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Author's Chapter Notes:

My Synergy Sister and I have been having a great time reading the recent discussions on AO3 - both about our fic and the show. The comments have really motivated us to finish this chapter!

Whether you read on KD or on AO3, feel free to join in :) The more commentary, the more we're inspired to keep writing.

 

 

Just starting to drift out of a deep sleep, Brian muzzily shifted in his bed and thought that his duvet was even better than advertised. It really did keep him toasty.

"Mmm," came a humming noise as the comforter settled more closely against his chest.

That was weird. His comforter wasn't electric, and even if it was, a buzzing noise wouldn't indicate anything good. Brian also couldn't figure out why the bloody duvet was so heavy; it really weighed down his left arm when he tried to lift it.

"Mmm," came the odd warning noise again.

The brunet struggled toward wakefulness, resisting the urge to just curl deeper into the welcoming warmth of his duvet. He had to figure out what was wrong. Something had to be on the fritz - maybe one of the tubes in the light array above his bed? He might've forgotten to turn it off.

It was only when he managed to crack one eye that Brian realised nothing was, in fact, wrong. On the contrary, everything was exactly as it should be. It didn't even matter that the blue lights that used to hang above the bed were long gone, the fucking burglars having removed them along with the rest of his stuff. Justin was sleeping next to him - right where he should be.

He smiled softly as he looked at the mop of blond hair that rested on Brian's pillow, right next to his face. His resolution from last night - about convincing Justin to come live with him - came back to him and his smile widened. If he applied his persuasive powers here and there, he could probably work it so that the twat was the one to ask Brian if he could move back in.

A crease appeared between his brows as he pondered the idea. No, that could take months, and he didn't want to wait that long. Brian would just make sure the boy was ready to jump at his offer when the right moment arrived.

Meanwhile, he'd just enjoy having Justin back in his arms where he belonged. He wasn't about to disturb the slumbering blond, not even to restore circulation to his arm, which was pinned underneath the lad. Vaguely interested in what time it might be - hopefully nowhere near the time they'd have to get up if they didn't want to be roused by his minions banging on the loft door - Brian lifted his head just far enough to see his clock.

8:03 the numbers read. Not as early as Brian would prefer, but they could still doze for another twelve minutes before the alarm went off. He'd purposely set it to go off later than usual, so he and Justin could have a good, long rest - allowing just enough time for them to shower and have a bite to eat before his worker bees arrived.

His eyes were just sliding shut when the landline started ringing. Brian decided to ignore it - anyone important would call his mobile - when the machine picked up and Vic's voice carried to him over the loudspeaker. He couldn't make out most of what Vic was saying, but hearing his son's name galvanised him. 

He couldn't help being a little worried. It didn't make sense that Vic was the one calling him - if anything had happened to his sonnyboy, Linds should be the one on the horn to him - but he still wanted to make sure. 

Even though he was anxious to find out what was up with Gus, it still took several long seconds for Brian to extract himself from the blond's embrace. You'd think that since his body was wrapped around Justin's that it would be simple enough, but you'd be wrong. He first had to remove his right leg from between Justin's, the boy's legs clamping together to hold him in place. Pretty much the same happened with his right arm. When he tried to lift it away, both the blond's hands latched on.

Christ, the kid was like an octopus. Finally freeing his right arm and leg, Brian slid backwards, drawing his left arm out from under Justin. He let it hang limp - since, unsurprisingly, it was numb after being pinned under the boy all night - and went to get off the bed. Misjudging the amount of mattress available to him, he almost crashed to the floor, only rescuing himself at the last second.

"Mmph," the blond grumbled, his protest a little louder than before. Even though he rolled over so that he was now in the spot Brian's body had kept warm, cocooning himself in the duvet, he showed no further signs of awakening. His eyes were shut tight, and a moment later, a light snore came out of his mouth.

"Brat," Brian grunted before padding across the floor to the phone, his movements less graceful than usual. If anyone should be complaining, it was him. Not only had his left arm gone to sleep, his left leg had a cramp, probably because he'd been in the same position for far too long.

Naturally, by the time he got to the phone, Vic had hung up. Rather than listen to the message, which would be a waste of time when he could talk to the source for the call, Brian lifted the receiver and accessed the directory for his Panasonic phone. He then pressed the down arrow twice - Deb's number was second in the list - and hit the ‘talk' button.

When Vic picked up, the older man only got out "Gras-" before Brian interrupted him.

"Gus okay?" he demanded.

"Don't take that tone with me," Vic chided before immediately relenting. "Your son's fine, ragazzo. Lindsay called here because she was hoping Justin and I could look after Gus again today."

It was on the tip of Brian's tongue to say Justin and Vic weren't running a babysitting service, but he reined in the snark. He well knew that the blond twat loved babysitting Gus, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Vic felt much the same.

"Yeah?" he grunted in acknowledgment.

Brian could actually hear Vic's eye-roll as he tartly rejoined, "Yeah."

The brunet sighed. He'd better dial down the attitude if he wanted any further information from Vic. "What time is Linds dropping Gus off?"

"She's not. I didn't say yea or nay, just that I'd have to check with Justin and would get back to her."

Brian grinned to himself. He could imagine his blonde friend's frustration at being put off. She'd have expected Vic to go check with Justin then and there.

"I thought I'd make breakfast for all of us," Vic continued. "Why don't you pick up that boy of yours and come over?"

"The one that's in my bed?" Brian joked. "I've already picked him up."

"That one as well," Vic agreed with an easy laugh. "How's nine o'clock sound? That give you and Sunshine enough time?"

"Better make that nine fifteen." Brian wanted to allow plenty of time to get his blond up, give him the antibiotic, for both of them to shower, and for the drive to the munchers' and then Debbie's house on the snowy, slippery roads. The normally short routes - barely more than a mile and a half combined - would be tricky in this weather. More fat, wet flakes were rapidly coming down, he noticed in disgust when he glanced out the window. Ready to hang up and get a move on, he started to say, "See you-"

Vic cut him off. "You might also want to check your mobile, lad. I tried it first but couldn't get through."

Irritated that his cell was acting up again - it seemed like there was one problem after another - Brian curtly muttered, "Bye," before hitting the ‘talk' button on the receiver to end the call. When he heard the dial tone, he didn't bother going up the steps to get his offending mobile, but with a quick press of a couple buttons, dialled Cynthia's number on his landline.

"Don't tell me," came his secretary's sarcastic greeting a few seconds later; "I'm to make sure the barista puts in ‘a reasonable amount of sugar so your joe doesn't taste like motor oil.'"

Her deadpan imitation of him was really rather good, Brian thought, momentarily distracted. She shouldn't have to keep instructing the idiots at the corner coffee shop on how to make coffee, however. If Brian had been the one to lecture them, they would've long since gotten it right.

It was a bit unfortunate that, just as Cynthia was finally getting one barista trained up right, she'd have to start all over again once they moved into their new offices. Brian would have to put a bug in her ear about checking out the coffee houses closer to Kinnetik. Maybe the staff at one of those cafés would actually have a clue as to how to prepare a simple java.

A couple beats later, when all he heard was a light staticky sound, he realised that Cynthia was waiting for an answer, doubtlessly expecting him to lambaste the incompetent barista.

"That too," he agreed.

The blonde woman queried suspiciously, "Too?"

"If you don't want a couple hours to yourself this morning-"

Cyn interrupted, sounding even more suspicious, "Wait, what?"

"Get hold of your cohorts and tell them we'll meet at the loft at ten thirty," Brian instructed. "If you're rarin' to go and don't want to wait till then, feel free to meet at the corner caff at the regular time. Just make sure you're all here at half ten. Coffee for me in hand," he stressed. By the time he got back from breakfast, he'd be in need of another cup.

"Something came up?" Cynthia quipped. "Justin?" she then squealed like an overexcited tween.

Brian refused to satisfy her curiosity. "I have an appointment," was all he would say. A breakfast appointment with his two favourite boys - three, if he included Vic. Might as well, he thought with an amused smile; Vic would get a kick out of being called a ‘boy.' "Ten thirty," he reminded the blonde as he ended the call.

