectrum - from practical, moderately priced items to the exclusive and expensive. 

His embarrassment easing, Justin returned to his watercolour drawing, not at all bothered by Brian's silence. That was a good sign, he figured; the ad exec must really like the idea.

Ready to start on his and Brian's right arms, the blond artist suddenly had a brainstorm about how to turn the drawing into something unexpected, to make it really catch his lover's eye. Justin's teeth worried at his lower lip as he considered whether or not he should go for it; after the stunt he'd pulled with the drugs, he barely felt worthy of being Brian's partner. Taking a deep breath, Justin reminded himself that Brian thought he was worthy. He could do this, he reassured himself as he selected just the right shades from the set of pencils and got to work.

"How much longer?" Brian queried crankily not ten minutes later. Even with the throw pillow, his knees were burning, doubtless because of the rough weave of the overpriced Natuzzi pillow that he'd gotten in a contrasting pattern to complement the rug. On top of that, his knees were bound to pop when he stood up, like he was an arthritic old man or something. He scowled as he thought the word ‘old,' although it didn't have any effect on the artist, who couldn't see his face.

"Not long," Justin replied.

Fucking non-answer. That could be anywhere from five minutes to five hours. Brian had seen the boy in the throes of creation before; Justin always wanted to get it just right, especially when he was drawing Brian. The blond would erase and redo until it met his expectations, practically wearing a hole in the paper. Brian didn't think Justin was doing that now, but he'd been concentrating on the same spot on his lower back for a really long time, and the light brushing of the pencil against his skin was driving him nuts. His fingers curled into fists as he tried to ignore the annoying tickling sensation, when all he really wanted to do was reach around and scratch at the spot.

Justin smiled down at the way the colours flowed together, pleased with how this part of the sketch had turned out. Brian's left leg suddenly twitched - thankfully after he'd lifted the wine red pencil, aptly called ‘Merlot' - away from the older man's back. That position had to be pretty uncomfortable, the lad reckoned, especially after what must be close to an hour of kneeling there without moving. He really didn't need much longer - fifteen minutes at the most - but providing a distraction to keep Brian occupied would probably be smart.

"What do you think about the idea of a dual degree?" he blurted out.

Brian chuckled. "In general?"

That wasn't how he'd meant to ask for Brian's advice. "Er, for me," the teenager clarified, mentally smacking himself on the forehead.

"Art and what? Underwater basket-weaving?" Brian deadpanned.

Justin, who'd been dithering about whether he should be wearing jeans or cargo pants in the drawing, flushed a deep red. Christ, could he sound any more retarded? "Erm, marketing," he mumbled, wishing he'd never broached the topic. Brian was bound to think it was a dumb idea.

Finally settling on cargos in a deep reddish-brown, he grabbed the ‘Sienna' pencil, dunked it in the bottle of water, and started to outline his trouser-clad legs. Too bad he wouldn't be able to showcase one of his best features with him and Brian posed in profile like this, he reflected wistfully. Then again, maybe he could emphasise...

A bit disconcerted, Brian frowned. Art and marketing would be a good combination, but he couldn't help being concerned that the little twat was taking on too much. Besides, what about time for him? Brian bit back the complaint, not wanting to sound like a needy dyke. He considered a taunt like, ‘all study and no play makes Sunshine a horny, frustrated boy,' but that would come off equally desperate. He'd just have to entice Justin into making time for the important things, the stud determined. Easy-peasy. If just being in the same room with the lad wasn't enough, he could always strip down and pour water over his head...

A sinking feeling in his gut when Brian didn't say anything, Justin feared that the older man really did think it was a stupid idea. Maybe he didn't think Justin could handle it. "I've got a plan!" he almost shouted, his voice rising shrilly.

Brian winced at the loud, piercing voice so close to his ear, rudely interrupting his reminiscence.

"I'm gonna CLEP in as many subjects as I can," Justin rushed on. "Frau Rose and I are working on a testing plan - I'll show it to you. That means I can, like, maybe, even be a sophomore when I start university. You know, get a head start."

The little twat definitely hadn't thought it through. "That won't make your studies any easier, even if you won't need as long to earn your degree," the adman noted, forcing himself to sound calm and reasonable. "How about just taking a couple marketing courses since PIFA doesn't offer a business curriculum?"

"Hmm," Justin hummed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to figure out how to convince Brian of the merit of his plans.

Why the tepid response? the adman wondered. The boy was usually a chatterbox when it came defending one of his ideas. His thoughts ground to a sudden halt, and he felt himself go cold all over as he realised he might be wrong about where Justin wanted to go to college. Shit. They'd never talked about it. What if the kid planned to go out of state? "You don't want to go to PIFA?" he inquired as nonchalantly as possible.

"Huh?" Justin fumbled with the pencil, slashing a brown streak across Brian's lower back.

A defensive Brian peppered Justin with more questions as he dampened a finger and rubbed away the damage. "Where have you applied? Chicago? Savannah? Los Angeles? San Francisco? New York? There's a ton of top-notch art schools in the Big Apple, or you could-"

"Whoa!" Justin started giggling.

Fuckin' brat. What was he laughing about? Brian wondered even as the sound relaxed him - well, most of him anyhow.

"I'm not going anywhere," Justin husked, leaning over to press a kiss to Brian's right shoulder blade.

"What if you get a full scholarship to the Art Institute in Chicago? Or Pratt in New York?"

"That would be flattering..." Justin paused "...if I'd applied there to start with."

Brian grumbled, "Christ, Justin, you should know enough to cover all your bases."

"An academic scholarship is well and good," the teenager retorted, smudging the brown paint to create a shadowed effect. "But if I go out of town, I'll still have to pay for lodging and food and-"

The absurdity of the situation hit Brian at that moment. Why in the heck was he trying to convince his young lover to study somewhere other than the Pitts? He wanted Justin here, in the loft, with him. "Yeah, you'd never find a job that would keep you in food," he teased the boy.

Justin's stomach let out a rumble of agreement, making both men laugh.

"I haven't even applied anywhere yet," Justin revealed. "St James encourages us to wait till after we get our SAT results. We're expected to decide where we want to go, though, and to have our application packets ready - you know, convince them to choose me over thousands of other applicants."

Any admissions committee that didn't choose Justin was made up of fools, Brian thought.

"Before I came out, I was gonna apply to Dartmouth, but only because it was my dad's alma mater, and that's where he wanted to send me." The boy scrunched up his nose in distaste; it felt even stranger to refer to Craig as his dad than it did to call Jennifer his mum. Shaking off the weirdness, he continued, "I planned to apply to some art schools on the sly, and depending on whether I was accepted, try to convince him to let me go there instead. PIFA's always been my first choice, though. It's, like, the best of the best."

"And the business degree?" Brian endeavoured to sound non-judgemental, not wanting to put the boy's back up.

"I just really like working with you?" It came out as a question because Justin was suddenly feeling bashful. He was pretty sure Brian enjoyed brainstorming with him, like just now asking his opinion about the whole Black Friday thing, but maybe he'd read the older man all wrong. After all, the adman had a degree in marketing, maybe even an MBA, although Justin wasn't sure since Brian wasn't prone to bragging about his educational or career accomplishments - just his sexual prowess. Add to that all his years of experience in advertising, and Justin doubted he had much to offer. Besides a talent for art, that was.

Although he was tempted to tease the boy, Brian heard the uncertainty in the boy's voice and dialled back the snark. "You don't need a business degree to work with me, Jus."

"Yeah, but I, like, never even knew I was interested in business till recently. My dad drummed into my head that I was gonna go to Dartmouth and get an MBA, you know?"

Brian grunted. The brat didn't know how good he had it in that respect; Jack had expected him to go straight to work as a longshoreman with him. He'd start as an apprentice, then make his way up to journeyman, and finally reach master level. Going for a college degree was just getting above himself.

"I figured if I didn't get into a good art school, I could always use Dartmouth as a backup-"

Only Justin would think of Dartmouth as a backup.

"-and make art my second major. So, really," the boy concluded, "I'd just be doing the opposite - adding marketing as my second degree. And if I CLEP in a lot of subjects, I'll have, like, a really good head start. I don't mind if the core courses are challenging. That's what makes them fun, right?"

Brian huffed out a bemused laugh. He couldn't really disagree, though; the classes that challenged him were the ones he'd liked the most, even when they weren't part of his major.

"Frau Rose thinks I'm practically ready for the calculus test now," Justin babbled on, "and-"

The brunet broke into the unending spate of words. "It's still two degrees, Twat. At two different universities if you go to PIFA for the art degree. Where do you plan to study business? Carnegie Mellon? Pitt? Neither of those is around the corner from PIFA. Did you even stop to think about all the travel involved?"

His effort to put the brakes on Justin's enthusiasm failed. "There are buses," the blond claimed, "and I can study en route. If I don't get into PIFA" - he sighed, more than a bit worried about how difficult it was to get admitted to the prestigious art school - "then I could always double major in art and business at CMU. They do have a good art programme," he admitted, "even if it's not as good as the Art Institute's."

That would make the dual degree more doable, but somehow Brian had become as invested as the lad in seeing him get into PIFA - if only to make up for the shit he was going through at St James, never mind that he was more than talented enough for the snooty art school.

Time to try a different tack. "What about all your jobs? How are you going to juggle working for me, at the diner, and the go-go gig, along with studying?" He really wanted to hear the brat's answer to that one. Not only was he worried that the kid was stretching himself too thin - he also wondered when Justin was gonna to be available to work for him. 

"About that," Justin mumbled, staring intently at the spot on Brian's back he was currently filling in with an off-white colour. "I was thinking of stopping by to see Arthur this afternoon."

It took Brian a second to remember that was Smythe's first name.

"You're right that it's too much," the boy confessed. "The money at Babylon is really good-"

Brian snorted. Only if drugging yourself so you could keep dancing didn't matter.

"-between the base salary and the tips." Justin sighed gustily. "But I just can't do it anymore."

It must've been Horvath's advice that tipped the balance, Brian assumed, Justin giving every appearance of actually listening to the detective earlier this afternoon. Regardless, startled that the boy had come to such a monumental decision so quickly - he was a stubborn little shit - Brian went limp with relief. His back sagged; his arms splayed out; and his chin came to rest on the coffee table with a light thud.

Justin lost control of the pencil, sending a whitish line zigzagging across the cargo pants he'd already coloured in and into the black of Brian's jeans. He couldn't really chide his lover, though; not when he'd just sprung the decision on him out of nowhere. Heck, it was almost as much of a surprise to Justin since, despite the urging of pretty much everyone, he hated to just up and quit. "I love to dance," he earnestly continued as he inked in his sneakers - he'd fix the mishap later - "so I thought dancing on the bar for a few hours a couple times a week would be no big deal, but I just don't have the stamina or something. Mr Smythe never should've hired me."

Jesus. How could the kid not have figured it out yet? "Christ, Justin, no one has stamina like that - I doubt there's a single dancer who isn't doped up to the gills."

Justin frowned. "Arthur wouldn't encourage that... would he?" he finished after a momentary hesitation. 

"He wouldn't need to," Brian patiently explained as he carefully propped himself up on his forearms again. "The go-go dancers know the score. They'd just ask around until they found the supplier at the club."

"B- but- it's, like, really dangerous to regularly take-" Justin spluttered before grinding to a halt.

"Exactly." The boy had made his point for Brian, also reinforcing that cutting way back on the drugs was a smart move. "It's all about business for Smythe," the experienced clubber elaborated. "He wants to rake in money. If that means turning a blind eye to the drug situation, that's what he's gonna do."

Switching from the white pencil to a satiny black one, Justin mumbled, "I still feel bad, leaving Arthur in the lurch, especially after he took a chance on me." A throbbing in his nether regions beginning to make itself known, he did his best to hold his lower body still while he dampened the tip of the new pencil and went back to work.

"Don't. Go-go boys are a dime a dozen."

"Okay," Justin mumbled, feeling a little insulted. Mr Smythe had never acted like he was that easily replaceable.

"There are always guys clamouring to be hired. Smythe or whatshisname, the tubby assistant manager, will move one of the more experienced dancers to the bar and let the new guy learn the ropes on one of the platforms. You're the first newbie I've seen go straight to dancing atop the bar."

That made Justin feel a little better, like he was special after all. He knew it was stupid to obsess about it, but still.

The adman assumed the forlorn note in the boy's voice had, yet again, to do with the loss of income. Why Justin was so obsessed with making money, he still wasn't sure; there was something about ‘saving up for art school' that didn't ring true. Christ, the kid could always come to him if he was ever in trouble, and Brian would give him whatever he needed. That aside, the twat should be smart enough to also know that he'd make more money at a far less strenuous job, doing something he liked, working for Brian. In fact, he had what just might be the perfect solution for both of them...

"You'll just have to work harder to make up for it," Brian emphasised, carefully turning his head so he wouldn't make the pencil skip again - he'd felt it slash across his back when he slumped over the table. With a lecherous wink at the blond, he finished, "Deep into the night."

As intended, Justin laughed. "What about during the day?" he got out between giggles.

"Provided you perform well as a freelancer," Brian deadpanned, "you'd go on the rolls as a half-time, salaried employee with benefits after you graduate from St James."

"Me?" Justin stared at the older man, his eyes wide with shock.

"You see any other artistic blond twats here in the loft?" 

Although he could feel the colour creeping up his neck and over his face, it was as much from happiness as embarrassment. Brian really did want Justin to work for him.

"That way you can study part-time for both degrees," Brian suggested, turning his head back around. "Take a couple of art courses and one business course per semester."

Put that way, studying part-time didn't sound so bad to the lad. Sure, it would take longer to complete his studies, but he'd be getting lots of relevant work experience. That was supposed to be worth just as much as, if not more than, a degree, according to the career counsellor at St James. 

"I could try that," the boy allowed, trying to sound as calm and collected as his lover. There probably wouldn't be much in scholarships available for part-time students, but he'd be earning money for tuition as well as to pay back Brian.

Good. The brat was finally seeing sense. "If an internship is recommended or required for either of your degrees - I'd bet on both - your universities shouldn't have any problem waiving it because of your work experience," Brian continued. Heck, Justin might get more credits than he would for a standard internship since the teenager would be doing far more than most interns.

He was still going to have to wean Justin off working at the diner, Brian realised, but he'd have a whole semester to accomplish that. He could always put a bee in Debbie's bonnet, so she'd gradually reduce Justin's hours in the spring. He wouldn't even have to spell it out. "It's for Sunshine's own good!" he could hear her exclaim.

"What about ‘clepping'?" Justin asked. "I could, you know, really use your help with preparing for the business exams. I'm not too worried about macro- and microeconomics; I took those my junior year and will get practise materials from Frau Rose. I think I can pick up the information systems stuff easily enough, but I don't know anything about marketing or management, never mind business law and accounting."

Brian grinned at the way the kid was practically wailing by the time he got to the last subject. There was no harm, he supposed, in the kid giving it a try. If he didn't pass a test, he could just take the courses, or maybe retake the CLEP exam. Brian wasn't sure that was possible, but the kid would doubtless find out - and regale him with all the details.

He could always work up some quizzes and pepper Justin with questions at every opportunity. As far as accounting... Brian was perfectly capable of doing his own accounts, but he wasn't into it, unlike his CFO. All he'd need to do was mention it to Theodore, and the accountant would inundate the boy with all sorts of advice. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if Ted still had his old textbooks and lent stacks of them to the unsuspecting little twat.

Similar to accounting, he knew the basics when it came to business law. Conveniently, there was another ‘family' tutor available when it came to legal matters. A refresher in business law would be good for the family law expert, Brian thought a trifle maliciously, especially since Melanie and JKL would be on retainer with Kinnetik. 

"Okay, we'll give it a go," Brian agreed, his tone a little begrudging and hesitant, as if he doubted Justin could manage everything. Which he did, but that just might spur Justin on to show Brian what he could do. "Just tell me who to make the payment to when you're ready."

"Huh?" Justin's eyes narrowed as he worked on finishing the watercolour drawing. He was starting to feel tired and sore and wanted to get done before the meds wore off, especially since it would be a while before he could take another dose. 

"The fees for your exams," Brian spelled out. "Kinnetik subsidises education costs for its employees." The kid didn't need to know he'd just decided that was one of the employee benefits.

"Please," Justin scoffed. "I'm a freelancer, paid by the hour. Besides, most of the subjects I'll be testing in aren't business-related." No way was he gonna let the older man pay for the CLEP exams. He already owed Brian too much, especially since he'd just agreed, however reluctantly, to tutor him.

The adman sighed in exasperation. The brat had just been moaning about lost income but wouldn't let Brian help out with a legitimate business expense. He could've argued that he was investing in an employee, but he let it go for now. He'd just have Cynthia research the costs of the CLEP exams, and whenever Justin took one, he'd add the amount to his paycheck. To keep the kid from getting suspicious, he could even throw in something extra and call it a client bonus. Kinnetik would be getting plenty of bonuses anyway, provided his staff did their jobs right.

Pleased that he'd won that battle, for now at least, Justin decided to get his lover's opinion on which language he ought to study in his free time. "Frau Rose's pretty sure she can arrange for me to get tested in Latin, so I can get credit for a foreign language," he informed Brian. "She thinks I might like learning another language, though, and I kinda like the idea."

A rumble of displeasure forcing its way out of his gullet, Brian was ready to lambaste the Germanic woman. When in the hell was the boy supposed to fit in another subject? The adman calmed down after a tick, though, recalling that the librarian appeared to be very supportive of Justin - a rarity at St James - and probably had no clue that the little shit had been working three jobs.

"I'd study the language on the side," Justin hastened to clarify. "No one, like, ever uses the Rosetta Stone modules in the school library, so Frau Rose checked them out to me. I can study for fun-" 

The rumble turned into an odd, choked laugh.

"-and the language would be one I could use. I just can't decide whether Spanish or French would be more valuable." 

Both French and Spanish were Romance languages, Brian mused, so the lad might pick up either one fairly easily. Italian would probably be the easiest of all, but also less useful, except maybe in Debbie's house and the Italian-American community in the Pitts. Well, unless the kid wanted to study abroad in Italy...

Not about to put any ideas into that blond head, Brian hurriedly shut down that line of thought. If Justin ever brought it up, they'd figure it out then. "Try out both modules," he recommended. Don't worry about which language would be more useful; just go for whichever one interests you the most."

The lad obviously wasn't listening because he rattled on, "We're, like, close to Canada, so French would be really cool. But Spanish is the second most spoken language in the US."

"Justin."

That was all it took - the lad's name, firmly spoken - and he had the blond's attention.

"Yeah?" Justin asked uncertainly. 

"Study whichever fuckin' language you want to, okay?" 

"Okay," the teen quietly agreed. In an effort to distract himself from the increasing pain in his groin, he'd been talking a mile a minute as he put the final touches on the drawing, only half aware of what he was saying. As he looked down, the black pencil poised in his right hand, he realised he was done. Nothing else was needed.

"Um, you wanna see?" he asked.

See? Brian thought blankly. What did that have to do with French or Spanish? It took another couple of beats before it dawned on him that the lad meant the drawing. "I can get up?" he double-checked.

"Yeah," Justin confirmed, his voice rather flat. "Maybe look in the mirror on your closet door."

Brian frowned, puzzled by the lack of enthusiasm. Had it not turned out as the lad expected? Only one way to find out, he determined, his knees popping loudly as he levered himself up from the floor.

Surprisingly, that didn't even get a giggle from Justin.

"C'mon, Twat," Brian urged, turning and holding out a hand once he was standing.

"Ehm, you go look," the young artist deflected the request, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of his face as he tried to suppress a surge of pain, along with a sudden need to pee - again. Geesh, he really was channelling the twit from maths class.

"I'll go look after I get the ice pack for you," Brian promised, wishing he could give the boy some more aspirin too.

"I, uh, the john," Justin mumbled disjointedly.

"Sure," the older man replied, hefting the teenager up off the sofa. "Then we'll get a gander at your masterpiece before you ice up again."

A few minutes later, both men had relieved themselves - the power of suggestion having gotten to Brian as if he were a muncher - and were standing in front of the mirrored wardrobe. The brunet had opened two of the doors so that he could get the full effect as he stood with his back to the closet.

Holy fuck, Brian thought, completely stunned by the watercolour drawing as he glanced into the side mirrors and then over his shoulder at the mirror behind him. He hadn't doubted it would be good, but this was so much more than he'd anticipated. It wasn't just the letters B and J, artistically rendered. Brian was literally the B, while Justin was the J - the two of them combined something... more.