Collecting a bottle of water and Justin's meds from the kitchen counter, Brian made his way back up the steps to the bed. He smiled at the sleeping blond lad in his bed - that was where he wanted to find Justin from now on - as he set down the water and pills on the nightstand. His smile morphed into a scowl, however, as he picked up his cell. Although it was plugged into the charger, there was no readout, which meant the battery must be dead. "Fuckin' piece of junk," he grumbled. He'd have to add getting a new battery - or better yet, a new phone - to his growing to-do list. Why the fuck did everything have to fall apart at once? Sod's Law must be having a very merry Advent season.

Tossing his kaput mobile back onto his nightstand, Brian slid across the mattress to the sleeping boy and spooned Justin's body with his. "Rise and shine, Sunshine," he murmured, unknowingly echoing Debbie's wake-up call from yesterday morning. His follow-up went differently though, Brian leaving a trail of soft kisses along the younger man's jaw.

"Nngh." 

Brian nipped lightly at the skin near Justin's ear.

"Nngh," the teen protested again before adding, Whatimesit?" sleepily slurring the words together.

"Time to get up." Brian nipped again at the same spot.

Justin turned his head to the side, his eyes rising to half mast. "I'm on vacashu- uh, vacation," he made an obvious effort to speak more distinctly. "Can't I sleep a little longer?"

Feigning disinterest, Brian shrugged. "Sure, if you don't mind missing out on breakfast with me, Gus, and Vic." He wasn't about to admit that he was craving the feast Vic was bound to already have in the works. Other than Debbie, no one else could make comfort food like Vic.

The boy's eyes opened a bit more. "Vic's making break-" He stopped mid-word, looking perplexed, a crease forming between his brows, and asked instead, "Wait, Gus?"

"Lesbians." That should explain things, Brian figured. Evidently not, however, since the furrow between Justin's brows deepened. "Linds didn't get her shit together yesterday," he clarified. "She needs more time to have a manicure or get waxed or whatever."

"Gross." The blond scrunched up his nose in disgust. 

It was, Brian silently conceded. His brief flirtation with the opposite sex had long since led him to the same conclusion. Not about to admit it bothered him too, he remarked nonchalantly, "It's just female parts."

When Justin - apparently shocked awake by thoughts of the female anatomy - propped himself up on one elbow and twisted around to look at Brian in disbelief, the brunet realised that had been a foolish thing to say. "Right," the blond drawled. "So you wouldn't mind, then, if Lindsay, like, paraded naked through her living room. Or you know, Mel-"

"Shut it!" Brian snapped, swallowing hard. It felt like the breakfast he hadn't yet eaten was already coming up for a rerun. He might be able to cope with a naked Linds, but Mel? No fucking way.

The lad radiated smug satisfaction. "That's what I thought."

The little shit, Brian mused grumpily, glaring at the boy. Did he really want to put up with this kind of sass all the time? Yeah, he did, he acknowledged as Justin smiled impishly up at him.

What he definitely didn't want, however, was to consider what naked lezzies might get up to. Munchers munching - bleurgh. Needing to change the subject stat, Brian rolled away from the blond and grabbed the bottle of water and the pills before abruptly thrusting everything at Justin. "Take your meds," he gruffly ordered.

"Erm, just let me sit up first, 'kay?" The blond lad awkwardly rolled over onto his back, his face squinching up as he moved.

Dropping everything on the mattress, Brian scooted back over so that he could hook his arms under Justin's armpits and leverage him up until he was reclining against the pillows. "It still hurts?" he questioned. "As much as yesterday?"

"No, it's better. It's more like a dull ache now, instead of sharp, pinching pain. I just- I should've used an ice pack last night," the boy admitted sheepishly. "It's just so cold, you know?"

Brian couldn't really fault the boy; icing one's gonads wasn't fun, even if it was the best treatment. "We'll numb you up today," he assured the blond as he picked up the bottle of water and unscrewed the cap before handing it to Justin.

While Justin took a couple sips of water, Brian pushed one of the antibiotic pills through the foil on the underside of the packet and handed it to him. The boy dutifully put the antibiotic on his tongue before taking a glug from the bottle and swallowing again and again.

Tilting the bottle to his mouth, the boy took another swig and swallowed again. "Finally," he gasped. "Why does it have to be so large?" His eyes watering, he paused to gulp more water and massage his neck at the spot where the pill had presumably got stuck. "I mean, I'm sure it could be smaller."

Brian glanced down at the packet in his hand. "Maybe they're Hulk-sized to prevent dumbasses from thinking they're something they can pop to get high," he speculated.

The blond giggled weakly. "No one would be that dumb."

"Yeah? What if Sven had given you a fuckin' huge pill and told you it would make you feel better?" Brian challenged.

All traces of humour immediately vanished from Justin's visage. "Okay," he mumbled as he looked down at the bottle that he was gripping tightly with one hand, the plastic crumpling under the pressure from his fingers. "No one's that dumb except me."

Brian almost felt bad for ramming his point home like that. Almost. "You aren't gonna make that mistake again, are you?" he demanded, drilling the boy with his gaze.

Justin raised his head and looked directly at Brian, his eyes swimming with moisture. "No. No, I won't," he stated adamantly. He blinked rapidly, obviously willing the tears not to fall.

"Good." Satisfied, Brian gentled his tone and teased, "You really shouldn't have any problem with these pills, Sunshine. After all, you swallow me down just fine."

"You taste way better." The blond gave him a wan smile.

Like there was any contest, Brian thought, rolling his eyes. "You want a couple of aspirin?" He held up the bottle. "These should help dull the ache in your balls."

"Yeah, thanks."

Justin now sounded way too subdued for Brian's liking, but that was probably to be expected after a reminder about the drug fiasco, the brunet reflected. He shook two of the aspirin into the palm of Justin's hand and re-capped the bottle as he got up from the bed. "I'll go turn the shower on and then come back for you," he informed the lad.

He got another smile, but it was almost as tepid as the last one. A leisurely, hot shower should revive the lad's spirits, Brian hoped as he covered the short distance between the bed and the bathroom. The brunet was adjusting the temperature from yesterday morning's nearly scorching heat when he realised he hadn't taken Justin's temperature this morning. Shit. Debbie would be expecting a report on the latest readings and would ream him out if he couldn't provide it.

Leaving the water running, Brian grabbed the thermometer from where he'd placed it in the medicine cabinet last night. Thank fuck he'd had to the foresight to buy a replacement when he was at CVS, or he'd probably be stuck using Debbie's old-fashioned thermometer. This was just a cheap stick model - the expensive one he'd owned but never used gone during the robbery - but at least it was digital and not as clunky as Deb's to use.

"Let's get your temperature," he told Justin as he returned to the bed.

The blond lifted an eyebrow. "You gonna let me put it in?"

That sounded rather dirty, Brian thought, grinning. "It?" he asked, leering at the boy.

"Oh, um, I-" Justin stuttered to a halt, looking adorably flustered.

Brian gave a mental groan at the way the A-word kept cropping up in his mind. It was okay, he supposed, as long as he didn't start babbling about adorable this and adorable that, like a lovesick lesbian.

"Uh, Debs insisted on putting it - uh, the thermometer - under my tongue yesterday," Justin managed a slightly more coherent explanation.

"I could test your temperature with Dr Kinney's rectal thermometer," Brian teased. "I've been told, though, that it tends to make patients hot." 

As soon as the joking words were out, Brian wanted to take them back; with his equipment out of order, Justin wasn't likely to appreciate the good-natured teasing. Fortunately, the boy just giggled before inserting the thermometer under his tongue and clamping down with his lips.

The brunet found himself strangely content to stand there and wait for the thermometer to get a reading. The scene was weirdly domestic, but - surprisingly - not in a bad way.

The beep from the thermometer rescued Brian from thinking about it any further. Just as well; these muncher-like moments were becoming all too frequent. When Justin removed the thermometer and went to look at it, Brian held out a hand, chiding, "Nuh-uh, Sunshine. Give it here." He wouldn't put it past the brat to quickly reset the thermometer if he didn't like what saw - and finesse the reading so it didn't sound so bad.

"I wouldn't," Justin objected. A beat later, when Brian didn't relent, his hand still outstretched, the lad revised that to, "Not on purpose. Really." He sighed, his lower lip protruding as he gave Brian the thermometer.

"What's your normal temperature?" Brian asked as he looked at the readout. Last night, it had still been a touch above 100, but now it had dropped just below that mark, hovering at 99.8 degrees Fahrenheit.

The lad promptly replied, "Um, anywhere from 98 to 98.8. Even 99," he added after thinking about it for a moment, "but that's a little high for me." He looked at Brian hopefully. "Is it somewhere in there?"

Brian sighed. "It's not as bad as yesterday," he informed Justin, "but it's still a little too high - 99.8 to be exact."

"But... it's been two days!" Justin turned woebegone blue eyes on him. "Shouldn't it be lower?"

"Have you finished the antibiotic?" Brian quirked an eyebrow at the lad.

Justin gave him a look that clearly conveyed ‘Duh, no.'

Brian chuckled, the bratty response reassuring him that Justin was on the mend. "According to Dr Singh, you only need to worry if your temperature isn't in the normal range by the time you finish the antibiotic. Or if you get feverish again."

"But Debbie's gonna, like, keep me locked up in the house if I have a temperature!" Justin complained, his voice rising dramatically.

Locking the kid up didn't sound bad to Brian, although he'd settle for having Justin where he could keep an eye on him.

The boy's lower lip jutted out further. "She only let me go to Costco yesterday because of Emmett. Deb could hardly say no if she was giving him a lift."

Brian barked out another laugh. "That may have influenced her a little," he allowed. "But if she truly thought you couldn't handle it, Debbie wouldn't have had any trouble telling you no."

"I guess," Justin reluctantly conceded the point. "But I want to do more than just go to Costco, you know?"

"Why don't you see how you feel after breakfast?" Brian suggested reasonably. Justin should be busy with Gus, so there was no reason for him to go anywhere. Brian would just have a word with Vic; if the lad started getting restless, the older man could come up with something to keep Justin occupied.

The blond consented, "Yeah, okay."

That had been too easy, Brian thought, narrowing his eyes.

As he'd suspected, Justin broke under his steely gaze. "I'm gonna meet Smythe for lunch, though. Like you set up, remember?"

Fuck. Brian'd had every intention of being there, wanting to forestall any attempts by Smythe to con Justin into working for him again. If he hadn't forgotten, he'd have told Cynthia that the team could take the entire morning off. He could hardly call her back now, however. Not only would he look like an indecisive moron, there was business that shouldn't be put off more than a couple of hours. 

He'd just have to trust Justin not to let Smythe hoodwink him, Brian thought unhappily. Then he recalled that Debbie would be at the diner. He'd just call and give the redhead a heads-up... Satisfied with that resolution, Brian smiled down at the blond. "Upsy-daisy, Sunshine," he ordered. "Let's wash off yesterday's stink." 

The blond swivelled his hips a little and started to slowly swing his legs over to the side of the bed, wincing as his balls brushed against the cotton sheet.

Placing one knee on the bed, Brian leaned forward and looped his arms under the blond's arms. "Arms around my neck," he told Justin.

"I can do it myself, you know," the lad commented querulously.

"Why should you?" Brian rebutted. "When you've got me?"

The boy's testiness vanished and he smiled tremulously at Brian as he wrapped his arms around the brunet's neck. "My partner," ghosted off of his lips, so quietly that Brian suspected he wasn't meant to hear it.

Mine, he thought in return, smiling into Justin's hair as he helped the lad to his feet.

Justin's steps were somewhat halting as Brian ushered him into the bathroom and then the shower, but the smile stayed on his face. "Thanks," he murmured his appreciation for the assistance.

Brian shrugged off the thanks, acting as if this was something he did every day. He suspected that was uncomfortably close to the truth when it came to the blond. Before Justin came along, he'd never let a trick use his shower, much less joined them. Sure, Brian kept a supply of condoms in the cubicle, but that was just in case... In case of Justin, he thought, a bit of resentment over the way the lad had turned his life upside down welling up.

"Rest your hands on my shoulders," he demanded rather brusquely as he steered the blond under the spray of hot water.

Apparently unbothered by Brian's curtness, Justin closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the water stream down the planes of his body. He sighed in pleasure. "Feels good."

Brian felt a weird fluttering in his chest as he squirted some of his Guerlain shampoo and body wash into the palm of one hand and then began lathering up Justin's hair. It must be his indigestion acting up again. Brian would have to watch what he ate of the breakfast Vic was preparing - the food was bound to be full or carbs, and he didn't want to set off a full-blown attack of acid reflux.

He'd warn the kid to watch what he ate too, but there wasn't any point to doing so. Justin had a cast-iron stomach - and the metabolism of a teenager - Brian mused more than a little enviously.

"Erm, I think my hair's clean," Justin assessed when the strand Brian had been running through his fingers squeaked. "You want me to do yours?"

Brian had been so lost in his thoughts that he had no idea how long he'd been shampooing the boy's hair - a little too long, obviously. While it was good that the blond mop was thoroughly clean, it should be conditioned so that the cuticles didn't get damaged.

"Bri?" the lad prompted him.

"I can do mine. Let's just condition yours first." Brian reached around behind him to grab the conditioner from the shelf, only to remember he hadn't replaced it since the burglary. He had to special order the Kérastase conditioner he preferred but kept forgetting to do so. It was no wonder he'd been having so much trouble with his hair, which he normally conditioned every other day.

Justin piped up, "That's okay. I never condition my hair."

Appalled, Brian could only stare at the boy.

"Is that... bad?" Justin asked hesitantly.

Brian let out a deep sigh. The kid was fucking lucky to have hair that looked good - mostly - despite neglecting it. Brian would have to teach him to properly care for it, though. That would unfortunately have to wait, however, until he had more of the conditioner.

He sighed. Who knew that instructing a young fag in caring for their appearance would be so much work?

His own hair washed - there was no point in spending much time on it since it wasn't going to behave - Brian turned to soaping up Justin. He first rubbed the body wash over his own arms and torso before starting on the pale body in front of him. Then, while running the sudsy loofah over the boy's nape, back, and sides, he pressed himself against Justin's chest and rubbed lightly against the silky skin, transferring some of the soap.

The blond grinned brightly up at him, causing Brian to smile in return. Showering together, even without sex, was surprisingly fun.

Crouching down, Brian ran the sponge along Justin's legs, picking up one of the lad's feet and then the other to give each one a quick scrub. Adding more of the body wash to the loofah, he glanced up as he approached Justin's groin. "Okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Justin breathed out, although the sudden tenseness in his body betrayed that he expected it to hurt.

Brian gently ran the sponge between his legs, taking extra care with the boy's injured balls. They were still swollen and discoloured, but he fancied that the purples and blues weren't quite as dark as before. It was also a good sign that none of his motions seemed to be paining Justin unduly, the boy gazing steadily back at him with only the slightest of winces when Brian glanced up again.

As he stood up, Brian softly wiped the loofah around Justin's shaft before announcing, "All done." 

The blond's gaze, he noticed was still directed toward his privates. Brian was starting to worry that he'd missed something when Justin mumbled dispiritedly, "There's still nothing happening."

Although he was sympathetic to the lad's predicament - if it were him instead of Justin, he'd doubtless be obsessing about it even more - Brian knew dwelling on the situation wouldn't help matters. "And self-pity makes me soft," he stated tersely.

He immediately wanted to kick himself. That was hardly the best way to distract the lad, on top of which, his claim didn't exactly match the reality. As usual when anywhere near Justin - never mind naked together in the shower - Brian was more than half hard, but that could be put down to a natural reaction, right?

Justin apparently didn't agree with him. Blinking as the water washed away what were probably fresh tears, he lifted a questioning brow at Brian's cock which, perversely, hardened even more under the lad's gaze.

Brian shrugged and smiled crookedly at the blond. "Yeah, well. That's your fault. You'll be reacting to me the same way soon enough. Just give it a couple days."

"Okay," Justin conceded, his fears about never getting it up again seemingly assuaged for the moment.

Brian only gave himself a cursory washing off - his skin was starting to prune up after so long under the water, which looked gross - before turning off the shower. Pushing open the door, he stepped out of the cubicle and pulled Justin along behind him, leaving the lad to stand dripping on the bath mat.