Justin gnawed at this lower lip, his nerves returning as he examined the drawing with a critical eye. He'd drawn them so that Brian stood behind him, his pointy chin resting on Justin's right shoulder and both their heads forming the top bar of the J.

Looking in the mirror, Brian traced the top loop of the B, which their chests curved out to form, with Justin's torso, which was coloured a rich blue, forming the upright of the J. Where the B merged with the J along the knobs of Brian's spinal column, a deep red swirl joined the blue.

Their hands, which were clasped, formed the indent for the B, Brian's forearms supplying the crossbar. "C'mere," Brian grunted, tugging Justin closer until he was posed in front of him, like the two of them were in the picture. He might not be able to rest his chin on the boy's shoulder the way he was in the drawing, not if he wanted to study it properly at the same time, but he could hold him the same way.

He noted how their hips jutted forward to shape the top curve of the lower loop of the B, and the bend in their legs formed the lower part of the loop. Brian's feet were the bottom support for the B, while Justin's formed the curved hook for the J. He huffed out a laugh, when he saw that Justin had shod himself in his old, abominable, holey sneakers - hopefully bound for a landfill somewhere - Brian's Prada boots nestled next to them.

Was that brief laugh a good sign? Justin tried to twist his head to the side so he could see Brian's expression in the mirror, but that made the fabric of his borrowed jeans mould to his nether regions, renewing the ache in his balls. Swallowing hard, he let his head fall back against Brian's chest and waited for his lover's verdict, mentally critiquing the flaws in the drawing. He didn't care for the way his nose looked in the drawing - it was annoyingly retroussé - but when he'd tried straightening it out, just a little, it no longer looked like his, so he'd had to leave it snubbed. The hue of Brian's hair also wasn't quite-

"How'd you come up with that?" Brian asked, his eyes riveted on their arms. 

"Hmm?"

"Our arms," Brian clarified, continuing to study the drawing, which looked more like a painting than something done with pencil. The blond had blended their right arms together, their veins intertwined, deep reds and rich blues pulsating from one man into the other. 

"Erm, it's kinda how I see us, you know?" Justin explained. "Supporting each other. I just wanted to show it in an untraditional way, at least partly." When Brian didn't say anything, he rattled on nervously, "You give me more than I give you, but-"

"Bullshit," Brian grunted succinctly. He wasn't gonna go all lezzie and gush about it, but since the robbery, he'd begun to recognise just how much the little twat did for him. For one, he was fuckin' good for Brian's ego - no one else, not even Mikey, would ever see him as ‘the Face of God,' for fuck's sake. More importantly, Justin made him believe he could be a good father and encouraged him to spend more time with Gus.

A few more beats passed, Justin getting increasingly apprehensive. Brian still hadn't given any indication of whether he liked the drawing. "Do you like it?" he finally dared to ask.

‘Like' was way too mild a word. "It's fuckin' genius," he said after a moment, although that hardly did justice to the way the drawing made him feel. Shit, he thought wryly, with a masterpiece like that, the kid should have no trouble coming up with the right design for Kinnetik's emblem. "You want to turn this into an actual painting?"

"Really?" Justin squeaked in excitement.

"Maybe I'll put the painting where I had the naked man picture," Brian mused aloud.

The teenager wrinkled up his nose. That had to be one of the ugliest excuses for art he'd ever seen.

Brian, who'd finally turned his head back around to ease the developing crick in his neck, caught the motion. He'd seen that same look of disgust before when Justin looked at the naked man painting. "Snob," he tut-tutted in mock disapproval.

Justin merely arched a blond eyebrow at him in that maddeningly superior manner he'd already displayed when Brian first met him.

Shit. That was just as vexing as that damned giggle of the boy's, Brian thought, his jeans again becoming uncomfortably tight through the crotch. "C'mon, brat," he gruffly ordered, "let's go ice you up." Maybe he should apply the ice to his own groin, he mused with a rueful smile as he helped Justin down the steps, the denim fabric of his trousers rasping against the sensitive skin.

Later that afternoon, after Justin's balls were once more well numbed, and after taking multiple pictures of Brian's back so the drawing could be recreated on canvas, the two men finally left the loft. Brian had one arm wrapped around Justin's waist, ready to catch him if he faltered on the way out of the building. 

"It's not so bad now," Justin assured him as he leaned into Brian's side.

Only because the lad couldn't feel anything, Brian thought. It had taken two applications of the ice pack - one of them a makeshift of ice cubes inside a towel - to achieve that level of numbness. The older man had been on the verge of calling the ER to find out whether the lad could take a half dose of aspirin earlier than recommended, when Justin sighed in relief, the ice finally deadening the throbbing in his scrotum.

"Which way's your jeep?" Justin asked, glancing first to the right and then to the left.

The kid probably had no recollection of how they'd gotten to the loft from Babylon last night, Brian realised. "It's parked outside Babylon. Theodore chauffeured us around in his Benz."

"Oh." Justin looked down at the ground, obviously feeling guilty about that on top of everything else.

"Don't worry about it. Ted likes chauffeuring me around," Brian jokingly claimed. Guiding the blond across a slick patch on the sidewalk and into the taxi that was waiting for them, Brian reminded himself to pick up more ice packs. Speaking of... "What chemist do you use?" he asked.

"CVS," Justin replied. "You know, the one just off Liberty Avenue that used to be part of the Allegheny chain. I mostly went to the one out by my parents' house."

Brian instantly knew the one Justin meant. Allegheny Pharmacy had been a small Pittsburgh chain of just six stores. They'd had a loyal clientele, but they couldn't match the cut-rate prices of the nationwide chains and had to sell out after five years of struggling to stay in business.

They'd stop there after Justin turned in his notice at Babylon, Brian decided, when they would be in the comfort of his jeep. "Babylon, over on Liberty," he instructed the taxi driver. "Go slow, okay? My partner is injured and I don't want him jostled around."

"Sure thing, pal," the taxi driver agreed, evidently unbothered by the idea of two men as partners.

Brian didn't really give a fuck what the man thought, but it was better to have an easy-going cabbie who wouldn't purposely go over every bump in the road just because they were fags.

Justin gave him a soft smile when Brian slid into the back seat next to him, doubtless because of the ‘partner' that had just come out of his lover's mouth.

Brian sucked his lips into his mouth, feeling unaccountably shy for a moment. But then he smiled back at the boy, proud to realise the word had tripped off his tongue without him thinking twice about it.

It didn't take long for them to reach Babylon, the short ride as smooth as it would have been with Brian behind the wheel in his jeep. "Not bad," he acknowledged, handing the cab driver a twenty after helping Justin out of the taxi.

"Just a moment and I'll have your change," the cabbie responded.

"No need," Brian replied.

"Thanks." The bloke flashed a smile at both men. "I hope you feel better soon," he told Justin before rolling up the window and heading down the street, a few snowflakes filtering down from the darkening clouds.

"Um," Justin mumbled, shivering in the cold and staring nonplussed at the closed front door, "I shoulda called ahead to make sure Arthur would be here."

With a lopsided shrug of the shoulder that wasn't pressed up against his lover, his left arm holding Justin close, Brian suggested, "Can't hurt to ring the doorbell."

"There's a doorbell?"

Brian chuckled at the blond's astonishment. "Just there, to the right of the door." He pointed to it with his right hand.

"Oh, okay." Justin shuffled a little closer to the steps leading up to the door. He could feel a cold sweat breaking out over his skin at the prospect of entering the club.

Shit, Brian silently castigated himself. He should've realised that returning to Babylon might be difficult for the boy. Even though he thought turning in his resignation right away would be the best thing to do, he wasn't going to force Justin to do it right now. "You want to do this later?" he asked in a neutral tone.

"N- no," the blond lad stuttered, his voice wavering. Then he stuck his chin out, his expression becoming fierce. His right hand searched out Brian's left where it rested on his waist and clasped it tightly. "I'm ready."

After guiding Justin up the steps, careful to be sure he didn't slip, Brian reached out and pressed the doorbell with his index finger, leaving it there for a couple seconds.

"Smythe here?" he asked the guy who opened the door, a mop in hand.

The fellow muttered something indecipherable in a thick Slavic accent. When Brian and Justin stared at him with twin looks of incomprehension, he gestured with his chin toward the staircase and let loose with another string of words, of which only "idiot" was understandable.

Amused, Brian wondered whether the bloke meant him and Justin or Smythe. Maybe all of them.

"Did he mean us?" Justin giggled as the man stalked away.

Brian shrugged off the cleaner's rudeness. "I've been called worse."

It took a few minutes for them to laboriously navigate the stairs, Justin lifting one foot and placing it on the next step before bringing his other foot up to join it. Brian kept his arm locked around the younger man's waist, ready to catch him if he stumbled.

Breathing heavily and sweating even more when they finally reached Smythe's office, Justin stopped for a few long beats, inhaling and exhaling slowly as he tried to regain his equilibrium. "You'll come in with me?" he double-checked.

Try and stop me, Brian thought, rolling his eyes at the twat.

That apparently reassured the lad, who smiled at him before rapping on the office door.

"Come in!" Arthur called.

Justin slowly made his way into the office, Brian right behind him.

"Justin?" Arthur queried, his surprise clear as he glanced up from his computer. "How'd you get in?"

Brian snorted. Figured the club owner would ask something so inane. 

"Some guy with a mop," Justin responded, wavering a little as he stopped in front of Arthur's desk. "He didn't seem very happy to see us."

Smythe chuckled. "Dimitri's not very deferential, but he does a good job cleaning up the place."

The teen blinked, a little confused to be talking about the janitor. He needed to tell Arthur he was quitting, but he didn't want to just blurt it out in the middle of an unrelated topic.

Smythe frowned as he studied Justin, taking in his pale, clammy face and unsteady stance before his eyes shifted away. "Are you okay?"

That shifty flick of the eyes from the club owner confirmed for Brian that the man knew exactly what had happened to Justin. Not that he'd had much doubt about it to start with. The assistant manager or one of the bartenders would have filled Smythe in, if only to be aware of a potential lawsuit.

So much for the ‘drug-free operation' Smythe had claimed he ran. Royally pissed off about what had happened to Justin, Brian really wanted to threaten Smythe that he'd better get on top of the drug situation among the go-go boys, especially if he was going to hire underage dancers. Reluctantly, he settled for directing a basilisk stare at Smythe - not that Babylon's owner noticed since his focus was on the blond teen in front of him. Brian didn't much care if the older man ignored him; he could give Smythe a piece of his mind later. The main thing right now was to get Justin out of the bloke's clutches. 

"MacAllister told me you fainted last night," Smythe said, his grey eyes full of concern as he looked directly at Justin. "He figured you were just dehydrated and would be okay once you rested and had some liquid. Was it something worse? Do you have the flu?"

What a load of horseshit, Brian thought, turning a snort of derision into a cough. But then again, maybe it would just be easiest for the lad to go along with that...

Justin latched onto the convenient excuse. "Yeah, erm, I was pretty feverish. And uh, like, really tired."

"But you're doing better?" Arthur enquired, his frown deepening as Justin swayed in place.

Brian wanted to tug the boy back to rest against him, but he resisted since he knew Justin wanted to handle this himself. 

"Um, I'll be okay," Justin completely downplayed the situation. "But er, I, uh," he dithered, finding it difficult to tender his resignation. He really hated to disappoint the man who'd given him his first real job. Well, besides the diner, but Deb was family, so that wasn't quite the same.

"Are you worried about your pay being docked?" Arthur asked. "Don't be; you worked most of your shift last night, so you'll get the full amount."

Now the blond teen felt like even more of a heel. His memory of last night was hazy, but he couldn't have danced for more than two hours, if that. He couldn't keep up the go-go boy gig, though; it really was too much. Should he go for the exhaustion angle? Arthur had noticed how tired he was, so that might work. "Um, I just, like, am really beat all the time, you know? I've been having a hard time at school," he fudged, purposely leaving Arthur to assume that it was because of his job at Babylon.

Smythe braced his chin on one hand, his fingers rasping against a bit of light stubble as he rubbed contemplatively. "Aren't you on break now?" he asked. "With you on top of the bar, I anticipate Babylon at Christmas will be more popular than ever."

Shit. His hint must've been too vague. "Um, the doctor says I need to rest," Justin claimed.

Brian hid a smile. The lad was doing a good job of skirting the truth, as far as the reason he needed rest anyroad. Regardless, the twat wasn't stretching the truth all that much since Brian was certain Dr Singh would not approve of the boy doing something as strenuous as go-go dancing anytime soon.

Digging deep, Justin went for it. "I'm really sorry, Mr Smythe. I just can't keep dancing for you. I know I haven't been here very long, and I hate to quit on you with no notice, but I can't do it and keep up with everything."

"None of that ‘mister' stuff," Arthur scolded with a genial smile. "I'd hate to see you go as well."

Of course he would, Brian mused cynically. Patrons crowded around the bar like bees to honey when Justin danced.

"Instead of quitting, how about cutting back to one night a week, except for special occasions?" With every appearance of genuine concern, Arthur insisted, "I want you to rest up and get over whatever ails you-"

This time Brian didn't try to hide his snort. 

The club owner ignored Brian, and his gaze pinned on Justin, continued, "-and then come in for either Christmas Eve or Christmas night - your choice. I promise you'll really rake in the tips on either night - way more than you have yet."

Right, Brian thought cynically. And so would the club, meaning Smythe would be swimming in dough. Justin wasn't the only draw for the club, but he was very much the ‘it boy' right now, meaning the patrons would forking out money hand over fist for drinks as they bellied up to the bar.

For the first time, the teen felt a little suspicious of the man's motives. He looked like shit, as Smythe had confirmed when they entered his office a few minutes ago. So why was he pushing Justin to dance at Christmastime? 

"Um, I really can't," he declined. "I just don't have enough time to keep up with everything. I've got a lot of work to do for next semester." That was the God's honest truth even if it was more to prepare for CLEP exams than for his studies at St James. "Plus, uh, my mum would skin me alive if I'm not at home to celebrate."

Brian almost burst out laughing. If the lad only knew. He was in for a verbal hiding in any case. It was possible, however, that hearing Justin had quit the dance gig would help him avoid a second scalping.

Smythe sighed in defeat before bestowing a lopsided smile on Justin. "Then I suppose I'll have to accept your resignation."

"Thanks, Mr- uh, Arthur," Justin corrected himself when the club owner shook his head at him. "I do appreciate that you took a chance on me, and I really am sorry for the short notice."

"Don't fash yourself about it, lad," Smythe ordered. "I should have known that I wouldn't be able to keep someone of your calibre. You've been punctual and you haven't tried to stretch out your breaks, unlike a few of the dancers."

What calibre? Justin wondered. He didn't think he'd been very dependable. The other dancers must be really unreliable if he'd managed to set some kind of standard in less than a month, during which he danced only two nights a week.

"Go-go boys come and go all the time." Smythe shrugged philosophically. "There's always lots of turnover."

No surprise in Brian's opinion, considering the young men had to drug themselves to get through a strenuous night of dancing on top of their studies - a good number of them were college students - or on top of the other jobs they held to make ends meet. Then there were the ones who danced so they could get more of the drugs they were hooked on. It was doubtless only having their senses dulled by drugs that enabled the go-go boys to tolerate pushy, handsy patrons, rather than brushing the losers off and sending them to another club for their ‘entertainment.'

"Thanks," Justin repeated, not knowing what else to say and grateful that Arthur was being so nice about him suddenly quitting.

"If you'd like, you can pick up your final paycheck on Tuesday-"

"You eat lunch, Smythe?" Brian intervened.

A bemused expression on his face, the man replied, "I've been known to do that."

"Then why don't you bring the lad's check to the Liberty Diner on Tuesday?" 

Smythe looked at the teenager. "I wouldn't mind lunching at the diner. It's been a while since I was there. I tend to take a bit of a late lunch; would one o'clock suit you, Justin?"

"Yes, it would," Justin answered, smiling more easily than he had since entering the club. 

"Tuesday, one o'clock," Arthur confirmed, getting up from behind his desk and coming around to shake Justin's hand. "You take care of yourself till then, okay?" He followed up the handshake with a gentle clap of his right hand to Justin's shoulder.

Christ, the man was good, Brian thought begrudgingly. His voice dripped with concern and his expression was caring.

"Kinney," the club owner acknowledged Brian for the first time, sticking out his hand for the brunet to shake.

"Smythe," Brian replied smoothly, accepting his hand and giving it a firm shake. He'd pressed the flesh with worse snake oil salesmen than this one, smiling the whole time.

The older man held the door open for them and watched as they haltingly made their way back down the stairs, one step at a time.

Justin was feeling wobblier than before as they made their way outside, the door swinging to behind them. He stopped for a second, inhaling deeply and then watching as his exhalation formed a little cloud in the air. "Thanks," he mumbled, bumping Brian's right arm with his shoulder, beyond glad to have that over with.

"Don't be a twat." Like getting Smythe to come to the diner with the lad's last paycheck was a big deal.

Justin rewarded him with a weak giggle but didn't say anything else.

Relieved when the boy didn't gush about it like an overly sentimental lesbian, Brian directed, "C'mon, the jeep's over here." 

In short order, he had the boy settled in the passenger seat. Cranking up the engine, Brian waited while the vehicle warmed up and the windows defrosted. He didn't give a fuck if he was polluting the air; he just wanted Justin to stop shivering.

"Feels good," Justin murmured, his eyes sliding shut as he soaked up the heat pouring out of the vents in the dashboard.

By the time Brian pulled over to the curb in front of the pharmacy mere minutes later, the boy was emitting a soft snore, his head lolling to one side against the headrest, blond hair slightly mussed. The older man smiled softly before hopping out of the jeep and striding through the sliding doors into the pharmacy. No need to wake the lad and ask for his ID; the prescription Brian had in his wallet should be enough. 

After traipsing to the back of the CVS, Brian waited in line to hand in the prescription, tapping the toe of one Timberland boot impatiently against the lino. What the fuck were so many people doing here on a Sunday afternoon anyway?

He inched forward at a snail's pace until there was only one person left in line in front of him. It took the clerk forever to go through the process of checking whether the customer wanted to consult with the chemist and for the woman to go through a nasally litany of complaints about the cost of her medications, before she finally paid and turned around, a paper bag filled with prescriptions clutched in one hand.

Brian took a step toward the window and then stopped, horrified, when the woman let out a mighty sneeze - all over his peacoat and jumper.

"I'm so s'rry!" the woman exclaimed, sounding like she'd been on a three-day bender. She belatedly raised a sodden wad of tissues to her red nose before following the apology with another sneeze, scurrying away when Brian glared at her.

If he caught another fuckin' cold, he was going to track her down and strangle the careless git, Brian direfully thought.

"Here." The kid behind the glass partition handed him a couple of wet wipes, wincing in sympathy at the mucousy mess on Brian's chest.

"It'll be about eight minutes," the youngster said after Brian had wiped himself off, tossed the wet wipes, and presented the prescription.

"Fine," Brian grunted. He'd search out the ice packs in the meantime and pay for them along with the medication.

When he returned with a package containing a half-dozen ice packs and three bottles of extra-strength aspirin, the clerk yelled, "Mr Tregennis! The bloke who turned in the prescription for Justin Taylor is back!"

Seconds later, a slender, grey-haired man wearing a white lab coat with CVS embroidered on the pocket walked up to the counter. Peering at the ad exec over his half-moon spectacles, he stated the obvious, "You're not Mr Taylor."

"He's my partner," Brian said smoothly, no hitch in his voice.

"Hmm."

Brian narrowed his eyes at the chemist. What was the man doing working at this CVS if he had a problem with gay customers?

Turned out he had jumped to the wrong conclusion when Tregennis calmly remarked, "I know the young Mr Taylor. I've been dispensing his medications for years. This antibiotic prescription is genuine - I double-checked with Allegheny General - but it would be remiss of me not to ask for some kind of verification that Justin's the one filling it."

Dumping the items he planned to purchase on the counter, Brian grunted, "Follow me." Shit, he mused as he strode back to the jeep, he and the blond twat were gonna need POAs or something if they wanted to avoid this kind of annoyance in the future.

Brian rapped smartly on the lightly fogged passenger window to wake the boy up. 

Blinking gummy eyes open, Justin looked at his lover in confusion. "Wha-" he mumbled, belatedly noticing Brian's signal to roll the window down. He fumbled for a moment with the knob before he succeeded in lowering the window. "Mr Tregennis?" he then asked, still bewildered until it kicked in that he was in the jeep in front of the local CVS. He must've totally zonked out...

Tregennis frowned in concern as he took in Justin's wan, clammy visage. "From the looks of you, you should be resting, young man," he admonished the teen.

Justin smiled, recalling the druggist expressing similar sentiments more than once during his childhood. "I have been," he assured Tregennis. "I just wanted to get my meds on the way to my mum's house."

"I take it this gentleman hasn't nicked your prescription, then." Tregennis chuckled as he gestured at Brian.

Brian mentally rolled his eyes in disgust but then reckoned the chemist was right to be cautious; there was a thriving market for illegally resold prescription drugs.

"Do you need any advice on how to treat the problem?" Tregennis enquired.

"Erm, no." Justin could feel a red tint suffusing his cheeks as he scrambled to explain. "I just need to, uh, clear up an infection. I have some, um, swelling in a private place."

"The lad's got swelling and bruising on his kneecaps too," Brian interjected. "What do you recommend to reduce that?"

"Ice," Tregennis promptly replied. "It's the best treatment available. You left some packs on the counter, I believe, Mr..."

Justin groaned, unable to bear the thought of icing more than one area.

"Kinney." Brian grinned, holding out a hand for the druggist to shake. "That's what I suspected, although I hated to dash the lad's hopes by saying so." 

"Mortimer Tregennis," the chemist responded. "I would have introduced myself sooner, Mr Kinney, but I needed to be sure you were legitimately acting on Mr Taylor's behalf."

"I'm already using ice in that, ehm, spot I mentioned," Justin objected. "Is there really nothing else that would help my knees?"

"You could try a first aid ointment," Tregennis allowed. "It would feel soothing even if it doesn't do anything to reduce the swelling."

Justin turned beseeching blue eyes on Brian.

"I've got it, brat." Brian heaved a put-upon sigh as if he were going to a vast amount of trouble. 

Justin smirked at him knowingly before turning to Mr Tregennis to thank him for his help. The man had been dispensing medications to the Taylor family for as long as he could remember... but that had been at the Allegheny Pharmacy near the Taylor house, not here in the heart of the gaybourhood, it suddenly dawned on him. Distressed by the aftermath of the burglary, he hadn't even thought about it when he picked up his prescriptions soon after Brian's loft was robbed. "What are you doing here?" he blurted at Tregennis instead of the intended thank you.

What had caused the twat to ask such an inane question? Brian wondered.

"Here?" The chemist raised his eyebrows. "Checking on your well-being, young man."

The red hue on Justin's face deepened to crimson. "Uh, I mean at this CVS."

Tregennis' brown eyes twinkled as he looked at the teenager. "Have you just realised this isn't where you used to consult with me?"

Justin nodded, wondering if it was possible to be any more embarrassed.

"I transferred when CVS bought out the Allegheny chain," Tregennis explained. "I've always liked the vibrancy of this neighbourhood. My wife does too."

Huh, that was kinda cool. Justin hadn't expected any straights except Deb to actually like this area. "Thanks for your help, Mr Tregennis," he expressed his overdue appreciation for the way the pharmacist had looked out for him.

"You're welcome, Justin." Tregennis smiled warmly before gesturing for Brian to precede him back into the drugstore.

He wasn't as comfortable as Justin with straight people invading his neighbourhood, Brian mused while covering the short distance to Debbie's house, but Tregennis seemed okay. Tregennis - and probably his wife - didn't look at the denizens of Liberty Avenue like they were on exhibit at the zoo, unlike many heteros he'd encountered. 

The chemist had seemed perfectly relaxed as he led Brian back to the pharmacy counter, not batting an eye when a garishly bewigged drag queen stopped them to ask where she'd find the ‘feminine necessities.' After Tregennis told her the aisle, she'd offered to ‘show him a good time.' The pharmacist had patted her on the hand and replied, infusing his tone with just the right amount of regret, that he was already taken.

Then Tregennis had taken the time to point out the salve he thought Justin would like best, assuring Brian it wouldn't cause an allergic reaction. The smile the chemist had bestowed on Brian after he personally rang up his purchases was genuinely friendly, Tregennis telling him to take care of young Taylor because "that lad is a good one."

Now, Brian scowled as he cruised down the street in front of Debbie's house and took heed of all the cars parked there and realised his parking karma hadn't perceptibly improved. So much for his speculation that having a weak, injured Justin in the jeep would make a difference, especially after parking so close to the CVS entrance. He smirked, though, as he decided to just park in the driveway; no way would Theodore find a spot as good as this one.

Brian's smirk grew as he watched Justin slink down in his seat. "Time to face the music - and the ice," he needled the boy. The more people who drove home how stupid he'd been, the less likely Justin would be to ever take drugs from an unknown source again. Debbie would make an excellent backup, he reckoned, giving the kid a real earful. She might even swat the brat upside the head, which would serve as an effective reminder to never get so fuckin' munted ever again.

He'd barely gotten Justin out of the jeep when the front door flew open, thudding against the wall in the entryway as Debs charged out of the house. Leaving the door wide open behind her, the redhead stomped across the snow-crusted lawn, launching into a tirade before she reached them.

"Where the fuck have you been?" she shrieked.

With a quick glance to make sure Justin could brace himself against the passenger door, Brian stepped out of the line of fire. He cocked a hip against the hood of the jeep and settled in to enjoy the show.

"I've been worried sick!" The irate redhead planted herself in front of Justin and shook a royal blue-tipped finger in Justin's face. 

Debbie should stick to red nail polish, Brian thought irrelevantly.

"I hardly slept a wink, waiting for the creak of the stairs to tell me you were home! Why the fuck didn't you call, Sunshine?"

Justin stood there with his mouth open, unable to utter a single word, feeling like the lowest kind of scum. How could he have done that to his mum?

"I guessed you were with Brian, but no one responded to my calls to his mobile or the landline at the loft." Deb briefly switched her glare from Justin to Brian, letting the brunet know he wasn't going to get off blame-free.

Brian vaguely recalled turning off the ringer on the landline in the wee hours, wanting to ensure he and Justin wouldn't be disturbed. He'd forgotten all about it, never turning it back on. His cell phone should've rung, though. When Debbie focused her ire back on Justin, Brian surreptitiously scooped his mobile out of his pocket. Shit. The battery was dead. He was definitely in for a lecture later on.

"After the last time, you promised you'd call if you were gonna be out overnight," Debbie expostulated, her face bright red with fury. 

What last time? Brian wanted to know, his eyes zeroing in on the guilty-looking blond.

"But did you call?" Deb ranted, her curls bouncing wildly as she shook her head. "No, you didn't. Not for the third fucking time!" 

Brian didn't think he'd seen his surrogate mother this mad since his senior year in high school when he was climbing up to Michael's room at three in the morning, his drunk best friend clinging to him like a limpet. Everything was going fine until the fucking trellis broke, dumping both of them into the rose bushes. Mikey had yelled so loud he woke up half the neighbourhood.

"Well?" Deb shouted at the cowering teenager. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Evidently too incensed to wait for an answer, she reached out and boxed his ears.

Brian immediately pushed off the jeep when Justin swayed alarmingly. Forgetting that Deb could fly off the handle faster than a muncher on the rag, he hadn't calculated on her reacting quite so forcefully from the get-go. He'd reckoned she might greet the brat with one of her ‘love taps,' but nothing this extreme.

Slipping an arm around Justin's waist, Brian scowled at the furious woman. "For fuck's sake, Deb, the kid's hurt."

"Sunshine?" Debbie's eyes went wide in horror as she finally took in Justin's wan face and unsteady stance. "What's wrong? Where are you hurt?"

His face smushed sideways against Brian's chest, Justin didn't dare look at his mum or say anything, certain the tears would start falling if he did so.

"I shouldn't have hit you," the motherly woman apologised, her shame evident. "I was just getting so frant-"

"I deserved it," Justin cut in, flicking a glance at Debbie, his eyes swimming with tears. "Are you gonna chuck me out?"

"What? How could you think-"

"You haven't heard the worst of it," the dejected teenager mumbled, still convinced he'd be evicted. "You aren't gonna want me around."

"Honey. Sunshine." Debs looked even more devastated at hearing that. Outstretching a shaking hand, she patted him on the cheek. "There's nothing you could do that would make me kick you out, okay?"

One tear and then another spilled out of blue eyes, Justin curling in on himself forlornly.

Christ, what a shitshow, Brian thought as he held the boy up. This had gotten entirely out of hand, so it was up to him to unravel the mess. Vic could usually be counted on to keep a level head, so maybe between them, they could calm down the two drama queens. "Why don't we take this inside?" he suggested, doing his level best to keep his voice mild. 

"Yeah, okay," Debs agreed, her hands fluttering uselessly in the air before falling to her sides. 

Great. Now the normally feisty woman looked as woebegone as Justin, her feet dragging as she led the way into the house.

Once they were inside, Debbie shut the front door quietly, unlike the violence with which she'd opened it. Bypassing the kitchen, she entered the living room, crossed in front of Vic, and sagged down on her recliner.

"Christ, Sis," Vic carped, using the remote to mute the show on the telly. "It's colder than a witch's tit in here. What was all the yelling about anyway?"

"It's 'cause of me," Justin confessed, his shoulders slumped as he resisted Brian's efforts to move him toward the sofa. He'd also refused Brian's offer to get him out of his threadbare jacket, convinced he would be gone shortly.

Vic's head snapped around. "Kiddo," he started, "Debbie's been wearing a hole in the carpet..." He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he examined the teen. "You look like you're about to keel over. Even that pert arse of yours is sagging."

When his joke fell flat, no one so much as essaying a smile, he ordered, "Sit your fanny down and tell me what's going on."

Justin still didn't want to budge, only reluctantly allowing Brian to guide him over to the sofa. The stress from how he'd been greeted by Debbie momentarily making him forget about his sore balls, he slipped out from under Brian's arm and flopped down, way too fast and hard. "Fuck!" he groaned, flailing about for Brian's arm so he could lever himself back up.

Fine time for the brat to go slippery as an eel, Brian thought, huffing out a laugh when both Deb and Vic jumped up, hovering over Justin along with him.

Justin let out another cry of pain, beads of perspiration joining the tears flowing down his cheeks. "I pinched it," he panted.

"Lemme have your jacket," Brian demanded, not about to brook any more objections.

In too much agony to fight him, Justin allowed him to slide one arm out of the sleeve and then the other.

Brian heard a tearing sound as he pulled the left cuff over the boy's hand. Good riddance, he thought when he saw that the knit cuff had separated from the sleeve. He'd just make an early Christmas present of a replacement jacket. The boy shouldn't be going anywhere for a day or two, which would give Brian a chance to find something decent that didn't look like it came from the Salvation Army store.

"Roll over on your side," he instructed once he'd freed the boy from the tattered garment, tossing it on the floor next to the sofa. "That's right," he approved. "Now scooch down a tad." Once the lad was in a better position, his head resting on a mound of pillows in clashing colours, Brian grabbed the fugly orange and purple afghan from the back of the couch, folded it up, and placed it between Justin's legs, easing the pressure on the boy's scrotum.

"You got an ice pack in the freezer?" Brian asked, knowing Debs kept on hand all sorts of products to ease Vic's aches and pains.

His question clashed with Debbie loudly inquiring, "What the fuck's wrong with Sunshine?"

Vic stumped off to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "I'll get it."

Brian ignored the redhead's half-plaintive, half-demanding, "Well?" as he waited for Vic, who returned in moments carrying both the ice pack and a couple of kitchen towels. 

Nodding his thanks, Brian accepted the items, wrapping one of the towels around the ice pack before snugging it up next to Justin's balls. 

"Better?" he asked as he used the second towel to wipe some of the moisture off the kid's face.

"Mmm," was all Justin could manage by way of a response.

"Nausea," Vic observed contemplatively, "dizziness, body aches, fever. Add in the pain in your groin, and that sounds less like a stomach bug and more like you got bashed in the nuts, Kiddo."

Brian huffed out another laugh, this one bitter, as he sat down on the end of the couch. Talk about an apt description. Removing Justin's sneakers, he lifted the boy's feet onto his lap and began to massage them through the too-large pair of Brian's socks the teen was wearing. 

"Yeah," Justin mumbled.

"It has to be pretty severe - way more than a knee to your groin, or even a kick in the balls - for the symptoms to last this long," Vic continued.

"Wait a minute." Planting one ample buttock on the edge of the couch, Debbie probed, "Were you mugged or something? Why the heck didn't you tell us, Sunshine? We coulda helped you."

"I- it's gonna sound stupid," Justin admitted, beginning to feel more coherent as the ice numbed his balls yet again. "I thought you wouldn't let me take my finals, you know?" He couldn't look at Debbie as he tacked on, "And now you're not gonna want me around at all."

"Honey, didn't you hear me?" the redhead yelled, gesticulating wildly with one hand, while she smoothed a couple wayward strands of blond hair back from his forehead. "You're family. This is your home. Nothing you could do would make me toss you out."

She directed a piercing stare at Brian, and he squirmed, reminded of his less than stellar behaviour in throwing Justin out of the loft six weeks ago.

Vic perched on the edge of Debbie's recliner, which was closer to the sofa than his, and recommended, "Why don't you tell us what happened, Kiddo? We might yell at you a little-"

That drew a reluctant laugh from his sister.

"-but like Sis said, we're not going to stop loving you. And we'd never toss you out on your ear. Not even on that nicely padded bubble butt of yours," Vic took another stab at lightening things up.

A weak smile flitted across Justin's face.

"That's better," Deb cooed. "You've gotta learn to ignore that Italian temper of mine, Sunshine. You wouldn't believe the trouble it gets me into, even with people who know-"

A snort escaped Brian before he could disguise it as a cough.

The redhead's saccharine-sweet voice promptly turned chiding. "Don't think you're off the hook, buster!" she threatened, jabbing a blue talon in Brian's direction. "You shoulda called me if the kid couldn't. You've known the house rules since you were a cocky fourteen-year-old!"

"He's still cocky, Sis," Vic chortled, smirking at Brian.

"Not Brian's fault," Justin muttered, tugging on Debbie's sleeve. "He didn't know what was going on."

He should have, though, Brian thought sourly, blaming himself more than Debbie ever could. The stubborn little twat could've been permanently damaged.

The stubborn twat chose that moment to say, "I promised Carl-"

Debbie, who'd just started to calm down, shrieked, "Carl! Why would Carl know what's going on when I don't?"

Jesus Christ. Brian rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand. "'Cause I called him, okay?"

"He called 'cause I was bein' stupid!" Justin shouted before adding more quietly, "I promised the detective that I'd report to him if I was bullied again. Then I went and made it way worse at-"

Vic forestalled another shriek from his sister. "That same bully-boy jock again?"

Justin nodded, willing back the fresh tears he could feel pressing against his eyelids.

"Why don't you start with what happened at St James and go on from there?" Vic suggested.

The teenager opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"Go on, Sunshine," Debbie urged. "I'm already mad, so let's just get it over with, okay?"

Not exactly reassured, Justin nevertheless launched into the tale of what had happened in the school cafeteria on Thursday. "I was afraid you'd stop me from going to St James on Fri-"

"You're bloody well right about that, Sunshine." Debbie gave the teen a stern look. "Nothing's more important than your health, and you were obviously hurt. I'd have whisked you off to the doctor." She paused, her lips twisting, before adding, "Once I cottoned on that you were pulling the wool over Vic's and my eyes, that is."

"I had to go in." Justin turned beseeching eyes on both siblings, imploring them to understand. "I probably could have arranged to sit the physics exam later on - Mr Horner's a pretty nice guy - but Dixon would've fucked me over for good if I missed my calculus final."

"Kids are gonna get sick during finals, just like any other time of year," Deb scoffed. "That school's got to have a policy about make-ups."

Vic interposed, "Keep in mind we're talking about St James, Sis. They don't necessarily apply the rules evenly."

Justin nodded vehemently. "Dickhead's got it in for me. He'd insist I was just slacking off and would make it practically impossible for me to make up the exam. And Jerkins would back him up."

Brian let out a low growl. Bunch of fucking homophobes.

Deb floundered for a response for a couple of beats. "I might have let you go in for your finals, provided you saw a doctor on Thursday afternoon and they okayed it. But you sure as heck wouldn't have gone anywhere near Babylon, not unless you wanted to be ground-"

As if it had just now struck him, Vic whistled, "Jesus, ragazzo, you got through a day and a half at school with an excruciating injury like that?"

It was pretty fuckin' incredible, Brian mused. He might've survived shiners and broken bones, but he'd never had to tough out an injury to his manhood.

Justin's eyes darted from one sibling to the other, startled when Vic winked at him. Vic must've purposely intervened to try and keep him from being grounded. It was never gonna work, though, what with the most dire part of his confession yet to come. As long as Deb would let him stay, that was fine with him. His mum could dish out any punishment she wanted.

"That's not the worst part," he blurted out, wanting to get it over with. "I took drugs!"

"Huh?" Deb looked bewildered for a second. Then her eyes narrowed as she studied the teen. "I take it we're not talking about aspirin."

"No, stuff I got from one of the other go-go boys at Babylon." With that, Justin segued into the tale of how he'd taken some kind of pill - uppers, he thought - along with a mysterious white powder on Friday night.

"Those pills he gave you," Deb prodded, her voice dangerously quiet; "did you take any of them in this house?"

Justin could feel his throat closing up. "Yeah, in the morning when I got up," he forced out. He was sure his mum was gonna blast him for downing drugs here, but she surprised him.

"How did you manage to hoodwink me like that?" Debs wailed. She buried her face in her hands and tugged at her red curls, pulling her wig askew. "I should have known something was seriously wrong, especially since you had no appetite. Teenagers are always famished!"

Even he'd been a bottomless pit, Brian silently acknowledged. Once he'd finished his undergrad degree, however, he didn't dare eat as much, no longer burning off the calories with daily soccer practises.

"What about later in the day?" Vic enquired. "Sis was sure you wouldn't make it through your shift at the diner, and that you'd call in sick to Babylon."

"Just one more," Justin admitted. "It didn't seem like it had any effect, though."

"So you took more of the white powder?" Vic guessed.

"Yeah," Justin whispered, ashamed of himself all over again. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly, but I still coulda said no when Sven pushed the baggie at me."

Deb gasped, "Jesus fuckin' Christ. Did you down the whole thing?"

"No, I just inhaled a tiny bit of it," Justin divulged. "That was enough to make me, like, totally out of it, though. I barely knew what I was doing or where I was."

While Justin related the story, which Brian had heard a couple times at this stage, he alternated between watching Vic and Debbie's reactions. He didn't want the fiery redhead to blow up at Justin again. Put the fear of God into him, sure, but not terrorise the lad so badly that he thought he was gonna lose the only home he had - until Brian coaxed him back to the loft for good. Brian noted the way the older man's brow furrowed as though there was something troubling him that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It made Brian feel like he was missing something too, but he wasn't sure what it could be. 

"Mixing drugs of dubious quality is a surefire way to get yourself into trouble," Vic intoned. "Never mind that you got them from someone you barely know, who's doubtless pushing the stuff to make a quick buck."

"I was such a dumbass," Justin moaned. "That's how I ended up at the ER."

"At the ER!" Debbie echoed. 

Brian shook his head in an effort to get rid of the tinny ringing in his ears. He worried for a second that he had tinnitus, before realising the noise had been caused by Deb's high-pitched screech.

"You look like you're at death's door! Was the doctor incompetent or something? What was the diagnosis? Why didn't they put you up in the hospital overnight? Did you get anything for the pain?" Deb bombarded the teenager with questions, barely pausing to take a breath. "Were you worried about paying? Vic and I would come up with money, you know."

There was no way to stop the tears then. With a loud gulp, Justin buried his face in Debbie's lap and sobbed his heart out.

Cradling Justin's head in her arms, the motherly woman also burst into tears. 

Ridiculously, Brian felt something or other pricking at his eyelids. Kid's allergies must be contagious, he thought, biting at his lower lip to distract himself from the odd sensation.

Fuck knew how long it took before the crying tapered off and Vic managed to make himself heard. "What did the ER doctor say?" he demanded.

"That I was really lucky not to lose a ball," Justin choked out, his face a blotchy red as he raised it from Deb's lap. "I had to have an MRI and everything." He shuddered, recalling his experience in radiology. He never wanted to go anywhere near Darth ever again. "It was, like, a really near thing. I'm gonna be okay, though," he hastily tacked on when he saw how shocked and worried his mum and Vic looked. "Dr Singh was sure of it."

"Shit. I knew you were lying to me about something," Debbie wailed, hugging Justin to her bosom. "I just couldn't figure out what. You're a fuckin' teenage boy; I should've made you tell me what was going on. Some loco parentis I am!"

Brian feigned a coughing attack to hide the laughter that welled up.