"Brrr," Justin complained, shivering as soon as he was out of the still steamy cubicle.

Only the little twat would be cold in his well-heated loft, Brian thought, rolling his eyes as he retrieved a large towel from the warming rail and wrapped Justin up in it. Next, he snatched a smaller towel and began drying the lad's damp hair.

The thatch of blond hair was sticking up every whichaway when he removed the towel, making Brian smile as he applied the towel to his own brunet locks. His smile transformed into a scowl, however, when Justin picked up Brian's comb and slid it through his hair - the blond strands obediently falling into place.

They locked eyes in the medicine cabinet mirror, and Justin giggled.

Brian was tempted to reach out and muss the kid's hair up again in retaliation, but the disorder wouldn't last long; all Justin would need to do was run the comb through his hair another time. In lieu of that, he glowered more and grunted, "Brat." It really wasn't fair. Brian spent megabucks on hair products - which he used faithfully - and got his hair cut at the best men's salon in the Pitts, but his hair still had to be corralled into place.

"You should ask Vic to cut your hair," Justin recommended brightly. "My hair wasn't this easy to take care of before."

Brian was about to sarcastically dismiss that idea - Vic wasn't a hairdresser, for fuck's sake - but then he stopped to think about it. It couldn't hurt, right? Vic had given Justin a good cut, and he might turn out to be a good alternative to the stylist Brian had gone to the last couple of times. He'd been about to try someone new anyhow; if a stylist couldn't figure out how to cut his hair by the second visit, Brian wasn't about to give them another chance.

He'd have to ask Vic if he could cut his hair in the next day or two; Brian was already a week overdue for a trim, making his hair even more unmanageable than usual. If the cut was a good one - he suspected it would be, judging by Justin's haircut - maybe Brian could interest Vic in running a sideline out of Debbie's house. He knew it gnawed at the older man not to be able to contribute to his upkeep; cutting hair would make him feel like he had a purpose again.

It wasn't like Vic would have to cut hair full-time; he could schedule one or two cuts three afternoons a week and still bring in a bit of dough. All Brian would have to do was let drop at the diner that Vic had cut his and Justin's hair - and was taking a limited number of appointments - and there'd be a line of customers waiting.

His mind whirring with possibilities, Brian finger-combed his hair into order and added a bit of gel to - he hoped - hold it in place and keep it from getting completely unruly.

It took Justin griping, "That pair of cargo pants is too tight," to draw the adman out of his plotting about Vic's future career.

"Huh?" Brian looked down at the dun-coloured trousers in his hand. He'd hustled the teenager out of the bathroom and pulled clothing out of the closet for both of them without really thinking about it. Justin's choices were pretty sparse, so he'd paired the cargos with one his jumpers - a crimson one since the lad looked just as good in red as Brian did. "This was the only pair in your closet at Debbie's," he informed Justin.

"My jeans can't be that dirty. I mean, I only wore them one day, and it's not like I got anything grody on them at Costco." The teenager looked around, presumably searching for the jeans that he'd dropped on the floor when Brian helped him undress last night. "Why don't I put those on again?"

Shit. Brian explained, "Uh, I put them in the hamper. They'll be damp from the towels." 

"You are so fucking OCD," Justin accused, sounding more fond than upset.

There might be a grain of truth in that - although it was even more true that Brian had saved the kid from tripping over his own trousers - so Brian just shrugged off the accusation. As an alternative, he suggested, "How about a pair of my sweats?"

"Yeah, okay," Justin agreed. "I can get my other pair of cargo pants at breakfast. They're probably in the laundry room, along with my sweatpants."

Christ. Not counting his uniform, did the kid only have two pairs of trousers and one pair of sweatpants, along with some T-shirts, underwear, and socks? There had to have been more than that back when Justin's mother dumped that hideous duffel bag - that was once more disgracing his closet - on his desk at Ryder and gave him a whole spiel about not wanting Justin to end up on a milk carton. Insincere bitch, Brian thought with a sudden surge of vindictiveness; Jennifer's cushy life had won out over any real caring for her son.

Shaking off thoughts of the woman who wasn't that much better than the warden, Brian tried to recall what had been in the duffel, which had weighed a ton when he dragged it home to the loft. Pretty much clothes and shoes and a couple sketch pads as best he could recollect. Jennifer had also given him a cheque, which Brian never cashed. Talk about insulting. Brian might not have been ready for a roommate, but even so, he would never have accepted money just to do the right thing. He'd pissed and moaned, but he'd taken care of Justin. Up until the burglary, he thought, remorse hitting him again.

Determined to do better this time around, Brian struggled to think whether there had been anything else in the overstuffed bag, as he helped the lad finish getting dressed. Wait, what about the tape of the kid's favourite movie, Yellow Submarine? Shit, the thieves must've nicked that too, even though it had been in pretty sad shape, fuzzy in a few spots because it had been played so many times. 

Even though Justin must've popped the damned thing into his VCR at least fifty times, Brian hadn't really minded, despite complaining volubly. After all, you couldn't go wrong with the Beatles and the concept - probably drug-inspired - was kinda cool. He'd just have to buy a new copy, the brunet decided, adding it to his mental, ever-growing shopping list, and they could watch it on-

He scowled as he guided Justin down the steps to the living room, staring at the spot where his widescreen Sony television and combo DVD/VHS player had formerly stood. Brian would again have to call the fucking insurance company - which was taking its own sweet time with his claim - about cutting him a cheque. Once he had the money in hand, he could finally replace his entertainment center - and shop around for a better, more proactive insurance company.

Turning his head away from the glaringly bare spot, Brian nudged Justin over to the pegs that served as his coat rack. "Let's get you ready for the great outdoors," he directed, holding out a coat for Justin to put on.

Wait for it, Brian thought, forgetting about his TV woes for now. 

The boy's reaction wasn't quite what he expected. "It doesn't smell like you," Justin complained, nuzzling at the wool collar with his nose.

Huh. Curious, Brian sniffed experimentally at his own peacoat as he pulled it on. It smelled pleasingly like Justin, with the barest trace of his own aroma remaining on the fabric. 

"Here, maybe this'll help." Brian looped the white scarf around Justin's neck as he spoke.

Throwing a smile at Brian over his shoulder, Justin took a deep whiff of the silky scarf. "Don't you want to wear it?" he asked.

"Nah, I'm good." Brian tugged on his gloves, pleased to note that the black of the new pair was a proper match for his peacoat. 

Justin's brow furrowed as he looked down at the coat he had on. He let his arms dangle, his puzzlement growing as he stared at the tips of his fingers. 

He must've finally twigged to the fact that there was something different about the peacoat he had on. "Did it shrink or something?" the baffled lad asked.

Brian chuckled. "Or something."

The teenager slowly turned around and looked at the coat the brunet was wearing, then at the one he had on, and then back at Brian's. "They... match," he hesitatingly observed.

Brian rolled his eyes mockingly. "It's a good thing this wasn't part of your SAT, Twat. You'd have timed out."

Justin ignored the teasing, too shocked to joke around. "You got me a designer coat? Thank you!" he exclaimed before protesting, "But you shouldn't ha-"

Before the boy could get overly dramatic about the whole thing - it was just a coat - Brian cut him off. "Save it, Sunshine. Let's just get this show on the road so we have time for breakfast, okay?"

 

A good thirty minutes later, the crappy weather making everything take much longer than it should, they were almost to Debbie's house. After they'd picked Gus up, Brian's two sonnyboys had greeted each other exuberantly. As if they hadn't seen each other yesterday, the brunet thought in amusement. Gus had squirmed madly in an effort to reach his ‘Jushun,' which made it challenging for Brian to strap him into his car seat, but the older Kinney was eventually victorious.

Gus had babbled away for a bit, but it didn't take long before he quietened and sacked out in his car seat. When he looked in the rearview mirror, Brian could see a line of drool heading down his son's chin, a droplet falling onto Gus' jacket as he watched. Geesh, Brian mused, vaguely disgusted, the munchers must have the washer operating around the clock to keep up with the drool and poop machine that was his sonnyboy.