"There's no one I'd rather have as a parent," Justin protested through a watery smile as soon as Deb eased her grip. "I'm so sorry for lying and worrying you, Mum."

"Oh, honey!" the redhead exclaimed, holding her hands to her chest. She then started wailing even louder as she hugged the bejeezus out of Justin. She rocked back and forth, the blond's face again smushed against her chest. 

Struggling to breathe, Justin was at a loss as to what he'd said wrong.

"Sis!" Vic yelled. "You wanna asphyxiate the lad?"

Debbie let go of Justin, whose head thumped back down on the throw pillows. The teenager was embarrassed to see what looked suspiciously like snot staining her bright purple T-shirt.

"Did I hurt you, Kiddo?" the motherly woman asked while frantically patting him down.

"No, but I-" Justin broke off, glancing at the gigantic wet spot he'd left on Deb's tee.

"Pshaw," the redhead dismissed the mess. "This is nothing. Unlike a baby's nappy," she cackled.

Brian grimaced, thinking of what Gus regularly produced.

"That doctor was really sure you're going to be okay?" Debbie questioned anxiously, her eyes travelling over Justin's clothed frame.

"Really truly," the blond boy hastened to reassure her. "The MRI showed I don't have a-" He struggled to remember what the Indian doctor had said before dredging up, "-tunical rupture."

"A what?"

Vic jumped in, explaining, "That's a tear in the membrane surrounding the testicle."

Brian was surprised Vic was familiar with the term, but then he realised that the other man had probably learned all sorts of shit he'd rather not know, all because he had HIV.

"I bet that MRI hurt." Vic reached over and patted Justin on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Justin agreed, leaving it at that. He didn't want to make his mum feel any worse about not catching on that something was wrong. He didn't want to relive his time with Darth either. "Dr Singh gave me a prescription for an antibiotic, to prevent infection," Justin went on, "and I can take extra-strength aspirin. Um, I forget how often." Some of the ER doctor's instructions had been lost to a haze of pain and exhaustion.

"Two tablets every six hours, not to exceed eight tablets in twenty-four hours," Brian recited.

Justin shot his lover a grateful smile. "Brian's been keeping track for me."

"What else?" Deb prompted.

"I'm supposed to elevate my, erm, balls. You know, so they don't rub against anything and hurt more." The lad blushed, wondering if he'd ever get over the embarrassment of mentioning his private parts around Deb and Vic. An involuntary shiver wracked his body as he concluded, "And I have to ice my groin - a lot." 

"It helps though, right?" Debbie arched an eyebrow at Justin. "Numbs you right up?"

"Yeah," the lad acknowledged. "It's just really cold."

"Men are such pussies," the motherly woman pooh-poohed his complaint. "You lot can't handle anything - a toothache, the sniffles, or a scraped knee. Women just take it in stride and keep on truckin'."

The raillery comforted Justin, who snuggled down deeper into the couch. The way his mum fussed over him, arranging another one of the eye-searing crocheted throws over him and tucking the ends in close to his body betrayed how much she cared.

Christ, Brian mused wryly, the muppet had all of them whipped. They all succumbed to the urge to pamper the kid, whether he needed it or not. 

"I don't reckon there's any point in grounding you," Debbie reflected. "Not as long as you've learned your lesson anyroad."

Brian hid a sigh of relief. Thank fuck the boy wasn't grounded. That would interfere with Operation Twat Retrieval, right when it was nearing completion.

"I'm never doing drugs again," Justin swore. "No way."

"Never's a tad extreme," Debbie noted, "so I won't hold you to that. Just stay away from the hard stuff, make sure you're with people you trust if you toke or whatever, and don't, for fuck's sake, accept dope from strangers. Capisci?"

"Capito," Justin agreed. Just the thought of sharing a joint with Brian made his stomach roil, so he couldn't imagine it happening anytime soon.

"There's one other promise you'd better keep in the future," Vic interposed. "You've been shite at it so far."

The teenager blanched, unused to Vic acting so strict.

"You'll immediately inform Horvath if there's any more bullying," Vic instructed. "I don't care if it's just a bit of taunting. You'll report it right away, regardless of whether it interferes with an exam or anything else."

This was what a bobblehead doll must feel like, Justin guessed, his head bobbing rapidly down and up. "I promise," he vowed, doing his best to suppress another upsurge of tears.

"Good. See that you keep your word - this time."

Brian nodded in approval of the way the siblings were hammering home what Justin needed to do.

"What you won't be doing is working for the next couple of days," Debbie mandated.

"But you'll be shorthanded," Justin objected.

"You should have thought about that before you got yourself into such a fix!" Debbie snapped, again shaking a chiding finger at him. 

Justin quailed at the irate tone. Shit, he didn't want to get his mum's back up all over again. "I'm sorry," he apologised. 

"Guess we'll have to make do without you," the redhead harrumphed, "just like that good-for-nothing manager at Babylon - Smitty or whatever-the-fuck."

In spite of the horrid predicament he'd gotten himself into, the lad unexpectedly wanted to laugh. Did Brian's inability to remember names stem from the feisty redhead? he wondered. "Oh!" he exclaimed, realising there was something important he'd forgotten to convey.

The redhead glowered at him. "You'd better not be thinking you're gonna darken the door to Babylon tomorrow - or anytime this year, in fact."

"I won't," the lad promised. "I won't do that ever again."

"No, you'll-" Debbie cut herself short, staring at the boy in puzzlement. "Whaddaya mean, ‘ever again'?"

"I handed in my resignation," Justin informed her. "Like, half an hour ago."

Deb's head whipped to the side as she looked at Brian for confirmation.

Brian nodded in agreement. "Smitty tried to convince him to stay, but the lad was having none of it." 

"'Bout time you wised up!" 

His mum wasn't gonna let go of her mad quite that easily, Justin realised. "Yeah," he acknowledged, looking at the other three. "You were all right. It was too much. I was stup-" He broke off, afraid he was gonna burst out in tears - again.

"Good for you for quitting Babylon, Sunshine," Debbie choked out. "I wish you'd figured it out sooner, but well, I'm proud of you." She gave Justin's arm a squeeze, beaming at him through watery blue eyes.

"Me too," Vic chimed in. "We know you want to prove you can take care of yourself, Kiddo, but you're still a kid. You don't have to bust your balls to prove anything to us, you hear? We'll be just as proud of you if you don't work at all and concentrate on your studies."

"That's right," his sister promptly concurred.

Justin blinked rapidly, staving off the tears. He was so fucking lucky to have Deb and Vic in his life. 

In contrast, Brian narrowed his eyes at the brother-sister duo. What the heck were they suggesting? Not working at all? The overachieving little twat would go stir crazy.

Before the adman could work himself into a tizzy - he needed the lad for his new agency - Justin spoke up, "I want work, just not the go-go thing." He'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.

"You wanna to do anything besides lounge around the house and rest those big fuckin' cojones of yours, you'll run it by me. You hear?" Debbie lifted both eyebrows and drilled Justin with a no-nonsense gaze.

"Got it," Justin squeaked.

"When I do okay you to come back, you'll be on a light schedule, regardless of whether you claim to ‘feel better.'"

He was gonna have some work to do to get Debbie to fully trust him again, the blond lad realised. He was just lucky to have escaped without a more dire punishment. Really, when he stopped to think about it, a couple days of rest didn't sound all that bad. Was it just yesterday morning he'd been craving a lie-in and Deb awakened him to bake cookies? he wondered in disbelief.

At the thought of cookies, Justin became aware of the enticing aromas which pervaded the house. Only panicking that his mum was gonna evict him could've made him so totally oblivious to the scent of baked goods, the ever-hungry teenager figured. His stomach rumbled in response and his nose twitched as he scented at the air like a hound.

Debbie shot a fondly exasperated look at him. "I suppose you'd like a couple of the biscuits I just baked," she commented tartly.

Justin widened his eyes. "Please, Mum," he pleaded.

"For fuck's sake," Debbie groused. She couldn't quite hide a smile, though, clearly tickled pink to be called ‘Mum' again. "Men. You can never stop wiping their arses for them."

"I wouldn't mind a cookie or two." Unaffected by the mockery, Vic waggled his eyebrows at his sister. "Maybe a couple of the molasses crinkles?"

"I reckon some cookies should make you feel right as rain, Kiddo," Debs allowed. "All of you." She shot a speaking glance at Brian.

Brian groaned, suspecting he was about to be drowned in platefuls of sweets.

Bustling toward the kitchen, the red-headed chef listed, "Besides the molasses crinkles, I've got pizzelles, amaretti, pignoli, zeppole, dead bones..."

Justin perked up, fascinated. What were ‘dead bones'?

"Sis stress baked," Vic informed them.

Brian nodded in understanding. He could recall similar occasions over the years - when it looked like Michael would have to repeat the eleventh grade; when Vic was first diagnosed; and when one of the hustlers regularly served breakfast at the diner vanished, with foul play suspected.

"Doesn't Debbie always bake loads for the holidays?" Justin asked, his brow creasing in confusion. It seemed like his mum had been in a baking frenzy practically since the day he moved in.

"Not from three in the morning till now."

A fresh wave of guilt washed over the teenager, his appetite for the baked goodies dwindling. "I'm sorry," he whimpered.

"Apology accepted. Don't worry; it'll be okay." Vic patted him on the shoulder again. "You fucked up big time, but you've learned a valuable lesson. Besides, you've made Debs happier than I've seen her in some time. She's never gonna forget the first time you called her 'Mum.'"

Justin searched Vic's face for a few seconds before deciding the older man was sincere. The dose of tough love from both siblings had been hard to take - he felt completely wrung out - but it also proved how much they cared. He didn't want to disappoint either of them ever again.

His mum trotted back into the room right then, and Justin looked up expectantly, his stomach letting out an anticipatory rumble. Instead of a plate of cookies, however, she was carrying Harley's cage, which she set down on the credenza.

"Hello, Jushun! Bad Boy!" Harley chirped.

Justin, who'd just opened his mouth to greet his feathered friend, went beet red, while everyone else burst out laughing.

"Bad Boy!" the budgie repeated before eyeing Brian. "Hellooo, Briaaan!" Harley cheerfully greeted the brunet. "Come, Baby."

Brian smirked at the cheeky parakeet, amused to have momentarily upstaged Justin in the bird's affections. He assumed Debbie had been teaching Harley the new phrase in-between sliding trays of biscuits in and out of the oven.

He raised an eyebrow at the redhead, surprised when she just shook her head and pointed at Vic.

Vic shrugged, a naughty gleam in his eyes. "What? I had to do something while Sis was baking. I sure as heck knew better than to set foot in the kitchen."

It was definitely better to stay out of Debbie's way when she was on a tear, Brian acknowledged. To go through the effort of teaching Harley to say ‘Bad Boy' in conjunction with ‘Jushun,' Vic must also have been a wee bit pissed off at the brat.

"Don't worry," Debs cackled after zipping back to the kitchen and returning with a tray piled high with biscuits, a carton of milk, a carafe of coffee, dessert plates, glasses, cups and saucers, and spoons. She plunked the tray down on the coffee table, assuring him, "You're still the original ‘bad boy,' Bri."

Brian could feel his cheeks blooming red. Fucking woman knew him too well, since she'd more than once overheard him claiming that he was going to be just like James Dean.

"Here you go, Sunshine." Debbie layered some of the cookies on a dessert plate, a couple of treats wobbling precariously as she transferred it to him. Next she poured a glass of milk and handed it to him.

Justin struggled to sit up while holding the plate and glass, but Debbie tut-tutted, "I'll have none of that, Kiddo. You stay right where you are. Just hold on a tick."

How the fuck was he supposed to eat? Justin wondered. There was nowhere for him to put his plate. He held it out to Brian, but his lover simply arched an eyebrow and did nothing to help him out. "It's not after seven o'clock," the frustrated boy hissed.

Brian grinned unrepentantly at him. It'd be impossible not to snitch one or two of the goodies if he was holding the plate. He didn't need the calories, especially before one of Debbie's carb-rich Sunday dinners. Outstretching an arm, he snagged the coffee carafe and poured some of the liquid into a cup before spooning up a bit of sugar and stirring it in.

Wait a sec... He set the cup and saucer down on the coffee table and snatched the glass of milk out of the teen's hand. "You shouldn't have this," he informed the blond. "Just like coffee, dairy products can interfere with the absorption of antibiotics." Not that he had ever let antibiotics stop him from drinking coffee, but the teen didn't need to know that.

Justin frowned, trying to remember what he'd learned in health class. "Isn't it okay if it's, like, a few hours after I took the antibiotic?"

"Vic, swap out that milk, would'ya?" Debbie called out, her head buried inside a cabinet.

"It's best to be safe," Vic backed up Brian's prohibition of milk. "You want the meds to work right don't you, Kiddo?" he asked. He picked up both Justin's glass and the carton of milk from the table, made his way to the kitchen, and returned in short order with a tall glass of water. After placing the glass on the table next to Justin, he retreated to his recliner.

The blond boy scrunched up his nose. Cookies would go so much better with milk. Or coffee. The ten-day course of antibiotics stretched seemingly endlessly in front of him.

Brian chuckled, obviously amused by his plight. The brunet made a big show of raising his cup of coffee to his mouth and taking a long slurp.

"Here they are!" Debbie cried out triumphantly, from where she'd been rooting around next to the tchotchke-bedecked credenza, Harley cocking his head in curiosity as he watched her. Deb triumphantly held aloft a couple of wooden breakfast trays with legs.

"Really, Mum, I can take care of myself," Justin protested half-heartedly as Debbie settled one of the trays over his lap, the legs raising the table just high enough that it didn't touch his body, other than the lightly brushing his hips on the sides. His objection was purely pro forma since he didn't actually want the fussing to stop.

"The same fine job you've been doing so far?" came the caustic reply. One red eyebrow winged up to Debbie's hairline as she eyeballed the lad.

Brian made a strangled noise that wasn't quite a laugh. The twat had walked right into that one.

"Ehm, which ones are the ‘dead bones'?" the lad hastily changed the subject. 

"Which do you think?" his mum countered.

Justin scanned the two biscuits he couldn't identify. One of them was sprinkled with seeds and looked kind of like an amaretti, just flatter. The other one was a misshapen blob that resembled a sugar cookie run amok. Neither one screamed ‘dead bones' at him, but if he had to guess... "That one?" he pointed at the blob.

This time it was Vic who spoke up. "Why that one?" 

"Besides this one" - one finger hovered over the seedy biscuit - "it's the only one I don't recognise," Justin admitted. "The one with the... seeds?" He paused, but when Debbie didn't contradict his assumption that they were some kind of seed, he continued, "It, um, doesn't look like a bone, although maybe the seeds are supposed to represent some kind of disease?" 

Brian chuckled along with Deb and Vic. Back when he'd been offered a ‘dead bone' for the first time, it was on the holiday when the cookie was traditionally served and the sweet was actually shaped like a bone, albeit a lopsided one.

The teen's ball throbbed a little, reminding him of his injury as he leaned forward for a closer look at both of the unidentified cookies. Thank fuck neither the seedy cookie nor the blobby one was round, he suddenly thought, blenching. It might not be a bone, but he'd bet his gonad looked equally as diseased and misshapen. Scarfing down some of Deb's biscuits no longer all that appealing, Justin let his head fall back against the throw pillows.

"Sunshine? What's wrong?" the motherly redhead wanted to know, her brow furrowing in concern as she noticed his sudden pallor. 

"Um, nothing?" Justin replied, summoning a tepid smile as he looked at Debbie.

Arms akimbo, fists planted on her hips, his mum demanded an answer. "Try again." 

"It's silly," Justin mumbled. He blushed, feeling stupid as his eyes flicked toward the plate of cookies that was only inches from his face. "I just... bones and diseases..." He flailed about for an explanation, gesturing vaguely toward his groin.

"Don't freak out, Twat," Brian teased, tongue-in-cheek. "They're not really bones. Or balls."

The light-hearted hectoring was just what Justin needed to partially recover his equilibrium. "I know!" he huffed, sticking his tongue out at his lover.

Brian shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He wished he could pounce on the kid and kiss the ever-living daylights out of him. Talk about having blue balls for totally different reasons...

"So," Vic quipped, "the other one looks like a bone?"

"Maybe a hip socket?" Justin replied doubtfully.

"Huh. Could be," Deb agreed, giving the cookie a sidelong glance. "That's a pretty good guess, Sunshine, considering you didn't have much to work with. ‘Ossa dei morti' are these clove-spiced cookies that you let rise overnight and then bake the next day."

"Sorta like biscotti?"

"Exactly." Debbie smiled at her culinary pupil. "Except they are shaped like bones and are mostly served on All Saints' Day, when Italians visit cemeteries to remember loved ones who are gone."

The teen shot a disconcerted look at his mum. That was kinda weird, and well, creepy.

Debbie chuckled. "It's our way of turning a sad occasion into a day of celebration," she clarified. "Instead of just remembering a bunch of saints, we bake up a pile of ‘dead bones' and take them with us to visit our relatives and friends who are waiting for us on the other side of the veil. We have a regular old chinwag with them - makes us feel closer to them, you know?"

Brian recalled Michael dragging him along to ‘chat' with his Nonna and Nonno the year they turned fifteen. Joan had been thrilled that he wanted to observe an important holy day, babbling nonsense about him making a priest yet. It still amused him that she'd been so deluded. Brian ended up having a good time ‘celebrating' the saints despite being less than excited about hanging out in a graveyard. It had been the start of a fucking cold November, their breath coming out in plumes as they sat on a picnic blanket munching on ossa dei morti, pignoli, and the gigantic meal Deb had crammed into a basket, votive candles placed on top of the family gravestones. Whilst he'd been pretty quiet, observing everyone around him, all sorts of Italians congregated in the cemetery, visiting back and forth and exchanging the food they'd made. It turned into a wacky 1st of November Italian picnic, with all of them stuffing in more food when they got back to Debbie's house.

Confused, Justin frowned down at the dead bones. "Do you eat the ‘ossa dei morti' through Christmas?"

"Not normally." Debbie shrugged. "But Vic and I both like them, and we sure as fuck don't just think about Nonno and Nonna on All Saints' Day, so I bake them throughout the holiday season. The pignoli too, except pretty much everyone bakes those through Christmas. The ones with the pine nuts on top," she elucidated when Justin looked at her quizzically.

"It's a nut, not a seed?" Justin queried, fascinated that a nut could be so tiny.

"Nah, it's actually a seed from the pine tree," Vic interceded. "But everyone calls it a nut."

Not wanting to wait any longer, Justin picked up one of the pignoli and took a bite. "It's really good," he mumbled after chewing for a moment. "Almonds?" he asked before taking another bite.

"Almond paste," Debbie confirmed. "The ‘pignolo' is essentially a macaroon, like the amaretto."

Next, Justin went for a dead bone, his fingers brushing against Brian's as his lover also reached for one of the cookies. The teen pretended he hadn't noticed anything, hiding a smirk as Brian bit into a dead bone at the same time Justin did. "Mmm," the boy moaned his approval, immediately grabbing another one. "I'd better eat this before it ossifies," he cheeked.

Brian dunked his dead bone into his coffee before raising it to his mouth and swallowing it in one go. "What?" he asked when he saw Vic staring at him. He absently licked his lips free of crumbs.

"Hmm?" Vic cast a glance at his sister, his lips pressed together.

"Have some more, Sunshine. Your plate looks kinda bare." With that, Deb bent over and transferred some more of the ‘dead' cookies to Justin's plate.

Her eyes twinkling, Deb winked at Justin before she stood up, now completely poker-faced. "There. That should hold you for a bit."

Justin's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter when Brian's hand immediately snaked out, again relieving his plate of one of the bones.

Not long thereafter, the biscuits on Justin's plate as well as those on the serving platter had been decimated. A snooze didn't sound bad, Brian thought, letting his head fall back against the couch. Maybe it would make up a little for his sleep-deprived night - if the blond would just stop squirming around, that was.

He only vaguely registered Vic's suggestion, "If you're too keyed up to relax, Kiddo, maybe you should sketch. Aren't you supposed to design a lo-"

"I know just what you can draw!" Debbie interrupted. "We need a flyer for the checkers tournament. It starts on New Year's, so you'd better get crackin'." 

A light, wheezing snore came from the other end of the couch, making Justin giggle. "Doesn't snore, my arse," he mumbled. His lover steadfastly insisted Justin was making it up when the younger man claimed he snored.

Vic snorted. "Still convinced he's snore-free, huh?"

"That microcassette recorder we gave Michael should be around here someplace," Debbie supplied, her eyes glinting wickedly as she looked at the snoring brunet.

Justin scrambled about for a diversion. It was all 'cause of him that his lover was so tired; he didn't want to razz him about his snoring right now and possibly wake him up.

"That's right," Vic chimed in, his head swivelling around as he scanned the room. "He wanted to share his latest idea for his Glax Ad and-"

"It's Glaxyad." Deb swatted her brother on the head, running together the name of Michael's second-most favourite superhero in her haste to correct Vic. 

"A laxative for the universe," Vic gasped, poking fun at the license plate Michael had chosen for his gold Miata.

Eww, Justin thought, weird images of the earth covered in alien doo-doo invading his mind. "Um, the flyer?" he reminded Debbie, carefully not gazing at Brian so that she wouldn't start charging around in search of the recorder. "Anything specific you want on it?"

"Just be sure to include the date and location and a number people can call for more info," Debbie requested. "We'll plaster all the fine establishments on Liberty Avenue once it's ready."

"What about the prizes?" Vic queried. "If it's something good, more people will want to participate."

"Shoot." Debbie frowned. "I doubt free Sunday brunch for a year would entice anyone, except maybe those teenage hustlers who never have enough meat on their bones."

"How about asking some of the businesses on Liberty Avenue to put up prizes?" Justin proposed. "I mean, that'd be good for them too, right?"

"That's a fine idea, ragazzo," Vic commented approvingly. "Brian must be rubbing off on you."

"He's rubbing off all right," Debbie cackled as she trotted toward the stairs. "I'll be back in a jiffy with one of your sketch pads, Sunshine," she called over her shoulder.

Whilst he waited, Justin decided he'd draft a couple of designs and then the focus group - might as well use the same one as for the bookstore - could choose the one they liked best. All they lacked was Gus' input, he thought with a fond smile, but the nipper could help him, Brian, Debbie, and Vic after he arrived, not too long from now.

A few minutes later, the teen had barely set pencil to paper - wistfully thinking of the watercolours he'd left behind at the loft - when the phone rang.

"Vic!" Deb hollered from the kitchen. "Can you get that? I've got my hands full."

Her brother obediently lowered the footrest, levered himself out of the recliner in which he'd just gotten comfortable, and ambled over to the wall phone, picking it up on the seventh ring. "Grassi," he rumbled into the receiver.

He listened for a moment before peering over at Justin, his brow furrowing in consternation. "Now might not be the best time."

Another pause while he eyed Justin and then, "You're sure you have to talk to him?"

His pencil poised in mid-air, Justin mouthed, "Who is it?" He really hoped it wasn't his mother; he didn't feel up to dealing with Jennifer, especially right after voicing his feelings for Debbie. He couldn't think who else would be calling him here, though; the family all had the number and would be here later any-

"Daphne needs to talk to you," Vic called out, interrupting his musings. "Says it's urgent."

Justin blinked in surprise. Daphne had never given him a bell here that he could remember; in fact, he didn't think she had the number. The petite girl had ragged on him a while back for not giving her Debbie's landline number, complaining how she and Syd couldn't have called if they'd needed to when they had their telephonic study session for the SAT. He'd joked in return that they wouldn't have wanted to stop dishing about boys for something so trivial. In the flurry of teasing each other, he'd once more forgotten to tell her the number so she could put it in her mobile.

If Daph had some urgent reason for calling, he'd better talk to her; otherwise, she'd be liable to show up in the middle of Sunday dinner. Motioning at Vic that he'd be there in a moment, he slid his sketchbook onto the breakfast tray and moved it from his lap to the coffee table, taking a surreptitious bite of a zeppole in the process. 

"He'll be right here," Justin heard Vic tell his bestie as he manoeuvred his legs out from under Brian's arms, freezing in place when the brunet made a snuffling noise in protest. Brian didn't wake up, though, so he slid his legs completely off the sofa and stood up without any real difficulty. "Shit!" he hissed a moment later when the ice pack clunked to the floor. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten all about the ball-numbing torture device.

He shot another glance at Brian and heaved a sigh of relief when his lover's only reaction was to let out another soft snore. Aborting a motion to smooth back the man's hair - that would wake him for sure - Justin laid the throw that had been covering him over Brian's lap. Then he stumbled his way over to Vic, who was patiently holding the receiver as he waited for Justin.

"She sounds a mite upset," he warned the teen, hand cupped over the mouthpiece so he wouldn't be overheard.

Brow furrowed in puzzlement, Justin nodded in thanks. "Da-" was all the boy got out in greeting before his best friend launched into a barrage.

"Justin Taylor!" she shrieked. "Are you okay? I've been goin' out of my mind with worry. That bitch Teresa was spreading rumours-"

"Huh?" the baffled lad grunted. Who the fuck was Teresa? What rumours? He didn't see how Daph could have heard about him being in the hospital-

"The git who's Hobbs' girlfriend," Daphne elaborated at a slightly lower volume. "She was mouthing off about how Chris had put you in your place in front of everyone in the cafeteria. Said he'd hurt you really bad and that you'd probably never walk right again."

"Uh," the lad responded lamely. Justin had pretty much forgotten that Daph didn't know about the confrontation with Hobbs. 

"You didn't have a stomach upset from eating in the canteen, did'ya?" Daphne probed, her voice going dangerously quiet.

"No," Justin admitted, forcing the answer out.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" the girl screeched, going from quiet to a decibel that could've shattered glass.

Too late, Justin held the handset away from his right ear, shaking his ringing head before switching ears. Christ, Daph had probably damaged that eardrum for good. "Um," he fumbled for an explanation, unable to recall why exactly he hadn't wanted to share what happened with his bestie. Such as it was, his ‘reasoning' was lost behind the fog of pain he'd existed in. "I just wanted to get through finals, you know?"

"I could've helped."

Shit, now Daphne sounded hurt that Justin hadn't confided in her. "I didn't want to give Hobbs the satisfaction of knowing how bad it was," he provided a better explanation. "We were standing out in the hall where anyone could've earwigged what I was saying. I wanted it to look like I wasn't in any kind of pain when I walked past Chris into maths class."

There was silence for a couple of beats before Daphne grudgingly acknowledged, "Yeah, okay. But why didn't you tell me later? I mean, we had, like, three more classes together after calculus."

It would probably be easier to just admit that he didn't think to tell Daph, but Justin was still hoping he could talk his way out of it. He therefore stuck to his argument, knowing better than to show a hint of weakness. "Yeah, but there were still other students around. I really didn't want word to get back to Hobbs and for him to think he'd, like, won or something."

"The wanker would've been gloating," the girl allowed. "But what about at lunch on Friday?"

Inspiration struck. "I might've, if it was just you, Daph. But Syd was there too, and as much as I'm getting to like her, she's not my best friend." Justin meant every word, although he hadn't realised till now that was one of the reasons he'd held back from saying anything on Friday.

An oddly pleased hum came down the phone line.

"I didn't want you to get in trouble," Justin went on. "If I asked you to pinkie swear not to do anything - like go charging off after Chris - you would've been honour bound not to. Syd, not so much."

Daph let out a heavy sigh. "But why didn't you call me Friday afternoon? Or anytime since then? I had to hear about it from Syd, who got it from a cheerleader buddy, who got it from her boyfriend, who overheard Whey-face boasting about it."

"Why didn't you call her Whey-face to start with?" Justin asked, giggling. "Then I would've known who you meant." 

"Suits the hosebag a lot better than Teresa, doesn't it?" Daphne agreed with a laugh. "You've gotta give me the scoop, though, Jus. Did Hobbs really manage to nail you in the nuts with a football?"

"What?" burst out of the stunned lad. "What football?"

"Well, there seems to be some confusion about whether he got you with a football or whether he slammed you between the legs with a bunch of lunch trays. The lunch trays would make more sense in the school refectory, but I don't see how he could've done that from the front - not unless a couple of his lickspittle buddies were holding onto you." 

Flaming heck. How had the tale gotten so screwed up? Justin wondered.

"But that didn't make sense," Daphne prattled on. "Even if the students were too scared of Hobbs and Co, for sure Hatchet Face would've put a stop to it before you got hurt. So I figured maybe Chris really was roughhousing with some of his cronies, you know? He could've deliberately kicked the football at you to celebrate the end of the semester or something."

"There was no football," Justin gasped, amazed by how distorted the story had gotten in just a few days. "No trays, either. Well, none that I was hit with," he amended. Really, he wondered how they'd got the spot where he was injured right... that he didn't instead have a broken arm or a cracked head or something. That wouldn't be nearly as titillating as a bloke getting whacked in the nuts, he supposed.

"Well, what did happen?" his exasperated friend asked. "The plonker obviously did hurt you. Spill, Jus."

Justin cast a longing look in the direction of the sofa, where Brian continued to saw wood. Vic, it appeared, would soon join him. The newspaper which he'd been leafing through was now flat against his chest; his eyeglasses had slid down his nose; and his mouth was hanging open a little.

His gaze returning to Brian, he considered telling Daph how Brian had called him his ‘partner.' That was bound to distract the girl and get her off his back. He wasn't ready to share that with anyone else, though. Sure, Ted and Carl knew, but he was pretty confident that neither of them would go spreading the news around.

As he stood there eyeing his sleeping partner, one shoulder propped up against the wall next to the phone, Justin wished he'd scooped up the ice pack after he got up from the couch. The numbing effect was wearing off, and he was starting to feel an unpleasant tingling in his genitals. If anyone walked in, it might look weird to see him standing there pressing an ice pack against his groin with one hand, phone in the other, but who cared. The family was gonna find out anyway what had happened, so why not announce it with an ice pack to the nuts? Before he could regale them with the saga of all his stupid decisions, though, he needed to appease his girl friend.

"Look, Daph," he pleaded, "I promise to tell you everything, but could it wait till we get together?"

"No way!" the girl objected. "It took me forever to get hold of you, Jus. I called the loft, and then I tried looking up Mrs Novotny in the White Pages, but I must've been spelling her name wrong because I couldn't find her under ‘Na.'"

"Novotny starts with ‘No,'" Justin informed her.

"Whatever." Daphne brushed off the interruption. "I thought about calling information, but then I found the Liberty Diner in the phone directory. I got Kiki on the line, and she said how you worked yesterday but didn't look so good and were really klutzy."

Justin could barely remember yesterday; it was lost in a haze of pain and drugs. All he was certain of was that it had been a dilly of the worst kind from start to finish.

"I was getting, like, totally freaked out, Jus!" his friend shrilled at a high pitch.

Now he had two burst eardrums, Justin mused wryly. 

"I mean, you've normally got this incredible spatial awareness - well, except when you drive-"

Justin groaned. His bestie would have to mention his trials and tribulations with driving.

"Fortunately, Kiks had the number at Debbie's house and gave it to me," Daphne wound up her recitation of what she'd gone through to reach Justin. "So, no, I don't want to wait till I see you. I don't even know if you're okay, for fuck's sake!" she reiterated, her voice rising again.

"The doctor said I'll be fine-"

"Did you actually get carried out of the canteen on a stretcher and put in an ambulance?"

"There was no ambulance!" Justin hastily interjected. Jesus, at this rate, he wouldn't be surprised to hear that a fire crew had been called in to rescue him. 

"But you did see a doctor?" Daph carried on without missing a beat. "You hate going to the doctor; you practically have to be dragged there, kicking and screaming the whole way. How bad did that wanker hurt you, Jus?"

Geesh. He wasn't that bad about going to the doctor, but now wasn't the time to get into an argument about it. "Daph, Dr Singh said I'll be okay," he repeated. "I just have to take it easy and ice the, erm, area."

"So it is your balls that were hurt?" the girl probed for more information. "How'd it happen? You still haven't said."

Justin sighed. He was gonna have to provide a few more details or he'd never get his pitbull of a girl friend off the phone. "It was kind of an accident. Hobbs was bullying me in the cafeteria - he almost shoved my face into St James' gross version of bubble and squeak-"

"Eww," Daph muttered in disgust.

"Exactly," the boy concurred. Recalling the disgusting smell of the cabbage, he was afraid for a second that he was going to toss his cookies. He swallowed hard, willing his stomach to settle. "Anyroad, when I tried to stand up, Chris shoved me and I banged into the corner of the table - groin first, really hard. It hurt so bad that I crashed to the floor on my knees."

"No one helped you?" his outraged friend demanded.

"Um, the monitor did," Justin replied, unable to bring himself to call her Hatchet Face. "But she didn't see what happened, and you know how scared everyone is of Hobbs and his bully boys. Plus, with that recognition problem of hers, she won't easily be able to identify-"

"I don't see the problem," his best friend growled. "You can say who it was, Jus."

"But I don't want to give Chris the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me," Justin insisted. "I'd rather get revenge some other way."

"I dunno, Jus. I still think you should speak up," Daphne said doubtfully. "Chris' next victim might not be so lucky."

He knew his friend was right, but Justin couldn't deal with it right now. It was simply too much on top of everything that had happened since Thursday. "I'll think about it," he said to pacify his friend. "But that doesn't mean we can't figure out ways to get even with the tosser, right?"

"We need, like, a Game of Thrones scenario," Daphne suggested with bloodthirsty relish.

Justin laughed. "Maybe not quite that drastic." 

"We'll get the shithead," Daph vowed. "Just leave it to me to come up with a plan, Jus."

Best friend ever, the blond boy thought. "Tell me what you come up with on the twenty-first?" Justin proposed. "We could, like, hang out for most of the day. I'll tell you everything that's happened, 'kay?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll wait, provided you really do spill the beans then. I want every single detail, you hear?"

"You've got it," Justin vowed, breathing out a sigh of relief that he'd successfully mollified his friend. He might even be ready to tell her about the partner thing in a few days.

"Hey, how about we exchange pressies then?"

Justin could almost see his friend bouncing up and down in excitement. "Sure," he replied, making a mental note to set aside a block of time to go shopping. To finish up sketches he was planning to give as gifts too. Maybe the enforced ‘bed rest' that Debbie had mandated wasn't all bad; it would give him time for all that drawing.

Speaking of his mum, Justin glanced over when she sang, "I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus, loudly emphasising ‘Daddy' and drowning out the ‘Mommy' in The Jackson 5 rendition of the popular Christmas song. Debbie's hips swivelled to and fro and she deftly moved around the kitchen, shutting the oven door with a push from one hip and then setting a cookie sheet of freshly baked molasses crinkles on top of a rack to cool. Maybe he could snitch a couple of them, Justin thought hopefully.

"Jus?" Daphne recalled his wandering attention. "The twenty-first?"

"Come whenever. I'll make us breakfast," the boy offered. "Those chocolate chip pancakes you like so much."

"Puh-leeze," Daph scoffed. "You scarf down, like, three of those to one of mine."

"Get real," Justin rebutted. "You stabbed me in the hand with your fork to keep me-"

"From taking the last one!" the outraged girl yelled.

Justin feigned innocence. "I was only gonna cut it in half so we could share it."

"Uh-huh." Daph's tone conveyed her utter disbelief. "I'd better get the lion's share this time around, Taylor. You owe me - you'd be just as pissed if I'd kept a big secret like the ‘canteen incident' from you."

Just winced, silently conceding the argument. "I'll see you Thursday - ten-ish?"

"You've got it. I'm having a lie-in every morning I can. None of that crack of dawn shit," Daphne laughed.

He should be able to enjoy a lie-in tomorrow morning as well, Justin happily realised.

A few seconds later, after finally hanging up, Justin turned beseeching blue eyes on his mum, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the delicious aroma from the latest batch of cookies.

Debbie cast an eye at the wall clock, which was ticking down the minutes to six o'clock. "You sure you won't spoil your appetite?"

As he shook his head, the lad's stomach let out a rumble of agreement.

The redhead chuckled. "Stupid question," she corrected herself. "Teenage boys are all appetite."

Not just for food, Justin thought a bit forlornly, the dull ache from his balls a sad reminder of an appetite he couldn't satisfy. He actually didn't even have it right now and wondered if he ever would again.

"Hey, what's with the long face?" Debbie enquired. "Daphne still pissed at you?"

"Nah, we're good," Justin assured her. "Or well, we will be once I tell Daph everything and she beats up on me a little."

"That's the best kind of friend, Sunshine. One who calls you on your shit." Debbie glanced toward the living room, a yearning look flitting across her face before she returned her gaze to Justin. "You know that, right?" 

What was that about? Justin wondered, intrigued. Something to do with Vic, maybe? He figured Vic might actually be Debbie's best friend; he couldn't remember ever seeing her with any girlfriends.

Debbie plonked a small plate heaped with biscuits and a glass of water down in front of him - on what was probably the only bare spot on the kitchen counter.

Shaking off the blues - and his curiosity - Justin gave Deb a winning smile. "Thanks, Mum."

Debbie smiled at him in return, reaching out to cup his chin in her palm.

The blond felt his heart lurch, the motherly gesture and fond look letting him know he'd been forgiven.

"Please don't scare me like that again, Sunshine," Debbie pleaded. "This old heart of mine can't take it."

Debbie wasn't old! he silently objected, but his stupidity had probably added years to her age. A new surge of guilt welling up, Justin pledged, "I won't." Some of the other dumb decisions he'd made in his not quite eighteen years flitting through his mind, he qualified his statement, "Not the drugs anyhow."

"That's all I ask, honey. Learn from your mistakes." Debbie gave him a pat on the cheek before withdrawing her hand and hurrying over to the stove when the timer off.

Braced against the counter, Justin shoved one molasses treat and then another into his mouth. The teenager chewed enthusiastically, humming in contentment as he watched Debs bustle around the kitchen. He was contemplating a third cookie when the doorbell rang, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer resounding merrily throughout the house.

"Who the fuck is that?" Debbie huffed as she trotted back from the pantry cum laundry room with noodles, tomatoes, and a couple onions bundled up in her apron. "Everyone should know not to be here before six - unless they want to help cook." 

Giving the onions the side-eye as Deb placed them next to the cutting board - he did not want to be roped into cutting the tear-inducing bulbs - Justin hurriedly offered, "I'll get it." 

He did his best to keep the jockstrap from rubbing against his sore nads as he awkwardly limped his way over to the door and pulled it open. "Don't you ever get enough?" he teased when he caught Ted and Ben smooching. It looked like Ben's tongue was so far down Ted's throat that he must've reached his boyfriend's tonsils.

The shorter man's cheeks were blazing as he looked at Justin from the corner of one eye, but he just gave a one-shouldered shrug, indicating he didn't plan to stop anytime soon. "There's no such thing as enough," he gasped when Ben's lips finally parted from his several long beats later.

Justin started giggling, recalling that pearl of wisdom from his first night with Brian.

"Good to see you were listening, Theodore," a voice commended, right before Brian's arm came to rest across Justin's shoulders.

The blond lad looked at his lover in confusion. Don't you mean me? he wanted to ask. Then, however, he glanced at Ted, whose entire face and neck - as well as the tips of his ears - were now a bright pink as he returned Brian's gaze, looking half embarrassed and half proud. Although he never would've given it credence before now, Justin suddenly found himself speculating about whether Brian had hooked up with Ted in the past. 

Justin wasn't getting quite that vibe, but Ted's reaction was still really weird. It was more likely that he'd heard Brian spout that mantra many times before; it was one of the brunet stud's favourites, after all. The numbers man could probably even cite exactly how many times it was. However, even if they had slept together, it was really none of his business, Justin sternly told himself - not even if it had happened after his first time with Brian. It wasn't like they'd been in a relationship before - that was a brand new development. Partners, Justin reminded himself, smiling and turning his head to kiss Brian on the chin.

Brian was smirking at Ted, remembering how the older man had gone wild at the orgy the adman hosted the weekend John-John's plane went down. When, after the fourth or fifth trick - the mild-mannered accountant topping every single one of them - Ted had flopped down on the rug in the living room, panting something about how he'd had enough, Brian gave his usual sage advice. The ‘never enough' remark had actually succeeded in perking Theodore back up. Afterwards, Ted kept going like the fucking Energizer Bunny. Hell, he'd even wanted to-

Brian was startled out of his reminiscing when his young lover gave him a peck on the chin. "You missed," he joked. Surprised by the kiss, he was nevertheless more than willing to participate - only if they did it right, though. Tilting Justin's chin up, he enveloped the boy's lips with his for a lingering kiss. He tried to keep it from getting steamy - it wasn't like it could go anywhere right now - but he still had a semi-stiffy when he finally raised his head, their lips separating with an audible pop. "There, that's better," he assessed, taking in the dazed look in the lad's blue eyes and bee-stung lips.

"It's not a competition, you know," Ben observed a trifle primly.

Brian chuckled. "If we were competing, Professor, believe me, you'd know. You wouldn't stand a chance."