It was now quiet in the jeep, unusually so, in fact. Had Justin also fallen asleep? Since he was barely creeping along - the streets in Debbie's neighbourhood hadn't been ploughed yet - Brian risked a quick glance at the blond. Nope, not asleep. A look of concentration on his face, Justin was staring down at his clasped hands and watching his thumbs revolve around each other. 

"You trying to set a Guinness record?" Brian snarked. 

"Huh?" Justin lifted his eyes and blinked at him.

Brian clarified, "Thumb twiddling."

His thumbs still going a mile a minute, Justin cocked his head to one side. "Is that even a thing?" 

The adman had no fucking clue. "Who knows? People do the damndest things to get into the Guinness World Records."

When Justin didn't say anything else - he'd normally already be gabbing about what a record in thumb twiddling might entail - Brian prodded, "Out with it."

"With what?" the boy asked with feigned casualness.

Another quick glance showed that the twiddling had ceased, the boy's fingers now gripping each other so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. Brian huffed out a laugh. "With whatever's making you so quiet, Twat."

"Um."

Brian rolled his eyes, carefully correcting his jeep when it veered toward a snow-covered car that was parked at the curb. "C'mon," he quipped, "I want to know what will work to shut you up in the future." 

"Erm." The lad coloured up as he glanced at Brian's crotch.

That called for another roll of the brunet's eyes, although he was chuffed that Justin appeared to have recovered from his earlier despondency. Maybe he was even ready for a bit of light innuendo? "I already know that works," he joked, his tone making it clear that he was teasing. "How about something else for when I'm driving and can't stop you up like that?"

The red that suffused Justin's face deepened. "Uh, that's actually part of the deal," he blurted.

What deal? The antibiotic must be making the boy a little loopy, although Brian hadn't noticed any signs of that before now.

"You know, like, in exchange."

Jesus, could that be any more unclear? Brian waited for two beats and then a third, but the kid didn't say anything else. Heaving a sigh, he growled, "In exchange for what?"

"Oh." Justin suffused that single word with all the embarrassment he must - rightly - be feeling. "In, uh, exchange for giving me rides to school in the morning. Melanie was saying how it's not safe for me to be there early because the jocks are there too, practising football or whatever," he rattled on. "And that I could, ehm, trade blowjobs for rides. With you, I mean."

He'd have to thank the legal beagle, Brian thought. If he phrased his appreciation for the ‘morning blowjobs' just right, he might even succeed in embarrassing the bulldyke. After that, though, he'd have to make sure Mel really did know he was grateful that she was looking out for Justin's safety. Fuck, it had never even occurred to him that the boy could be in danger - from Hobbs and his ilk - early in the morning.

"Brian?" Justin prompted. "I know it's a lot to ask. It's okay if-"

Fond exasperation in his voice, Brian cut him off, chiding, "Don't be a twat. I can give you a ride." He wasn't about to tell the kid that he wanted to take him to school, that he might even be looking forward to the extra time with him.

"Yeah, but you'll have to wake up, like, way earlier-"

Brian interrupted again. "I won't mind - not if I'm waking up to a blowjob." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Justin blushing again, which led him to tease, "We'll have to allow plenty of time in the morning though. Good fellatio should never be rushed." 

Since Justin bestowed a sunny smile on him, Brian assumed he'd succeeded in reassuring the lad that he didn't mind giving him a ride. "Was that it?" he asked the blond, smirking as he thought that he wouldn't mind trading more ‘favours' for blowjobs or rim jobs. Hmm, maybe he should have Justin alternate between blowjobs and rim jobs?

"Uh, yeah, but would you mind turning up the heat? It's kinda cold in here," the lad claimed, shivering a little and clutching his new coat tighter to his body.

Brian scowled as he was reminded of the wonky heater. Crap, this probably wasn't good for Gus, he worried, taking a quick glance at the tyke in the rearview mirror. Fortunately, Linds - who would have a cow if she found out that he was transporting Gus in an unheated vehicle - had wrapped the tot up so thoroughly that very little of his skin was exposed to the cold air inside his jeep. Even with the lousy driving conditions, it wouldn't take him much longer to reach Debbie's, and the healthy flush that had disappeared from his son's cheeks would soon be restored once they were inside the warmth of the house.

"It's okay, if you don't want to turn it up," Justin amended his request, his hands now buried in his armpits. "I mean, I'm good with my new coat."

What the heck? Brian was flummoxed for a second, but then he realised that his scowl was probably making the kid unsure about his willingness to do the whole ride to school thing. Christ, when had Justin become so tentative around him? Probably since he'd kicked him out, Brian recognised, mentally kicking himself all over again for his regrettable overreaction to the burglary.

Justin's drugging himself so he could keep dancing at Babylon hadn't helped either, but Brian reckoned they were doing okay at dealing with that. Heck, they were even talking, which for Brian was like having his teeth pulled. It was worth it to have Justin around, though.

Mostly, he figured the kid hated asking for help. He and Justin were way too alike in that regard, Brian mused, huffing out a laugh. His attitude had doubtless made the boy even more reluctant. 

"Don't be a twat," he chided the boy for the second time that morning, making sure to keep his tone playful. "Fucking heater is on the fritz, otherwise I'd have the hot air blasting." 

"Oh, okay." Justin sounded relieved. "You know, it's weird how you like the water so hot in the shower, but you keep the loft really cool. Sometimes the jeep too," he added after a brief pause.

Whatever. Brian shrugged off the nonsensical comment, trying to think when he could drop the jeep off at the shop. The mechanics had better be able to fix it right away; freezing like this was nearly intolerable.

They were close enough to Debbie's house that as Brian turned onto Debbie's street, they could see Rudolph's nose - and that other prominent part of all the reindeer's anatomy - blinking at them. He grinned. The display wouldn't normally be to Brian's taste - it was tawdry and totally outrageous - but he'd miss it if Debbie forwent her over-the-top Christmas decorations. Not that he'd ever say so to Deb, of course.

"Do you think Rudolph's, erm, you know, has gotten larger?" Justin asked.

Brian joked, "His nose? It's possible. Rudy's a growing boy."

The blond giggled. "It's probably redder too."

Brian was no longer sure which of the youngest reindeer's attributes they were talking about. It didn't matter - the important one wasn't nearly as impressive as his own - so he concentrated on manoeuvring the jeep into the driveway. The car crunched over the snow piled up against the foot of the driveway before settling into place right where Brian wanted it, in the middle of the cemented area.

Once he'd engaged the parking brake and turned off the engine, Brian got out and trudged the couple of steps separating him from the back seat. He didn't slide at all since he'd had the foresight to put on his Timberlands, Brian noted, irritated all over again with Prada that they couldn't make a functional yet attractive men's boot. It really annoyed him to have to wear his clunky, non-designer shoes.

Smiling at Gus, whose eyes opened as Brian released the buckles holding his son in place, Justin announced, "It's time for some good eats, junior partner!"

"What does that make me?" Brian grunted. "The senior partner?" escaped his lips before he'd thought it out. Shit, he'd left himself wide open.

Justin giggled. "Just a senior," he riposted.

"Dada see-uh," Gus burbled at Brian, waving his arms at his dad.

Great, now both his sonnyboys were teasing him about being old. "You'll pay for that," Brian growled.

In return, Justin giggled and quipped, "Promise?"

Ignoring the brat, Brian secured Gus against his chest, settling the tot into the backpack he'd purchased - no more of the girls' fugly contraption, thank Christ - and traipsed around to the front passenger seat. When he held his arm out so that Justin could hook a hand through his elbow, that naturally negated the effect of his feigned irritation, the blond boy smiling at him impishly and giggling again.

There didn't appear to be much difference in the depth of the snow in the driveway and on the grass, so Brian opted for the shorter route. The kid's sneakers were gonna need a thorough drying-out either way, but the old-fashioned radiators in Debbie's house would be good for that. 

"See-uh, see-uh," Gus repeatedly tested out his new word as Brian crunched his way across the hidden green stuff with Justin at his side. 

The tyke would soon tire of the addition to his vocabulary, Brian assured himself, gritting his teeth. He wasn't that old, for fuck's sake.

When they reached the door, Justin started fumbling for his key. "Sorry," he apologised as the key slipped out of his fingers and landed on the doormat, which was lightly dusted with snow.

Brian started to ask where his gloves were, but then he realised Justin must've been wearing his since he'd left them in the pocket of his peacoat. Yep, there they were, he confirmed, pressing a gloved hand against the left side of his coat and finding a telltale bulge. He always put his gloves in the right-hand pocket and hadn't thought to check the other pocket for his old ones. Shit, he should've had the sense to buy the kid a new pair of gloves as well; otherwise, Justin would doubtless wear the ones he already had - which would be a far worse match for the hue of the peacoat than the old pair Brian had now replaced. 

Putting it out of his mind for now - he'd slip his old pair into Justin's peacoat before he left Debbie's house and then make another stop at Kaufmann's later in the week - Brian noted, "The door's probably unlocked."

"Oh, right. Vic's expecting us." The lad's cheeks pinkened as he turned the knob, the door easily swinging open. "We're here!" he called out as he entered the house.

"In the kitchen!" Vic shouted in reply.

"God, that feels good." Justin patently basked in the warmth of the house as he shed his coat and scarf and toed off his shoes. "Smells good too," he added happily as he unstrapped Gus and relieved Brian of the little boy's weight. "Let's go see what Vic's making, junior partner," he suggested, padding off towards the kitchen and leaving slightly damp footprints in his wake.

Brian frowned as he shucked his peacoat and hung it up, neatly folding the gloves in half and inserting them into the left-hand pocket. About to toe off his Timberlands - the less he had to wear the clunky boots the better - he realised that something important was still out in the jeep. He should probably put his coat back on but didn't feel like making the effort, so he instead dashed out to his vehicle, yanked open the front passenger door, grabbed the item and slipped and slid his way back to the house, almost taking a tumble on the slick, snow-covered grass.

Once he was back inside, Brian shook himself off - kind of like a dog, he thought wryly - and then took his boots off. Then, bending down, he picked up Justin's trainers which were, as he'd expected, soaked through from their short jaunt across the lawn. The kid needed some extra footgear - some decent boots and a pair of house shoes at the very least.

With Justin's sneakers set beneath the radiator in the living room, he finally followed after his boys, his stomach rumbling at the savoury aromas coming from the kitchen.

"See-uh!" Gus spoke up as his daddy entered the room. 

With a grin, Brian seized the opportunity. "You're right, Sonnyboy. Vic is a senior." He almost added ‘unlike me,' but he figured the emphasis on Vic's name would make his point for him. Not that Vic was exactly a senior, but he was way closer to one than Brian.

"Well, hello, young Mr Kinney." Vic stressed ‘young' as he chucked Gus under the chin.

Ouch, Brian thought, sensitive about his age as always. It felt like the big three-oh was looming over his head instead of being a good half year away.

"Don't worry, ragazzo." Vic deftly flipped over the tomatoes he had roasting in one of three pans on the stovetop. "You'll never be the gang's elder statesman," he joked. "That honour goes to-"

"Ted," Justin interjected before Vic could name the ‘statesman.'

Brian chuckled. Justin had to know Theodore was the oldest one in the group, right? The brat had better not think he looked older than Ted.

Gus piped up, "See-uh!" seemingly endorsing Theodore as the ‘elder statesman.'

Vic chuckled. "Right you are, Gussy." He turned a knowing glance on Justin. "Who'd you think I was gonna nominate, Sunshine?"

An abashed expression on his face, the teenager shrugged and forwent a reply.

"You wanna cook the eggs?" Vic asked, tipping his chin at a bowl full of something eggy.

Vic didn't mean him, did he? Just in case, Brian edged away from the older man.

"Just pass the junior Kinney over to his father first." Vic chuckled at Brian's expense for a second time. "I don't want Brian anywhere near the cooker." Tilting his head at Brian, he remarked, "I still remember the time you glued eggs to the bottom of Deb's favourite frying pan, ragazzo. She finally had to throw that skillet in the dustbin - you ruined it good and proper."

"I was fifteen!" an outraged Brian protested as he snagged his son from Justin.

"Your culinary skills any better now?" Vic inquired, moving over to make room for a giggling blond, who started whisking whatever was in the bowl.

A cheerful, "Hellooo, Briaaan. Come, Baby," from the sideboard saved Brian from having to answer.

Gus crowed, "Ha-ee!" and struggled against Brian's hold, trying to reach the budgie.

The high chair, Brian noticed, was already at the table, waiting for its occupant. Nudging it over towards the sideboard, he settled Gus in the chair, making sure the tray table was securely attached so that the tyke wouldn't tumble out. "You and Harley have a good chinwag, okay, Sonnyboy? Then it'll be time for breakfast."

It was doubtful that Gus even heard him, pudgy little hands patting the bars of the cage while the tyke babbled at his friend. 

The blue bird cocked its head at Gus before concurring with apparent seriousness, "Blooowjob. Finest kind."

"Oh!" said Justin, turning his head and grinning at the playmates. "That's new." He paused for a minute, his smile turning naughty, before asking, "How long do you think it'll be before Gus utters his first ‘blowjob'?"

"Sonnyboy's an early learner." Brian smirked as he sauntered over to the counter and poured some of the coffee that had just finished dripping into a conveniently placed mug. "Maybe he'll come out with it at dinner. Give his mothers a thrill."

Vic waggled his eyebrows at the other men. "It's never too soon for your first blowjob."

"You want some java?" Brian asked Vic as he spooned a little sugar into his cup.

Predictably, Justin pouted. Brian couldn't really blame him; if he had to go without coffee - even just for this one meal - he'd be in a mood.

"Nah," Vic replied, smiling at the teen, "I'm gonna have some of the tea that Sunshine and I both like."

His pout vanishing, Justin smiled back at him. "It's good, right? I miss coffee though," he commented wistfully.

His tone sympathetic, Vic noted, "If you want butter on your toast, you're already pushing it a little. Hold off for now, okay?"

Justin nodded reluctantly.

Vic continued, "Maybe this afternoon, once you've absorbed the antibiotic, you could have a cup of joe with a few cookies. How does that sound?"

The blond's nod became much more enthusiastic.

"Let's not tell Sis, though," Vic recommended. "Let her think she's the one easing the restrictions when she lets you have milk with your cookies."

"Do you think Deb'll let me eat like a normal person tomorrow?" Justin wanted to know as he stirred the mixture.

Scrambled eggs, then, Brian reckoned. He wouldn't normally eat egg yolk - he usually opted for the low cholesterol egg white - but it wouldn't hurt to have a small portion. Besides, he rationalised, the eggs would go really well with a couple of slices of bacon, which was just how he liked it - nice and lean but not overcooked. 

Right before thick slices of bread popped up in the toaster, Vic moved over to snag them, arranging them on top of another layer already in the basket he was holding. Covering them up with the towel that lined the basket, he handed it to Brian. "Here. Put that on the table, would'ya?"

Pretending to be put out by the request, Brian heaved a long-suffering sigh before setting down his coffee and covering the short distance to the table in two long strides.

"Christ, you'd think I was asking you to cook something after all," Vic joshed.

Tongue in cheek, Brian claimed, "I don't know what you're talking about. I do a mean bowl of cereal."

He ignored the snicker that came from the blond boy manning the pan of eggs.

"Sure," Vic drawled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "The kind where the milk ends up outside the bowl."

Brian grunted. He wasn't about to explain how he'd never missed the bowl; the milk had just overflowed the rim on one or two occasions.

"These are just about ready," Justin apprised Vic, eyeing the eggs he'd been stirring.

"Right on time," Vic observed, turning off the dials for all three burners. "The bacon and tomatoes are done too." Opening the oven, he removed a few shallow bowls, set them on top of the free burner, and then took out a short stack of plates. "These plates go on the table too, Brian," he directed, temporarily placing them on top of a trivet.

Brian grinned as he moved over to the cooker. He breathed out, "Lookin' good, Sunshine," into the sensitive skin right behind Justin's ear, patting his bottom gently for good measure. Completely distracted - as Brian had planned - the blond looked over his shoulder, smiling at him. Vic also looked up, laughingly chiding, "The plates are on my other side."