Christ, it was almost too easy to ruffle the man's feathers, he mused, laughing harder when Ben's stance shifted, taking on a combative edge. Zen Ben. Right, he snorted to himself.

"Hey, Bri's just yanking your chain," an alarmed Ted attempted to soothe his abruptly pugnacious beau. "Don't let him get to you, Benj-" Horrified, Theodore broke off, his eyes widening comically.

"Woof!" Brian barked, guffawing when both of the older men jumped. He'd been intending to wait and twit Theodore about his godawful pet name for Ben - preferably when the whole family was assembled, so he could get proper mileage out of it - but this opening was too good to resist. Apparently, Ted didn't just call the professor Benji when he was stoned.

"You didn't," Ben groaned, giving his boyfriend the hairy eyeball.

"I thought maybe I imagined it," Theodore moaned in reply, his face now a fierier red than before.

The blond twat, Brian was amused to note, looked bewildered by the conversation. The film about that yappy little dog was a bit before Justin's time, he supposed. Heck, it was practically before Brian's time - not Theodore's, though. "Do you sniff each other's-"

"That's enough!" Ted growled, his eyes flashing. 

Brian almost took a step back, startled to have the unassuming older man go on the attack. 

"Or do you want me to share the nickname your classmates had for you?" Ted threatened.

Shit. He was gonna kill Michael. That was the only person who could've revealed that tidbit. Justin was totally agog now, obviously dying to know what the nickname could be. It was Brian's turn to groan as he envisioned the little shit pestering him until he finally gave in and told him. Fuck! He'd never hear the end of it. 

"Whoa. Let's all take a deep breath," Ben recommended, his Zen returning.

"You lot wanna shut the fucking door?" Debbie yelled from the kitchen. "My tits are turning into sno-cones!"

Thank fuck, Brian thought, a bit concerned that the professor might have them forming a meditation circle on Deb's doorstep or doing something else equally useless. He took a couple steps back, perforce towing Justin with him.

"Grr," Theodore had the temerity to growl at him, his teeth bared as he preceded Ben into the house.

Brian arched an eyebrow at the accountant, not about to let on that he was just a tad intimidated. Also strangely turned on - by Ted, of all people.

His boyfriend's aggressive behaviour had clearly affected Ben even more strongly; the buff man was licking his lips as he looked at Ted, appearing to be on the verge of jumping his bones. Or maybe he wanted Theodore to jump him? 

Colour rising along his cheekbones, the professor visibly forced his gaze away from his inamorato, and turning to Justin asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Um." The gabby boy was at a rare loss for words as he accepted the newcomers' coats and hung them from pegs on the coat rack. He turned a questioning gaze on Ted as he led them toward the living room.

Theodore shrugged. Looking past Brian as if he weren't there, he revealed, "I only shared that you were hurt but that you'd be okay." 

Maybe he shouldn't have pushed the joke quite that far, Brian mused, made uncomfortable by the way Ted was ignoring him.

"Thanks, Ted." The blond lad shot him a grateful look before heaving a resigned sigh. "It's not a secret, though. Not anymore."

"Why don't you fill in the professor?" Brian suggested, hovering in the entrance to the living room. "I'll just have a quick word with Ted in the meantime." He deliberately left it vague as to what he wanted to talk to Theodore about, hoping the other two would assume it had something to do with his new ad agency. In reality, what he wanted to do was apologise without actually extending an apology.

His eyes on Ted, Brian tilted his head toward the back door. For a moment, Brian thought his friend was going to baulk and follow after Justin and Ben.

They stood there for a couple of minutes, neither of them saying anything, their breath forming clouds in the gelid air. Finally, Theodore inquired coolly, "What's so urgent that we're standing out here on Deb's stoop without our coats?"

Fucking good question, Brian thought, doing his best not to shiver. He could do with a cigarette, but his pack of Lucky Strikes was in his peacoat, which was hanging uselessly in the hallway. "Ben seems okay," was the lame comment that fell out when he opened his mouth.

"I thought we'd already established that," Ted responded dryly.

Shit. They had. That's what the lunch at CMU had been in aid of. "Fuck," the adman grunted, scuffing his right foot against the old wooden boards beneath his feet and staring out into the yard. "Benji, huh?" he attempted to rectify his earlier mockery. "Could be worse."

"Is that supposed to be an apology?"

Brian shrugged, hoping Ted would interpret it that way.

"Tell you what. I'll take that as an ‘I'm sorry' if you nod."

Well, fuck. At least he didn't have to say anything, Brian thought, his chin jerking down once and then quickly back up.

"Accepted," Theodore said simply.

That was it? Brian blinked in surprise.

"What?" The older man chuckled at Brian's doubtless stupefied expression. "You want me to ask, ‘Did that hurt?'"

Theodore should show some sympathy; Brian might've strained a muscle in his neck. "I was expecting a ‘woof' or two," he snarked.

"Christ." Ted shook his head at him. "Next time, stop after the ‘heartfelt' apology, Bri."

Brian snorted. As if he'd ever apologise again. He wasn't a muncher, for fuck's sake. "Wanna open the door or stand out here jawing till we freeze our peckers off, Theodore?"

Ted rolled his eyes, making it clear who the mastermind behind their current plight was, but he nevertheless opened the door and stepped back inside the house. "By the way," he deadpanned as they approached the living room, "we do ‘sniff.'"

Good thing he wasn't drinking anything, Brian mused as he burst out laughing, or he would've done a spit take all over the carpet.

Justin was perched on one end of the sofa, ice pack secured under his balls, his face a study in misery, and his shoulders hunched defensively. His eyes were trained on the ground as he addressed Ben, who'd claimed the empty recliner. "Don't worry, I already know you aren't gonna want me to talk to your class now."

Eyes narrowing, Brian was ready to jump in if the professor said the wrong fucking thing. He needn't have worried, though.

"Are you kidding? Now I want you even more," Ben expostulated. "Someone who's not only survived a shedload of bullying - making it through a demanding day of finals without any kind of assistance - but then also has the guts to fess up to making a major mistake with taking drugs. You're exactly who my students need to hear from."

Leaving space for Ted, Brian plopped down next to his young lover and stretched out an arm behind him, absently bringing up his hand to play with the blond mop on his head. He frowned when he couldn't get a grasp on the long strands which used to hang down the lad's neck. Fuckin' short haircut, he groused to himself.

"Exactly," agreed Debbie as she clomped into the room, wiping her hands on her pinny. "What's so fucking inspirational about some WASP kid lecturing on a subject that they know fuck-all about?"

Brian heard the front door bang open and then slam closed and figured it must be Mikey. No one else would enter without knocking or ringing the bell.

Theodore, who'd been about to perch on the armrest of the professor's chair, took heed of Brian's head tilt and crossed over to sit next to him instead. Thank fuck his CFO didn't hold a grudge, Brian mused. He really didn't feel like dealing with Mikey draping himself all over him.

Justin cleared his throat. "Er-"

"Not you, Sunshine." Debbie waved a dismissive hand. "You might've been a stereotypical white-bread teenager, but that all ended the moment you came out as gay. Right, professor?" she asked, turning toward Ben. "Fucking up with drugs just makes you that much more interesting."

Ben confirmed, "That's about as astute an assessment as I've ever heard."

"Translated, you're one spunky kid," Vic joshed from behind the newspaper he'd resumed reading.

"Who's spunky?" Michael bounded into the room. "Brian? He's got loads of spunk."

"Good one!" Debbie chortled. "Why haven't I used ‘spunky' like that before?"

"Probably because it doesn't mean that," Emmett put in, entering the living room on Michael's heels. He spun around, showing off what must be a new ensemble - electric blue pleather pants so tight that they looked like they'd been painted on, topped by an orange wife beater over which the dandy wore a sheer, unbuttoned, lime-green shirt, with an orange ruffle down the placket.

Christ, the shade of the flamboyant man's pointy-toed boots matched his A-shirt, Brian noted in horror. What kind of self-respecting queen would do that? On top of which, what had to be three-inch heels made him tower comically over Michael, like they were some sort of odd couple.

"If that definition were added to the dictionary, though - which it should be," Emmett boasted, "it would include a photo of moi. I'm the spunkiest queen ever." He flashed a broad, gap-toothed smile at everyone before sitting down on the arm of Vic's chair, slinging an arm around the older man.

"Shy young thing, aren't you?" Vic questioned dryly.

"Honey, shy won't get me a ‘date' for the night," Emmett riposted. "With my fab new togs, I figure I should get two or three for the price of one..."

"It is a mint outfit, Em," Justin complimented his friend.

Had the kid gone colour-blind? Brian worried, giving his lover an aghast look. Then again, Honeycutt did carry off the outrageous outfit with panache, he begrudgingly admitted to himself. How Emmett avoided looking washed out and sallow in those hues, Brian had yet to decipher.

"The colours are fantastic!" Debbie effused. "They'd look great on me, doncha think, Vic?"

Vic wisely chose to stay silent.

"Uh, Ma, maybe not all together?" Michael daringly interjected.

He had to agree with Mikey, Brian thought. The swishy queen might be able to carry off the colour combo, but it would be a disaster on the redhead. For one thing, the orange would clash with her hair.

"You may be right," Debbie conceded with a regretful sigh. "'Sides, my fender ain't slender enough - bottom or top!" she guffawed.

Em eyed her assessingly. "The shirt comes in a size that would fit you, Debs. We just got them in at Torso." He preened, smoothing his hands down the front and making the orange ruffles sway.

"You think?" the full-figured woman asked eagerly.

Brian stifled a groan, exchanging a dismayed look with Michael. Next to him, Justin wasn't quite as successful at hiding his reaction, a smothered yelp emerging.

Debbie's head swivelled toward the blond like the turret on a tank. Instead of firing a round at him, however, she cooed, "You must need a fresh ice pack, sweetie. I'll just go get that for you."

So much for backing him up with tough love, Brian thought ruefully. A blond batting the baby blues at you won every fucking time.

As soon as Debbie was out of hearing range, Ben inquired, his voice laced with amusement, "Does that always work?"

"That colour combination?" Justin innocently countered with a ‘butter wouldn't melt in his mouth' look. "Only if you're Emmett."

"No shit," Michael blurted. "Uh, I mean, it looks good on you, Em," he hurriedly backtracked, "but not on my mother."

"Please, honey," the offended fashionista replied. "I wasn't going to suggest this particular colour combination. The blouse also comes in a hot pink and-"

The doorbell pealed before Emmett could finish relating other colour options. 

"I'll get it!" Michael exclaimed, back-pedalling out of the room. "Saved by a fuckin' red-nosed reindeer," he could be heard muttering as he padded toward the front door.

Pouting, Emmett flounced over to Justin, wedging himself in next to the boy at the end of the sofa. 

Brian glared at the impertinent queen and tugged the blond a little closer.

"What's with the ice treatment, Baby?" said queen queried. "Does it have anything to do with the way y'all vanished on Saturday night? I was just gone for a sec, but by the time I returned, everyone was gone."

"You mean after a trip to the backroom?" Brian couldn't quite hide the admiration and envy in his tone. Since what almost happened to him, he'd been leery of visiting the backroom again. 

He only realised he'd tensed up when Theodore reached over and squeezed his leg. Taking a deep breath, Brian made a conscious effort to relax. If Michael returned and saw Ted's hand on him, it would doubtless set off his overly possessive friend. With an encouraging smile and a pat to his leg, Ted removed his hand, allowing Brian to concentrate on Emmett's answer.

The flashy queen shrugged. "Like I said, I was just gone for a tick. A quick in and out and I was back to dance some more. Baby?" he prompted, turning back to Justin.

Before the lad could answer, a voice crowing "Jushun!" could be heard from the entryway, followed by an exasperated, "Gus, Lambskin, come back here!"

"Jushun!" Gus crowed again, his downy jacket hanging off one arm as he quickly crawled away from his mother - who was left holding a small boot in her hands - toward the blond he evidently preferred.

Like father, like son, Brian reflected proudly.

"Hello, Jushun! Bad Boy!" Harley chirped, flapping his wings.

Gus halted, his fascination with the budgie momentarily eclipsing his need to reach Justin.

"Gotcha!" Mel swooped in and snatched up her son, blowing a raspberry against Gus' neck and making the little boy giggle.

Lindsay hurried over and extricated Gus from his jacket before removing his other boot. "There. ‘Jushun' can have you now," she declared.

"Mmm," the bulldyke seconded as she carried the tyke the rest of the way to the couch, "and your mummies can snog under the mistletoe while they help each other out of their coats."

Brian quickly intercepted his son when it appeared Mel was just going to drop him in Justin's lap, her eyes fixed on the other muncher. "C'mere, Sonnyboy," he greeted the boy.

"The crawling demon is all yours," the brunette replied as she stalked toward her partner. 

"Jushun!" the nipper insisted, wiggling in Brian's arms and straining toward the blond.

"Jushun!" Harley echoed. "Bad Boy!"

"Why's the budgie calling you ‘Bad Boy,'?" Melanie inquired, suddenly spinning around and staring intently at the blue bird.

Brian huffed out a laugh. The bulldyke looked like she was about to begin interrogating the parakeet.

"Bird's brighter than I thought," Michael jeered, almost colliding with the lesbians as he returned, spewing crumbs from the cookies he'd just devoured, a couple more clamped between the fingers of one hand. "He's got you sussed out, Blondie."

"Michael, honey," Debbie despaired, "you're going to ruin your appetite."

"Am not," her son argued. "I can always eat."

And not gain a single fucking ounce, Brian thought sourly, even though his childhood friend's efforts at the gym were almost as pathetic as Emmett's.

"Where the fuck were you?" Michael scowled darkly at his best friend.

Brian looked back at him blankly. Why was Mikey pissed off? Hadn't the short brunet just been praising him for being ‘spunky'?

"I looked fucking everywhere," Michael complained. "At the loft, the baths, even Babylon's backroom in case you went there for an early quickie." Switching his haze to his mum, he whined, "Why didn't you call me to tell me Brian was here?"

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry! In all the uproar, I totally forgot I sent you to check up on Sunshine for me. I'm not sure why you checked at the baths and in the backroom, though."

Mikey opened his mouth, probably to clarify whom he'd been looking for.

"Michael even enlisted my help," Emmett lamented. "I'd just found the right shade of eyeliner to complement my outfit when he burst into our apartment, insisting I accompany him to Meathook to look for you, Bri. He didn't even care that I'd dropped the eyeliner wand and broke it." The southerner's lip jutted out as he divulged that last piece of information.

What the fuck? Brian stared at Michael in astonishment. Why would he have been at Meathook at all, never mind in the middle of the afternoon?

Justin squirmed against him, causing him to glance down at the teenager, whose face was again suffused with a pink hue. "Boy Toy, Meathook," the boy murmured, catapulting Brian back to the night they'd met.

Grinning, Brian tilted his head down and whispered in the blond's ear, "So you're into leather?"

"If you're wearing it," came the pert answer.

Hmm, Brian mused, maybe they should check out Meathook sometime...

"What about that cutie patootie doctor of yours?" Debbie asked Michael, which yanked Brian out of an undeveloped but nevertheless enticing scenario. "Why didn't you ask him to help you look for Sunshine?" She emphasised the blond's nickname in an effort to remind her son of whom he was supposed to be searching for.

Michael brushed off the question. "David's at a game. The Penguins or the Pirates. I don't really remember."

"Like baseball's played in the winter," Theodore snorted derisively, making Brian laugh.

Mikey scowled at Ted before turning a sheepish glance on Brian. "I'd already tried everywhere else," he elaborated. "Meathook gives me the willies, you know? I didn't want to go there on my own and have some leather daddy try to collar me or something."

"That's not how it works," Theodore snapped. "Don't be an id-"

"That was me those darling bears were after, sweetie," Emmett interposed. He exaggeratedly batted his blue eyes and fluffed his hair, making everyone laugh and forestalling an argument.

His good mood restored, Ted commented approvingly, "They would be all over you, Emmylou."

Em shot a gap-toothed grin at his best friend before turning an eagle-eyed gaze back on the boy next to him. "Now that I know who we were really looking for, you wanna tell me what it has to do with that ice pack you've got clenched between your legs, Baby?"

Eyeing Justin with curiosity, Lindsay related, "You know, I was doing a bit of shopping yesterday and one of the clerks said something about a go-go boy being dragged out of Babylon by a couple of big, burly guys." 

Brian exchanged grins with Ted, both of them amused to be described as ‘big and burly.'

"Like Tannis and Philip, however, I don't give such hyperbole" - the blonde woman sniffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder - "much credence, so I didn't pay attention."

"If you mean Elena over at The Promised Land, I'd give her a helluva lot more credence than I would those milksops from the GLC," Melanie opined. 

Since when did he and the bulldyke agree about the GLC nitwits? Brian wondered.

The lawyer continued, "You certainly gave that vibrator she sold you plenty of credence. Quite loudly, I might add." Melanie leered at her partner. 

"Mel!" Linds hissed, horrified.

"What's being a ‘hyper bully' got to do with anything?" Michael belatedly asked, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"‘Hyperbole," Ben enunciated slowly and distinctly, "means ‘exaggeration.' Students generally learn about that and other figures of speech in their sophomore year..." He paused. "...of high school."

"Whatever." Michael shrugged.

Brian choked back a laugh at the appalled expression on the professor's face. That kind of insult didn't register with Mikey; it was like water off a duck's back.

"But maybe this wasn't an exaggeration?" Emmett piped up. Turning wide blue eyes on Justin, he peppered him with questions. "What happened, Baby? Was that you? Did you really get carried out of the club?"

A weary sigh came from the blond.

"The twat got bullied at school, had one ball rammed up into his body, took illegal drugs at Babylon to combat the pain, and landed in the ER," Brian summed up the situation succinctly.

"He's gonna be okay," Theodore hastened to add over the ensuing clamour, everyone shouting questions at Justin, wanting to know what had happened, whether he should be on bed rest, and wanting to take off after the bullies. 

Ted, Debbie, and Vic took turns filling in the details and fielding everyone's questions.

"I see that Hobbs kid anywhere on Liberty Avenue, I'll twist his fuckin' balls off!" Debbie concluded.

Theodore seconded the idea. "I'll hold the wanker down for you."

Remembering the older man's combat-ready stance outside Babylon just over a week ago, Brian didn't doubt Ted would do just that. There was more to the mild-mannered accountant than met the eye.

"Why are you all sympathising with him?" Michael shouted, diverting his attention. "All the dancers take drugs, you know. You should kick him out, Ma, not coddle him! Next thing you know he'll be dealing drugs out of the house!"

"Michael Charles Novotny!" Debbie immediately upbraided her son. "I brought you up better than that. I want you to apologise right this instant!"

"I shouldn't have said it like that," Michael issued a half-arsed apology, looking at Brian, not Justin.

"Sunshine's your brother, Michael," Debbie continued. "The one you always wanted."

"Not quite," the short brunet grumbled as his mum trotted toward the kitchen. 

Mikey was smart enough to wait till Debbie was out of earshot, Brian observed. Christ, he wished the doc were here tonight to provide a buffer between him and his oldest friend.

"I thought I was never gonna find a parking space," Melanie complained as she and Linds returned from finally hanging up their coats. "You'd think we were in the Old City of Jerusalem given how congested it is out there."

Vic chuckled. "The throngs must be driving by again to look at the Christmas decorations at Casa Novotny."

"You'd think Yinzers would have something to do besides rubberneck lit-up reindeer schmeckles," Mel snarked.

"Like what?" Brian needled the bulldyke. "No one wants to ogle reindeer punani. That's why all St. Nick's caribou are male."

"Vixen-"

"Is trans," Brian, Vic, Ted, and Emmett chorused.

"You say that every year," Melanie grumbled.

"Theodore didn't have any trouble finding a parking spot," Ben remarked. "In fact, there were a couple of openings when we drove down the block. Ted took the closest one - right in front of the house."

Not as good as parking in the driveway, Brian thought, smirking at the accountant.

The man merely arched an eyebrow at him.

Christ, wasn't it bad enough that Ted had stolen his parking karma? There was no need for him to steal his patented expressions too. 

"That's GLAX AD's spot!" Michael shouted. More calmly, he added, "I could've picked you up, Brian. It would've been like old times - driving over to Ma's together."

"Time to eat," Debbie announced, appearing in the entrance to the living room and saving Brian from having to respond to Mikey. She snapped the dish towel in her hands at Ben, who'd gotten up and was making his way towards the downstairs loo. "So move your tushes over to the table and grab a seat."

"I'll be right there," the professor murmured, warily eyeing the dish towel as he sidled past Deb.