"Huh, whaddaya know? You're right," Brian deadpanned, hiding the rasher that he'd just snagged as he sidled past Vic. He stuffed the rasher into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out a little, grabbed the plates and shuffled back over to the table. 

He was congratulating himself on a successful steal when Vic commented dryly, "You're not as sneaky as you think, bucko. I know how much bacon was in the pan."

Dammit. Brian was sure he'd got away with it. He should have remembered that Vic had eyes in the back of his head, just like his sister.

"Besides," Vic went on, "all you had to do was ask if you wanted a slice before breakfast."

Justin giggled and shot an understanding look at Brian as he toted two bowls over to the table - one filled with scrambled eggs and the other with the roasted tomatoes. "Tastes better when you nick it, right?"

"'Course it does," Vic agreed with a chuckle. "Best of all is when no one catches you, though." He was right behind Justin, carrying the bacon in one hand and a tiny plate with a miniscule amount of food on it in the other. 

What in the heck was that? Brian wondered. He was surprised when Vic carried it over to where Gus sat in his high chair, practically nose to beak with the budgie. It couldn't be Gus' food; there wasn't enough of it, and he figured they'd just mince some of what they were having for his son to eat.

"'am," the little boy commented excitedly, pudgy arms reaching for the bowl.

"Nope, this is for Harley." Vic carefully kept the dish out of reach of Sonnyboy's grasping hands. "Wanna help me feed our friend?"

Gus cocked his head inquisitively. "Ha-ee?"

"Yep," Vic confirmed. "Feed him this bit of hard-boiled egg and cheese and you'll be his new best friend. If you aren't already," he concluded wryly.

After opening Harley's cage one-handed, Vic placed the small dish between Gus' hands, his own larger hands placed firmly over the wee lad's, guided the plate inside the enclosure and helped Gus set it down on the bottom of the cage. The budgie flapped its wings and flew from the perch, its feathers brushing against the boy's fingers as it descended to the bottom of the cage, where the breakfast treat awaited him.

"Ha-ee, gee, Ha-ee!" the tot excitedly cried as Vic extracted their hands, which had barely fit through the opening in Harley's cage.

Looking directly at Gus, Harley praised him, "Hellooo, Guuus. Good boy."

"Gush guh gee," Gus responded.

"Gee?" Brian tried to decipher what Gus had meant.

"That's easy," Justin told him as he and Vic moved Gus' high chair over so that it ended up next to where the blond would be sitting.

"It is," Vic seconded.

"Gee!" Gus enthused. "Gee!"

"Well?" Brian asked impatiently. ‘Gee' was way better than ‘see-uh,' but it annoyed the brunet that he couldn't figure it out.

"Gus was just returning the favour," Justin explained slowly, giggling at the irritated look on Brian's face. "‘Gee' is short for ‘budgie' and ‘guh'-"

"A wonderfully all-purpose word," Vic interjected, exchanging amused smiles with the teen.

"-means ‘good.' This time anyroad," Justin clarified.

Brian would've made a snarky remark about Justin getting it because he was closest to Gus in age, but that didn't explain Vic's easy grasp of the tot's lingo. Besides, a smart-alecky remark might restart the discussion about who the ‘senior' was, which Brian definitely didn't want. 

As he went to sit down, Justin suddenly exclaimed an adorably flustered "Oh!" his cheeks pinkening slightly.

Now Brian was annoyed about something different. Why did variations of ‘adorable' keep popping into his brain in regard to Justin? Neither of them was a muncher, for fuck's sake. 

Before he could get into a stew for thinking about ‘muncher' in connection to himself, Justin spoke up. "Erm, did you want to sit next to Gus?" the teen asked, making clear the reason he was hovering above his chair, on which the donut cushion rested. "You can feed him if you want." 

Brian could feel a soft smile taking over his features. Lindsay had never asked him if he'd like to feed his son, not unless he was babysitting, that is. He knew she'd let him if he asked, but it wasn't quite the same as assuming that he might like to. With the girls - and the rest of the family, really - there was always the assumption that he was the drop-in dad he'd once insisted he was. Not Justin, though. The youngster always thought of him as an equal parent - and wasn't shy about demanding that Brian think of himself that way.

"Not this time," he declined the offer. "I'll let Sonnyboy spit up on you."

Justin shrugged, obviously unbothered. He'd opened his mouth to respond - doubtless with a smart-arse comment - but instead, he sighed in satisfaction when his butt met the donut cushion. "Thanks, Bri," he said, smiling at his lover.

Brian returned the smile, pleased that he'd had the forethought to bring the donut cushion in from the jeep. It was worth going back out into what was rapidly becoming a snowstorm to retrieve it. The cushion would keep the lad's still tender junk off the surface of the chair, which wasn't all that soft even if it was padded.

"That fugly thing really does the trick, doesn't it?" Vic observed.

Startled, Justin answered with a question, "How'd you know what I was thanking Brian for?"

Vic chuckled. "Don't go thinking I've got superpowers, Kiddo. I'm no Captain Astro. I saw Brian bring the cushion in here."

Yeah, with the eyes in the back of his head, Brian thought for the second time this morning. No superpowers, his ass.

His brow furrowed, Justin put a piece of bacon on a plate and started to cut it up.

"You want your bacon cut up that fine?" Vic asked.

Justin shot him a confused look.

Vic noted, "Bacon isn't good for babies."

"Oh, right." Justin shook his head. "I should've remembered that. Mollusk couldn't have bacon until she was... one or two?" he guessed. "My, uh, mother," he stumbled a little over the word, "said that the salt content in processed meats can cause problems before the kidneys are fully developed." A vaguely guilty look flitted across his countenance as he said that.

Brian wasn't sure what the kid had to be guilty about since Vic had stopped him in time. That aside, he was now even happier than before that he'd decided to forgo feeding his son. He would've made the same mistake as Justin.

"Don't feel bad," Vic consoled the blond lad. "I tried the same thing with Michael when he was little. Sis had to put me right about it."

When Vic reached up to rub the crown of his head, Brian thought in amusement that ‘putting him right' had probably included a slap upside the head.

Shifting the rasher over to one side, Justin ladled a large spoonful of the egg onto the plate, mashing down any large chunks so they'd be easier for Gus to manage. "Uh, anyway," he returned to what he'd doubtless meant to say before the mistake with the bacon, "Is that one of your superpowers - seeing out the back of your head?" he asked Vic, unknowingly echoing Brian's thought. "'Cause I thought you had your back to Brian and were looking at me when he came in here."

Vic made a non-committal humming noise.

"Like Captain Astro," Justin mumbled. "Though all I really know is that he rides around on a motorcycle, wears tights, and, like, goes after bad guys..." Justin's recital petered out before he tacked on, "Oh, and that he gives off gay vibes, mostly 'cause half of the time it looks like he's dressed in drag." He snickered, punning, "He's apparently not out of the closet."

For the first time, it struck Brian that that might be one of the reasons Mikey idolised Captain Astro - like Michael, the superhero wasn't out at ‘work.'

"I really don't know much about him either," Vic remarked after thinking it over for a minute. "I think maybe he can fly - or his motorbike can - but don't quote me on that. The only thing I know for sure is that the giant cut-out of him that was in your bedroom gave me the willies."

"So it's not just me then?" The lad bounced on the donut cushion, flourishing his fork in the air. "I mean, it gives me nightmares, and Astro looks like-" 

Justin stopped so abruptly that there should've been some kind of dramatic sound effect to accompany it, Brian mused, like the screech of brakes or something.

"Was?" he asked, voice shrill with excitement.

"That standee really is awful," Vic observed, ignoring Justin's question. "It makes the good captain look like Jack Nicholson in-"

Brian didn't think Mikey's favourite captain looked all that much like an evil Jack Nicholson, although the standee did loom over a person at night.

"The Shining," Justin finished for Vic. "Believe me" - he shuddered - "I know. But what did you mean when you said-"

The lad had been mashing the egg so enthusiastically that the fork ended up acting like a catapult, sending a bit of egg flying at Brian. Reacting quickly, the brunet snatched it out of the air and popped it in his mouth. "Not bad," he opined. "I thought it was Gus I was gonna have to watch out for, though," he joked.