Brian exchanged a wry grin with Ted as he stood up and then helped Justin to his feet. It didn't matter how big or fit a guy was; Debbie could put anyone in their place.

"Grab the birdcage, would'ya, sweetheart?" Deb requested of Michael. "I'll give Harley a wee bit of grated cheese to nibble while we chow down."

Michael looked less than pleased to be singled out for the honour of transporting the parakeet, but he slouched his way over to the credenza and grabbed hold of the ring at the top of the cage.

"Gently," Debbie admonished when it looked like Mikey was going to jerk the birdcage off the credenza.

"Yeah, yeah," Michael muttered, giving the budgie the evil eye.

Justin wobbled as he rose from the couch, holding tightly onto Brian's arm so that he wouldn't fall back down.

"You okay?" Brian husked, forgetting to retrieve the ice pack in his concern for the boy.

"Yeah, just kinda stiff." Justin smiled tremulously at Brian.

"Sunshine, I've got just the thing to help you," Debbie claimed, rushing over and swooping down to snatch up the icy-cold towel. 

It looked like the ice pack was still frozen solid, Brian noted, the towel hardly dampened. No surprise, considering the motherly woman had insisted on replacing the cold pack every half hour. At least Justin didn't have to contend with a makeshift pack of ice cubes, since Brian had jogged back out to the car for some of the ice packs he'd just purchased when it turned out Deb didn't have any extra cold packs on hand.

"Erm, I think my balls are blue enough," Justin joked half-heartedly, eyeing askance the icy towel.

"No more ice treatment for now," Deb assured him. "This is way better." Grabbing Justin's free hand, she towed him toward the table, Brian perforce dragged along willy-nilly. Debbie stopped at Justin's usual chair - the one right next to hers at the head of the table. Motioning at the donut cushion that she'd placed on the chair seat, the redhead beamed at Justin.

Brian coughed, disguising a laugh, at the aghast look on the kid's face.

Michael laughed, not unkindly, when he saw the cushion. "After I got too big for my highchair" - he set Harley's cage down on the sideboard and gestured toward the contraption now used by Gus - "Mum used to make me sit on that so I could reach the table."

"Christ, Sis, where'd you unearth that darned thing from?" Vic asked, chuckling.

Justin didn't get a chance to voice the protest that was trembling on his lips because, right at that moment, there came a loud bang as the door to the downstairs loo crashed against the wall.

Everyone swivelled around, watching in astonishment as Ben back-pedalled out of the bathroom, his face white.

"Christ, that thing's honkin' big!" the built man exclaimed, backing up further and pointing a shaking finger at the WC.

"Something disturb your Zen, professor?" Brian quipped. Christ, you'd think there was an alligator in the toilet or something, he thought sardonically.

"Uh-" Flags of colour stained Ben's cheeks as he looked around to find everyone staring at him, standing stock-still around the dinner table. "I, uh-" He gestured at the WC, taking another cautious step back.

Emmett and Michael, who had lagged behind the others on the way to the dinner table and were the closest to the loo, cautiously approached and peeked inside. "What's your problem?" Michael sneered. "Is Bane hiding in there or something?" 

The short brunet shut up and immediately stepped back when he got a good look inside, his face blanching. Emmett, however, cooed, "Aw, poor baby. Did the big man scare you?"

"What's going on?" Debbie asked curiously, pushing past the throng around her dinner table.

"It's just an itsy-bitsy huntsman spider," Em replied. "Nothing to worry-"

"Itsy-bitsy?" Ben almost squeaked, cutting off the tall queen. "That thing is as big as my palm!"

"Which is pretty mild for a huntsman," Emmett explained, walking towards the thick, ominous-looking spider which was poised on the edge of the sink, sitting calmly. 

"Let me see!" Justin piped up, unable to see over the people in front of him despite craning his neck every whichaway. 

Silently grateful that it was Ben who'd encountered the monster spider, Brian tugged Justin back when the boy tried to move closer for a better look. "It's just a spider," he hissed.

"Spiders are cool," the blond asserted.

"Coo!" Gus joined in from where Lindsay was clutching him to her chest.

Christ, his two boys were nuts, Brian thought resignedly. Like Ben, he couldn't stand the creepy-crawlies, but he could hardly say that without sounding like a wuss. Especially when Honeycutt - of all people! - wasn't in the least perturbed.

"No, they are not cool, Lambskin," Lindsay chided in a prim voice. "Spiders are yucky."

"Yucky is maybe a little strong," Melanie countered, although she stayed well back from the loo.

Ted shrugged. "I, for one, like spiders as much as the next man, but I prefer a nice thick pane of glass between me and them. Like at the zoo."

They all watched in various degrees of horror as Emmett nudged the vile thing onto his outstretched palm. "It's just a wood spider," he claimed. "Nothing to be afraid of. We had much bigger ones in Hazelhurst. You can't blame the little guy for wanting to come in the house; it's freezing cold outside." 

Everyone stepped back as Emmett exited the loo with the ginormous spider cupped in his hand. Ben moved behind Ted, placing his boyfriend between himself and the arachnid; Brian clutched Justin's arm to ‘protect' the lad; and Lindsay, a disgusted look on her face, held Gus tightly so he couldn't touch the spider.

"For fuck's sake," Debbie observed matter-of-factly as she came to a halt beside her son, "where do you think all of that Irish lace comes from? They come in and tat when it's monkeys out." 

As Debbie was speaking, Emmett walked towards the front of the house. "Someone get the door for me?"

After a few seconds, during which nobody moved, Ted sighed. "I'll be right back," he assured Ben, going after Emmett to hold the front door for him. Soon after, the spider was safely disposed of and everyone could breathe a little easier, knowing the gigantic thing wasn't inside anymore.

"Pfew, that was a hair-raising experience, "Ben commented, reaching for his boyfriend as Ted returned to his side. "How could you get that close to it?"

The accountant gave the taller man a sheepish smile. "Sheer force of will and determination," he quipped before adding with a grin, "Had to do it to protect my man."

Ben leaned down to bestow a quick kiss on his lover's cheek. "You're my hero, Theodore."

Brian gagged.

"Ew," giggled the blond boy at his side. "Old people kissing."

Brian narrowed his eyes at the brat. Ted was only a few years older than he was - what the hell was Justin on? Then again, they'd both gotten an eyeful of Bented going at it under the mistletoe. That must've been what had put the lad off...

Debbie clapped her hands together loudly. "Well, now that the excitement is over, let's go and eat. The rigatoni bake is getting cold." 

"Yeah," agreed Melanie, "I could use a nice, warm plate of pasta to get over seeing that thing."

The professor eyed the front door a little anxiously. "Do you think it'll come back in?" 

"It might," Mikey said, shrugging. At Ben's horrified look, he went on to add, "This is an old house. What do you expect?"

True enough, Brian allowed, exchanging an amused glance with Vic. Older houses did have a lot of ‘holes' in them that made it easier for spiders to get in. He wouldn't really be surprised if the creature found its way back in, seeking warmth.

Lindsay sniffed dismissively. "It doesn't have to be like that," she objected. "All you have to do is clean frequently. That's what I do at home, so my Lambskin isn't exposed to dirty bugs and spiders."

"Are you saying Ma doesn't clean?" Michael challenged the blonde, his jaw jutting out belligerently.

Her arms filled with a squirming Gus, Lindsay glanced around the room, taking in the surfaces crowded with tchotchkes and the velveteen picture of Elvis. "That's not-" she stuttered. "That's not what I'm saying. I just think that having spiders and insects in the house can be prevented."

"Yeah, well, not everyone has the time to potter around at home," Michael spat at the waspish woman. "Some people have jobs."

Linds looked down her nose at the shorter man. "I'd like to see you take care of an active little boy without any sort of help from anyone."

"Hon," Mel commented quietly, "you might want to stop before you dig that hole any deeper."

Brought up short, the blonde looked first at her partner and then over at Debbie with an abashed expression on her face. "I didn't mean it like that. Really. I'm sor-"

Michael, who wasn't quite ready to let it go, interrupted her apology. "Ma does a lot for everyone; you shouldn't be so ungrateful. In fact, you're just about to eat a dinner that she cooked without any sort of help from anyone."

Flushing an unattractive, blotchy red, Lindsay opened her mouth to defend herself.

Before she could say anything more, Deb put an end to the spat. "Don't worry about it, sweetie; you're a little frazzled," she commiserated with the blonde mother. "I know just what it's like to run around after a curious little boy who gets into everything." She patted Michael fondly on the cheek as she led the way back to the table.

Lindsay nodded, relaxing from her confrontational stance as she lowered a squirming Gus into the highchair and took a seat next to him.

"Vino, anyone?" Vic asked as he carried an uncorked bottle of Rosso di Montalcino over to the table.

"None for you," Brian told Justin, smirking at the blond.

"Don't tell me," Justin groaned. Not that he wanted the wine, but at least it would make a change from water.

"It's on the prohibited list," Brian disregarded his plea. "Along with coffee and-"

"Milk," the teenager finished for his lover. "I know."

Debbie stepped away from the table, returning moments later with a pitcher of water and a few glasses, one of which she set down in front of the teen, filling it to the brim. "There you go. Fresh from the tap." She then carried the pitcher and one of the glasses down to Lindsay. "For the breastfeeding mama," she said. 

"You should keep soy milk in the house," Ben advised. "Then you wouldn't have to forgo the good stuff."

"I'd rather have water," Linds remarked, giving Debbie a grateful smile.

"Wah dah. Wah dah." Gus banged his spoon against the highchair tray in accompaniment.

"Another new word!" the blonde mother proudly announced, beaming at her son.

"Soy milk was an epic fail with Gus," Melanie admitted with a chuckle, reaching over with her napkin to wipe away a bit of drool from the tyke's mouth. "Linds was trying to expose him to different things - like our pediatrician recommended - but every time, Gus screwed up his little face and refused to open his mouth."

"Jushun! Wah dah!" The nipper held out his bottle of milk.

"Hello, Jushun. Come eat." and "Hellooo, Briaaan. Come eat." Harley backed Gus up.

"Nope, can't have it." The blond shook his head, giggling. "That's co- uh... He stopped, hastily changing what he'd been about to say. "...milk, Gussy. I've already got water." Thank fuck.

"Moooo!" Vic lowed, making a comical face. "Drink up, Gus-ster. Cow juice is good stuff."

The boy obediently popped the bottle into his mouth and started sucking.

"That's breast milk, not cow juice," an offended Lindsay corrected Vic. 

Semantics, Brian thought. Biting back the sarcastic comment that wanted to emerge, he admired his son's sucking action.

"Victor Grassi!" Debbie admonished her brother, although a chuckle midway through his last name ruined the effect.

Vic just raised an eyebrow and grinned unrepentantly at both Debbie and Lindsay.

Jesus, Brian thought admiringly, the older man really had guts.

"It is tast-"

Before the bulldyke could elaborate further, Ted, looking rather billious, jumped in. "Soy milk is what's really scary," he joshed. "It even keeps the spiders out of the fridge."

The professor grunted, "Funny man," in a tone that indicated the opposite.

"Speaking of spiders," Debbie commented, laughing, "you should've been around the time I made the mistake of hoovering a big, fat spider out of the bathtub. That was a clusterfuck."

"What happened?" Ben questioned. "Did he come back for revenge? Because I'd do the same thing; I'd want the vacuum hose between me and the fucker."

Brian grinned at the atypical language from the professor.

"Fucker was sat right atop the drain," Debbie elaborated, "and when I sucked him up, I took a bit of the water from the drain with him. Almost ruined my hoover with that stunt."

Theodore grimaced. "I bet that made a mess. It probably stank too."

"No shit," Debbie confirmed. "My poor vacuum cleaner was leaking black gunk all over the bathtub. It was making a horrible, grinding noise - I thought it was gonna combust."

"You had..." Ben paused, swallowing hard, "...spider guts all over your tub?"

Debbie laughed loudly. "Oh, honey," she gasped. "That wasn't spider guts; it was just the dust from the dust bag, but it did stain my bathtub."

Ted tilted his head in consideration. "Actually, if you'd hoovered up spiders before, it's possible there were some spider guts as well..." the accountant trailed off at the sour look his boyfriend was giving him.

"Thanks a lot, Ted," the professor said sarcastically, looking a little green. "You're no longer my hero."

Everyone chuckled at the pronouncement.

"I remember that incident, Sis," Vic remarked as he dished up some of the cheesy, tomatoey rigatoni before passing the pasta along to Emmett. "You were so ticked off that you burned up the phone line to New York for at least an hour."

"Yeah, I didn't have the money for a new hoover, so I was right worried," Debbie acknowledged as she handed another bowl of the rigatoni to Michael, smiling at her son. "You weren't all that much bigger than the spider back then" - she told him - "but boy did you know how to make a mess. I didn't know how I'd get by without a hoover."

"Never mind that having that old vacuum cleaner in your tub made bathing Michael a mite challenging," Vic teased.

"It was only for a couple of days!" the redhead protested. "I didn't want the hoover to spit up all over the place."

"Unlike me, huh, Ma?" Michael asked, poking fun at himself.

"That kind of spit-up, I knew how to get out," Debbie responded, laughing along with everyone else. "That inky black stuff, not so much, especially if it got into the carpet or onto the furniture."

"Spider ink," Justin deduced, a sly twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Spiders don't spit ink," Michael asserted. He then frowned uncertainly. "Do they?"

"You confusing arachnids with octopi, Kiddo?" Vic conjectured. 

"Actually, it's octopuses," Ted corrected. 

Her brow furrowed in thought, Melanie asked, "Are you sure? I could've sworn it was octopi." 

"Uh, no," the professor earnestly explained. "Octopus comes from the Greek, not Latin, so the Latin plural would be incorrect."

"You two really are made for each other," Mel teased, looking from Ben to Ted and then back at Ben. She shook her head. "Octopuses. Who'd a thunk?" 

"It really follows logically," the professor assured her. "But it's not octopuses I have a problem with; it's-"

"Those creepy-crawlies," Theodore inserted helpfully.

"Exactly." Ben shivered.

"You should hire yourself a spider exterminator," Debbie suggested.

"Or just a full-time arachnid removal expert," the professor said seriously, making everyone laugh. Looking across the table at Emmett, he asked, "Would you like to audition? I need a new hero anyroad."

"Woo-hoo, I'm in!" the southerner enthusiastically cried, giving Ben a broad, gap-toothed smile. "What do I need to do to get the job, prof?"

"Keep the creepy-crawlies away from me," the built man replied succinctly.

"That's it?" Em queried, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Yep," Ben popped the ‘P' whilst staring intently at Emmett.

Brian had to admire the professor's deadpan delivery. Not only did he look and sound serious, he was making his beau nervous - Ted was shifting uneasily in his chair, and his mouth hung open as he searched for a way to intercede that wouldn't leave him looking like an idiot.

"Can do," Em assured Ben, flapping a hand at him. "It'll require close contact, though," he slyly clarified. "Like, you know, twenty-four/seven."

Ted cleared his throat, interrupting the flirtation. "How come you're so comfortable with spiders anyway?" he asked Emmett, his attempt to change the course of the conversation transparent.

A mischievous smile on his face, Em placed the tips of his fingers on the table and made a skittering, crawling motion, stretching out his arm until he was touching Ben's plate.

The professor reared back, exclaiming, "You're fired!"

Appearing heartbroken, Emmett clasped his hands to chest. "I've never lost a position so fast!" he wailed. "Even at the tony cattery where I landed a job shortly after I got to the Pitts, I lasted half a day."

"Couldn't handle the pampered pussies, huh?" Brian quipped.

"Not after the blue Persian pissed in my Gucci handbag," Emmett explained. "I haven't found a knock-off that good ever since."

"But spiders don't bother you?" Ted asked, redirecting his friend's attention.

"Oh, that." Em shrugged. "This guy I dated for a while had a tarantula that loved to escape her enclosure." 

"A tarantula?" Ben gasped, white-faced and looking as if he was about to faint.

"Jon's a travelling arachnologist," Emmett expounded. "He showed me what to do. You just have to know how to deal with them." He shrugged again. "No big."

"A travelling arachnologist?" Debbie shrieked. "What the fuck is that?" 

"Maybe they deliver spiders on demand," Justin speculated. "You know, or something."

Brian drolled, "Yeah, just look in the Yellow Pages, under ‘dial a spider.'"

"Any kind of spider?" Michael asked eagerly. "Like, say, Spider-Man?"

"Yucky," Lindsay reiterated her opinion of spiders.

"Yeah," Melanie concurred. "I could never date someone like that - not even Spider-Woman. All the eight-legged little critters would be too much of a turn-off."

"De gustibus non disputandum est," Justin tossed out with a shrug.

The little twat must be feeling better, Brian thought in fond exasperation, if he was back to spouting incomprehensible Latin maxims. If he insisted on studying a dead language, Justin should at least have the sense to concentrate on the important phrases, like Let's fuck, and ignore the rest.

Everyone else, except Ted, stared blankly at the blond boy. 

"Something to do with ‘disputes,'" the brunette lawyer muttered, "but I'm not sure what the rest of it is about. Gustatory disputes?" Mel guessed.

"You better not be having one of those ‘gustatory disputes' with my rigatoni!" Debbie threatened, shaking her fork at Melanie and inadvertently splattering Justin with tomato sauce as well as small pieces of bell pepper, sausage, and noodles.

"Goddammit," Brian muttered to himself. That was one of his favourite sweatshirts the brat was wearing, second only to the one the two detectives had caught him wearing this morning. He should never have searched out the most comfortable clothing he owned for Justin to wear, all so the kid would stay warm, and his delicate skin wouldn't get irritated. It wasn't even like the sweatshirt was touching the lad's balls, although the garment certainly swamped Justin's slender frame and hung low enough to cover his family jewels. 

"Sorry about that, Sunshine," Debbie apologised. "Didn't mean to decorate you or his majesty's precious sweatshirt."

Shit. Of course his surrogate mum would remember how Brian had safeguarded his first ‘pride' sweatshirt; he wouldn't let Mikey wear it even though he'd kept it in his best friend's closet lest Jack or Joan see it. The pullover, a solid black garment with Pride emblazoned on it in rainbow colours, was nothing special. Tacky, really, and more to Honeycutt's taste. But Brian loved the damned thing and still wore it in the safety of his loft where no one would catch him in it.

Brian was diverted from thoughts about how he'd have to carefully hand wash both of his ancient sweatshirts, to ensure they wouldn't fall apart, when Theodore gave his strapping boyfriend a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, opining, "Even calling an arachnologist a ‘spider whisperer' isn't gonna cure Ben's phobia."

"Justin, baby, what was it you said?" Melanie asked rather plaintively. "I know ‘phobia' was nowhere in there."

After mulling it over for a second, Justin replied, "You were right about the dispute thing since a literal translation would be something like, ‘Tastes shouldn't be disputed,' but really, it boils down to ‘To each their own.'"

"Then why not just say that?" Michael asked, perplexed.

Brian was tempted to say, 'Cause the twat's a show-off, but he bit his tongue rather than utter something that was bound to piss his partner off.

"It sounds way more cool in Latin," Justin replied.

"Coo," Gus again echoed his blond idol. With another, more emphatic, "Coo!" he reached out toward Emmett with one chubby hand. Opening and closing his fist, he looked at the flamboyant man imploringly, opening and closing his eyes slowly.

"That's so cute!" Em trilled. "Gussy's batting his eyes at me. I think he wants more Spidey time." Emmett immediately dropped the fingers of his left hand onto the table, and sent the spider crawling towards Gus.

"Coo. Spu du, coo!" The tyke excitedly bounced up and down in his high chair.

"I think we've got a budding arachnologist on our hands," the ‘spider queen' announced proudly.

"Fuck, no!" Brian and Melanie simultaneously blurted out.

"It's probably too late," Vic commented. "The nipper did seem awfully fond of his spider socks the other day."

"I told you not to buy those tarantula socks," Melanie hissed at Lindsay. "This spider obsession is your fault."

"I just- I mean- Gus needed a spare pair of socks," a red-faced Lindsay weakly defended her purchase. "And those were the only ones in primary colors - black on red."

"Tarantulas are way cooler than other spiders," Justin enthused, drawing everyone's attention to him - and away from the ‘dangerous' socks. "Instead of spinning plain old webs, they spin silk."

"Pull the other leg, why dontcha?" Debbie wagged an admonitory finger at the lad. "Spitting ink. Spinning silk. What's next?"

Emmett, who was sprawled out across Lindsay and Melanie's plates in an effort to reach a squealing Gus with his spidery hand, immediately backed up Justin's claim. "No, that one's true. Mr Muffet, Jon's pet tarantula, built a silk burrow in one corner of his terrarium. It looked like a tent from the Arabian Nights." 

"You know," Ted daringly ventured, "I bet a certain someone would like it very much if Santa brought him a Mr Muf-" 

"You'd better shut your mouth right now, Theodore Johann Schmidt, if you know what's good for you," Melanie growled.

"Johann is your middle name?" gasped Emmett, his lips pursing in a moue of displeasure. "Why didn't I know that? I'm your best fri-" The campy man abruptly stopped speaking, an appalled expression on his face as he glanced furtively to his right.

Honeycutt rose several notches in Brian's estimation.

Justin gave his friend a sympathetic look and quickly diverted everyone's attention by further defending the much-maligned tarantula. Turning earnest blue eyes on the girls, he declared, "You can't actually die from a tarantula bite, you know." 

"Trah luh," Gus aped his favourite blond. "Coo."

"That's right." Justin nodded approvingly at the nipper, rubbing a hand across the tip of his nose to get rid of a sudden itch. "Tarantulas are good. If you're bitten, the area around the bite might get a little puffy and achy, but that's it."

"Not according to Maxwell Smart and Agent 99," Vic joked.

Justin looked blankly at Vic, not getting the reference, but Emmett just flapped his free hand dismissively, continuing to entertain Gus with his ‘tarantula hand.' "Pish. I watched that episode of Get Smart with Jon; whichever producer of the show dreamed that up is the one who wasn't very smart. Baby's right; a tarantula bite is nothing - not even as bad as a bee sting."

"Jushun! Bad Boy!" Harley interjected.

The teen spun around to look at the budgie, who had his head cocked in Vic's direction. He must've signalled Harley from the foot of the table, Justin realised, shooting a cross glare at the older man as he twisted back around.

Vic chuckled, obviously pleased with the success of his hidden manoeuvre.

Tartly, Debbie commented, "Tarantulas are definitely ‘bad boys.' I'll stick to our common Irish lace makers, thank you very much!"

"None at all for me," Ben decided. "I'll move into a brand-spanking-new flat if that's what it takes to keep them out. No holes."

"You wouldn't want to get rid of all holes," Vic drolled, eyes twinkling.

"Indeedy!" Debbie cackled. She held up one of the bowls of pasta. "More rigatoni, anyone?"

"I'll take some," Justin chirped before sneezing into his elbow shortly. "Sorry," he apologised as he happily accepted the bowl from Debbie and added some to his plate. He wouldn't be so hungry, he thought, grinning to himself, if half of his first portion hadn't disappeared into Brian's mouth. The brunet had muttered something about "carbs," only putting a miniscule portion on his plate during the first go-round of the various dishes.

"Here, honey, have another piece of garlic bread," Debbie urged, placing one on his plate.

Justin beamed at the redhead, quickly grabbing the garlicky bread and raising it to his mouth. That had been another casualty; he hadn't even gotten a bite of the first slice before Brian snagged it.

Christ, Brian mused, you'd think someone was going to nick the kid's food before he could wolf it down. He himself was feeling uncomfortably full but couldn't figure out why since he'd only consumed a moderate helping of the tossed salad along with a couple bites of the pasta bake, just picking out the sausage and bell paper. Whatever. He gave up trying to reason it out. Maybe he could unbutton-

"That's better," came a sigh from his left.

Brian looked at Emmett, who must've snatched the idea from his brain, the man's pale belly now protruding a little through the opening in his pleather trousers. 

"Why are you even dressed to the nines at this hour, Emmett?" Lindsay inquired. "Isn't it too early for the clubs? You might stain your, er, colourful ensemble."

"Pitts9x6 has a date with usemyhole27 and a couple of his buddies," the southern belle announced with a broad smile. "We're meeting at a wine bar before we hit the clubs. Besides, I'm well protected." Emmett fluffed the napkin he'd tucked into the neck of his wife beater, whilst smoothing another one that was spread across his lap.

"Em, that's a recipe for disaster," Ted chided. "You're not exactly a big beefy top."

"I don't mind an occasional walk on the wild side," the flamboyant man countered with a coy wink. "Anywho, there'll be plenty of opportunities to switch things up. There's gonna be four or five of us." He frowned, deep in thought. "What's five guys going at it called?"

Absentmindedly handing his sniffling lover a clean napkin, Brian supplied the correct term. "An orgy."

"That's it!" The tall queen excitedly clapped his hands. "A mini orgy! Yummy!"

It did sound enticing, Brian reflected, imagining the sounds and smells that would accompany the event. He'd be more than happy to settle for a duet, though - if only his partner were up for it.

"We must be the most skilled deipnosophists ever," Ted quipped. "Our table talk consists of spiders, the marvellous Mr Muffet, and orgies."

Justin giggled and then started sneezing, his eyes watering. Puzzled by what felt like an allergic reaction when there were no flowers or plants on the table, the lad twisted his head around to look at the sideboard. He immediately spotted the culprit, a poinsettia close to Harley's cage that he hadn't noticed before. One of the Christmas plants wouldn't normally bother him, but he now realised that, unable to think about anything except the pain in his testicles, he'd forgotten to take his allergy medications for the last three days.

"Sunshine? What's wrong?" Debbie asked.

Covering his nose with his napkin, Justin let out a body-shaking "Achoo!" and motioned toward the plant on the sideboard, next to which Harley was grooming himself in his cage.

"That's my fault," Vic apologised. "I didn't think poinsettias had much pollen, so I told Carl it shouldn't be a problem when he dropped by with a gift for Deb."

"Not the pollen," the blond lad got out between more sneezes. "It's the sap."

"Poinsettias have sap?" The professor eyed the houseplant in fascination.

"Yeah." Justin nodded and wiped his streaming eyes with his napkin. "Normally it wouldn't bother me unless I, like, touched the plant and then my face, but I guess this one's too close to me. And uh," he added, "I haven't taken my allergy meds for a couple days."

Debbie jumped up. "We'll just move this baby over by the back door. Just be sure not to go anywhere near it, Kiddo."

"I won't," Justin promised, one more sneeze working its way out as soon as he spoke. No way did he want to go anywhere near that holiday shrub. All the sneezing had set off the ache in his balls again, despite the donut cushion - which up till now had been surprisingly comfortable. It helped even more than the jockstrap Brian had lent him, although that kept his sore junk from bouncing around, just as Dr Singh had advised it would. 

"Michael, sweetheart, would you help me clear the table and then get the dessert plates from the dishwasher?" Debbie requested as she returned sans poinsettia. "Don't worry," she addressed everyone; "the plates are clean. I just forgot to unload after running it earlier today."

Michael huffed and glanced around the table. "How about-" he started, his eyes lingering on Justin. "Oh, right. You're ‘injured.'"

Fucker, Justin thought, clenching his hands in fists so tight that his nails left crescents in his skin. He already felt like a total loser. He made to stand up - he'd help clear the table - but just as his behind left the cushion, Brian hissed, "Going somewhere, Sunshine?"

The lad gestured at the table, only to see Michael smirk at him as he carried a stack of plates toward the kitchen.

"Don't let Mikey get your goat," Brian quietly recommended. "He doesn't need any help to clear the fuckin' table."

Justin relaxed against his lover, some of the tension leaving his body. But then a clattering of dishes from the kitchen - followed by a weird, high-pitched noise that sounded rather like a kettle of water coming to a boil - caused him to sit upright again.

"What's wrong?" Melanie inquired, carrying dishes she must've collected from the other end of the table, as she followed Michael into the kitchen. 

An indecipherable gurgling noise was the only answer.

"That's what got your knickers in a twist?" the attorney chuckled a couple of beats later. "That's just a commonplace dildo, although that shade of blue is very nice - reminds me of Justin's eyes."

Although he was tempted to go and take a look, Brian stayed put - getting all aflutter over a dildo was something better left to lesbians, and evidently, Mikey. He should be able to sneak a peek at it later, though. If the colour really matched the boy's eyes, he wanted to know where it had been purchased. Maybe the store had other toys in the same shade that Brian could add to his collection. 

"Oh, Sunshine!" Debbie exclaimed, popping back into view. "I forgot to tell you I found your toy on the ground by the outside dustbin. I have no idea how it ended up there, covered in crud, but I removed the batteries and ran it through the dishwasher. It should be good as new."

Unnerved to have his original BOB reappear, Justin could only stare at his mum in shock. He flailed around for an explanation for the reappearance of the contaminated dildo. Maybe after Vic cleaned out Harley's cage, the bag he'd dumped it in split as he carried it out to the trash? Vic therefore wouldn't have realised the toy had fallen out and rolled off to one side. He didn't dare look at Vic for confirmation; the older man was doubtless as horrified as he was to have BOB 1.0 resurrected.

From the kitchen, Michael shouted, his voice wavering, "That's weird. Did you drop it in the wastebasket by mistake, Justin?"

The blond lad snorted quietly. What a coward, hiding in the kitchen. That, and especially calling him by name, were a clear admission of guilt as far as Justin was considered. Michael rarely used his first name. He always addressed him as ‘Boy Wonder,' or ‘muppet,' or ‘hey, you.'

"Aren't you glad I found it?" Debbie excitedly remarked. "I could put it on your pillow if you'd like." She let out a husky laugh, waggling her eyebrows at the teen.

Brian scrutinised the lad's face, wondering at the sickly smile and tepid enthusiasm. Something was off, but he couldn't figure out what. Maybe it was a cheap dildo that had malfunctioned when the kid was using it and he'd tossed it out because of that?

No, that couldn't be it. Based on Deb's exhilaration about finding the toy, the twat had been looking for it for a while, and there was nothing wrong with it. Ending up with a dud also didn't explain why Mikey sounded like a fainting virgin who'd just caught sight of a tame sex toy for the first time. Christ, it wasn't like it was a spiked butt plug or a set of titty clamps.

"Uh, maybe just leave it in the dishwasher?" Justin mumbled. "It's not like I can use it right now anyroad."

"Oh, honey, don't you worry," Debbie tried to buoy the lad's spirits. "Once the swelling goes down, you'll rise to the occasion."

"Ooh! Can I watch?" Emmett playfully teased.

When that only earned a weak laugh from the teen, Brian frowned. Maybe Justin really was worried that his equipment wouldn't function normally. No matter; it wouldn't take much effort on Brian's part to make sure his boy would ‘rise to the occasion.'

"Tell you what," Debbie offered, "I'll put your toy in a plastic bag and set it on top of the old towels I use for cleaning in the laundry room. You know where I mean, right?"

Justin looked oddly relieved at that suggestion, darting a glance down the table at Vic for some reason. Although it niggled at him that he couldn't determine what was going on, Brian decided that was the perfect solution. It should be easy enough for him to wander into the laundry room cum pantry and retrieve the toy without anyone noticing. Maybe not tonight but sometime in the next day or two.

"Would anyone be up for a game of Mafia?" Ben asked several minutes later, once everyone had been settled with their steaming cups of coffee, tea, or - in Justin's case - a glass of tepid water. Plates overflowing with holiday confections covered the whole centre of the table, the delicious smells wafting from them prompting everyone to grab some of the goodies and put them on their plates.

"What do you say, Gussy, you want to play Mafia?" Justin cooed at the tyke, who had his chubby fingers clamped around a pignolo and was trying to cram the entire biscuit into his mouth all at once. Seeing the mess Gus' attempts were leaving, he laughed tiredly. "That's right; why bother with a plate when you're just gonna eat the cookie anyway?"

"I really shouldn't," Emmett muttered, mouth full of zeppole and a hand on his distended stomach. "But your cookies are even better than the ones my Aunt Lula used to make, Debs."

The redhead beamed at the praise. "I'll give you a plate to take home with you."

Ben cleared his throat. "Ehm, Mafia, anyone? I'd say we're all just the right amount of stuffed and tipsy on wine to make it an interesting round."

"Mafia?" Mikey questioned a little skeptically.

"I like to play it with my students," Ben doggedly explained as he helped himself to a couple more of the enticing cookies. "It's great for getting them to consider different points of view."

Justin yawned, belatedly reaching a hand up to cover his mouth. A second yawn followed, and he ended up resting his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands.

Judging that his blond was about to pass out, Brian begged off, "Another time." Was there a way to fix it so both he and Justin got aces when they did play? he wondered.

"I can't tonight." Emmett gave Ben an apologetic smile. "I'm meeting my orgy buddies in a few."

"Another Sunday?" Debbie proposed. "Then more of us could participate. With Carl, we'd have the police, and David could be the doctor."

"That's not the way it works," Michael mumbled as Brian pushed back his chair and stood up. 

"So what," Debbie challenged. "If those cards know what's good for them, they'll line up right when we play."

"If anyone can make a deck of cards behave, it's you, Debs," Ted joked.

"Darn tootin'!" the redhead agreed. 

Justin yawned again, unable to stop now that he'd gotten started, all the trauma of the last few days catching up with him.

"C'mon, Twat," Brian urged Justin to get up, holding out an arm for the boy to grab onto when he stumbled. Kid's legs must've gone to sleep. 

"I'm right behind you." Emmett scrambled to get up from the table. "Hoo boy," the discombobulated queen commented a beat later, his zipper heading further south as he stood. "Can I take a rain check on the cookies-"

"It's not like you have to worry about them falling off," Lindsay interrupted with a sniff, disdainfully eyeing Em's electric blue trousers. "Those are practically painted on." 

"That's true," the southerner agreed with a cheerful smile, ignoring the intended put-down. "Maybe I'll be able to do them up by the time I get to the wine bar."

Jesus, Linds really needed to get past the breastfeeding stage, Brian mused as he guided Justin to the entryway. Maybe then she'd loosen up and quit being so judgemental about everything - rediscover the joie de vivre she'd had before she got pregnant.

"You look all wore out, Baby," Emmett observed as he slipped Justin's arms into the sleeves of the peacoat that Brian was holding.

"Mhmm," Justin hummed, swaying in place, his eyes at half mast.

The boy was really dead on his feet, Brian thought. He hadn't even asked why he was putting on Brian's coat instead of his own jacket. The blond probably wasn't even aware that his threadbare coat had given its last gasp earlier.

Thundering footsteps came their way from the dining area. Brian sighed and looked up, expecting Mikey, who'd pester him about hitting the bars and clubs together. Instead, he came face-to-face, or more accurately, chest-to-face with Debbie.

"Where do you think you're going?" the woman cried, poking Brian in the chest as he finished wrapping a scarf around Justin's neck.

Wasn't it self-explanatory? Brian raised an eyebrow at the redhead, silently asking what the problem was.

Deb rolled her eyes in response and tapped the toe of one shoe against the floor. "You're working tomorrow, aren't you?"

"It's Monday," Brian tersely replied.

"How's Sunshine gonna get any rest when your loft is doubling as an office?"

Well, shit. He really hadn't thought this through, Brian realised. He'd like to keep an eye on the lad, but tomorrow would be busy, especially since it was Bethany's first day on board with Kinnetik.

"I'll go get his medications from the jeep," he said with a sigh of resignation, conceding that Justin would be better off here for the night. He turned to Emmett. "You got him?"

"Shoo." The flamboyant man grinned at him. "Baby and I will be just fine," Em drawled the final word, giving Brian a saucy smile.

Brian growled, "Keep your hands above the waist," as he hurried out of the house.

A couple ticks later he was back inside, shivering from being out in the freezing cold without his coat. Justin was leaning on Emmett, his head lolling against his friend's shoulder. "He's overdue for another dose of the aspirin if he wants it," Brian informed Debbie as he handed over the small container with the antibiotic. He wished he had the packet from Dr Singh with the two pills to tide Justin over; he'd rather keep the bulk of the prescription at the loft. Two pills would get the lad through a day, and by then, it would be time to retrieve him and take him home.

Frustrated that he had to hand over the bottle containing the pills for eight and a half days, Brian didn't realize he was thinking of the loft as the boy's home. At least he'd had the sense to only remove one of the bottles of extra-strength aspirin, he mused, leaving the other two and the remainder of the new ice packs in the CVS bag on the passenger seat. "Just make sure he doesn't have more than eight of the extra-strength pills in twenty-four hours," he tacked on a reminder.

Deb looked at him in fond exasperation. "Got it the first time."

"He's to have the antibiotic in the morning and at night, taking his temperature each time."

The redhead nodded in understanding.

"If his temperature rises above 103, he needs to go straight to the ER. According to Dr Singh, it should start to abate - from the 103.4 they recorded early this morning - within twenty-four hours."

"Brian, honey, I've taken care of sick kids plenty of times," Debbie halted the spate of instructions. 

Right, she had. Him included. Even so, he hated to leave the boy. That fuckin' tuna boat of Deb's would fishtail all over the road if she had to take Justin to the hospital in the middle of the night. Not that Brian thought that was likely - Justin was doing much better - but he'd worry less if he knew that the lad's temperature had come down by at least one degree. He could hardly ask Deb to shove a thermometer in the twat's mouth-

"Don't worry." Debbie interrupted his fretting, reaching up to pat him on the cheek. "I know what to do, honey."

Brian winced. Christ, he must be acting like a Nervous Nellie to have Debbie call him ‘honey' instead of the more typical, albeit fond, ‘asshole.' Shrugging, he turned toward the boy, who was struggling against Emmett's efforts to relieve him of Brian's peacoat.

"Let's get this coat off you, Baby," Em urged, tugging at Justin's arms which were folded across his chest, trapping Brian's scarf against the coat.

"Don' wanna," the blond mumbled in protest.

Brian grinned at the half-asleep blond. The peacoat that would've hit mid-thigh on him was below the knees on Justin and looked like it could wrap around the blond twice.

"Leave it," he told Emmett. "I have others. You want a lift, you'd better get moving," he added. 

"And here I thought you'd never ask." The tall man flashed a gap-toothed smile at Brian.

As if he needed to ask. 

"You want some help getting Baby upstairs?" Emmett asked Debbie.

"Can walk," the teen insisted, making an effort to stand upright.

Brian chuckled when the brat listed to one side. At least he didn't look in imminent danger of planting his derriere on the floor.

"Nah, we're good," came the cheerful reply as the motherly woman wrapped an arm around Justin's waist.

In that case, they'd better get out of here stat, before Mikey came chasing after them. Brian stared indecisively at the blond, reluctant to leave without a kiss but at the same time not thrilled about having an audience for a liplock that wasn't of the hot and steamy variety. Fuck this, he finally told himself, taking a step closer to his boy. He was neither an overly touchy-feely muncher nor a stupid hetero male who was afraid of a simple display of affection. This was his partner, for fuck's sake; he was supposed to kiss Justin.

He gently pressed his lips to the blond's, savouring the taste that was uniquely Justin's, now with the added piquancy of garlic and tomato sauce combined with cookies. Pulling back after just a moment, he murmured, "Later."

"Later," Justin promised in return, placing a butterfly kiss on Brian's chin.

"Ooh la la!" Emmett flapped a hand in front of his face. "That was one heckuva kiss, boys!"

Brian frowned at the southern man. What the heck was he on about? There'd barely been any tongue involved, and it had lasted all of a beat or two.

"No shit!"

Brian's head swivelled towards Debbie, who was imitating Emmett with the hand-flapping.

"Christ, if I wore glasses, they'd be all steamed up." Debbie waved a hand in front of her flushed face some more.

The brunet turned on his heel, yanked on the doorknob to open the door, and strutted out of this house, his lips curving in a smirk. Being ‘partnered' certainly hadn't negatively affected his sexual prowess, the stud reflected proudly. Maybe having Justin around even enhanced his libido. He'd have to test the theory - frequently, over an extended period of time - to be certain he was right...

The door banged shut behind him, and Em sashayed over to the jeep at Brian's side. "You know, Baby looks awfully fetching in your coat, Bri. So cute the way he was snugged in, his nose peeking out-"

Why had he offered the annoying queen a ride? Brian wondered, cross at having his ruminations interrupted. Ignoring the rest of man's blather, he pressed the key fob twice to unlock the doors, climbed in, and inserted the key in the ignition, the metal icy where it touched his fingers. 

"Jesus, it's monkeys out there," Honeycutt crabbed as he scrambled into the jeep, holding his ungloved hands in front of the vents in anticipation of warm air. "I thought about wearing the mittens Deb knitted for me as a Christmas present last year, but they really don't go with my ensemble, you know?"

That reminded Brian that his gloves were in a side pocket of his coat. No matter; the black of his Royce New York gloves didn't match the black of his peacoat as well as he'd initially thought. He'd look for a better match when he stopped by Kaufmann's to see whether they still had that same Vince Camuto overcoat available, sized for one short blond. Em was right about that - Justin had looked fetching in Brian's coat.