His face red, Justin muttered, "Sorry," before immediately turning back to Vic. "Was?" he repeated just as enthusiastically as the first time.

"Took you long enough," Vic teased.

"Puh-leeze," Justin begged, his voice coming out in a whine. "Tell me it's gone."

Vic confirmed, "It's gone. After breakfast, you can check out what your room looks like without it. For now, though, you'd better feed the young Mr. Kinney. He's getting hangry."

"Jushun!" Gus verified what Vic had just said, banging on his tray with his hands and drumming against the legs of the high chair with his feet. "Guh, Jushun!"

"Okay, okay, I get the message!" Justin laughed as he quickly finished up with the scrambled egg. He rapidly diced a slice of the tomato into small, easily digestible chunks and then transferred the egg and tomato to the Mickey Mouse plate, mixing them together.

"Open up, junior partner," he requested, holding out a spoonful.

"Guh!" Gus screwed his mouth tight shut and held out one chubby hand in a demand to be given the spoon.

"You wanna do it?"

Gus nodded vigorously, insisting, "Guh!"

"Okay, wrap your hand tight around the handle." Justin waited until the tyke had complied, and they all watched as Gus manoeuvred the utensil toward his mouth.

"Good job!" the teen praised his son when most of it actually made it into the wee lad's mouth. Placing the plate on the tray, he instructed, "Now, remember, you've gotta scoop from underneath."

While Gus was scooping up more of his breakfast - with mixed success - Justin took a slice of the toast from the bread basket, slathered it with butter, and then cut it up in fairly wide strips. He came to the rescue just in time, the little boy banging his spoon down on the plate in frustration when the entire spoonful slid off and landed half on the plate, half on the tray.

Wiping away the bits that now dotted his face with his napkin, Justin laughed, apparently not at all upset. "Here, Gus-meister," the teen suggested, placing the strips of toast down on Gus' plate, "use the toast to scoop up your food. It's kinda like eggs and soldiers, only with scrambled eggs."

His sonnyboy seemed to like that idea, immediately carving a path through the eggs and tomato and then cramming it into his mouth. He gave Justin a gummy smile, bits of food exposed on his lips and tongue. Brian was about to remonstrate that he should close his mouth, when Justin placed a restraining hand on his denim-clad thigh.

The brunet cast a surreptitious glance down at the blond's hand, concerned that there might be a greasy residue on Justin's fingers. He did not want stains on his new Roberto Cavalli stonewashed jeans. If practically every stitch of clothing he owned didn't either need to be washed or go to the dry cleaner, he wouldn't have been wearing this ridiculously expensive pair of jeans.

Justin giggled, interrupting his fretting. "Relax, Bri. Your jeans are safe."

The little fucker. Brian sighed. The teen really was on to him.

"Don't stress about Gus eating properly either. He's still learning to get the food into his mouth. He can learn polite behaviour later. He's not gonna turn out like Mi-" The blond quickly snapped his mouth shut, shooting an apologetic glance at Vic.

Vic chuckled ruefully. "Sis did her best, but it just never stuck."

Great. Now Brian was stuck with an image of Mikey holding his fork like it was a shovel, bolting down his food and talking with his mouth open. He hadn't even been thinking of his childhood friend; he just wanted Gus to learn proper etiquette.

"Not that it hurts to start modelling how to eat properly," Justin continued. "Just don't expect too much from it yet." Turning to the toddler, who was about to chow down on another laden ‘soldier,' he called out, "Hey, buddy."

The tot looked up expectantly.

"Like this," Justin told him, spooning up a bit of the mixture that remained on his plate. He closed his mouth and chewed diligently, Gus doing his best to copy his idol.

"Good," Justin praised him after swallowing his mouthful. "Always close your mouth once the food's inside, and chew - er, gum it - before swallowing. The saliva helps break down the food."

Brian rolled his eyes. Like Gus was gonna care about that. He just wished his sonnyboy would get a couple of teeth already.

Catching the eye-roll, Justin turned his head back to Brian, chastising, "If it's not too early to model good behaviour, it's not too early to offer an explanation. So what if Gus doesn't get it now. It'll all come together later." Turning back to the wee one, he said, "Right, Gussy?"

Gus gave him a gummy smile, some of the tomato and egg peeking out. "Jushun," he said happily.

Justin laughed, Vic and Brian joining in.

"Baby steps," Vic said, chuckling some more.

"I'll just test that rasher for you, little Kinney," Justin said, acting as if he was doing Gus a favour. He stabbed at the place where he'd left the slice of bacon, looking down in surprise when instead of sliding smoothly into the pork, his fork clanked against his plate.

His lips pressed tightly together, he glanced up at Brian.

Brian gave him a ‘butter - or in this case bacon - wouldn't melt in his mouth' look in return.

Vic laughed. "Looks like someone beat you to the taste test, Sunshine."

His eyes dancing with amusement, Justin shrugged and said, "I don't mind... this time. That's only 'cause there's more bacon, though." He shook his fork at Brian before helping himself to another slice.

Brian unrepentantly grinned at him. He'd have to see if he could sneak another piece off the blond's plate... Later on, since the lad was keeping an eye on him while he dished up eggs, tomato, and toast for himself.

After taking a bite of the bacon, Justin chewed, his eyes closing briefly in bliss. He immediately took another bite, enthusing, "This is so good!" once he'd swallowed it down. "It's more like ham than bacon."

Brian grunted in agreement about the bacon. It was good. Since the teen's fork was firmly planted in the rasher, Brian settled for taking a spoonful of the eggs off his plate along with the slice of toast he'd buttered. His attention fixed on Vic, the blond teen didn't notice. He'd be in for a surprise, Brian calculated, smirking.

"I got used to making it this way in New York," Vic revealed. "There's loads British expats in Manhattan, and they wanted a full English when they got homesick."

"It's on the menu at the diner sometimes. I was gonna try it the last time, but..."

"You didn't really miss anything. Fahad's is good - it's the Irish in him - but it's not quite as good as mine," Vic asserted smugly. "There was probably more on offer though, since what we're having today is a simplified full English."

"Like what else?" Justin asked, his stomach rumbling.

Brian had to laugh at the way the lad's belly was signalling that it wanted food when Justin was already eating.

Although his face was stained pink with embarrassment, Justin joined in, laughing good-naturedly at himself.

With a chuckle at the teen's predicament, Vic elaborated, "Let's see. Besides what we're eating, there's usually fried mushrooms and bangers. Then there's baked beans too, black pudding, and bubble and squeak. Fahad does a mean bubble and squeak," he graciously allowed.

"Erm, I don't think I'm gonna want bubble and squeak anytime soon," Justin remarked, paling.

Brian lifted an interrogative eyebrow at the lad, amused when he noted the exact same expression on Vic's face. Well, he had learned it from the older man.

"That's what Hobbs shoved my face into," Justin explained, setting his fork down. "You know... when I got hurt." He gestured vaguely toward his lap, suddenly looking utterly woebegone.

Now that he mentioned it, Brian vaguely recalled Justin saying something to that effect to Horvath and Wen. More concerned with how Justin had been injured, he didn't pay much attention when the boy related what he'd been eating. 

"Give it time," Vic recommended. ‘Your appetite for a good bubble and squeak will return. The slop that St James serves is nothing like what a good chef makes."

Looking dubious, Justin mumbled, "Maybe after I graduate... from college."

Brian and Vic both chuckled, Brian placing a mental bet that it wouldn't be anywhere near that long before the boy succumbed and was scarfing down the potato and cabbage dish. Too bad, he couldn't help thinking, that Hobbs hadn't shoved Justin's face into something really unhealthy. Like, say, the greasy burgers and fries on the diner menu.

"I mean it," Justin muttered, his lower lip sticking out.

"Jushun!" Harley chirped at that moment, distracting the blond and making him smile at his feathered friend.

Thank fuck, thought Brian, who'd been getting a bit worried that Justin would dig in his heels and really not eat bubble and squeak ever again. The kid could be ridiculously stubborn at times.

"Blowjob, Jushun," came the budgie's sage advice.

Shit. Bad timing. That was a touchy subject right now.

Vic chuckled. "That bird's got a one-track mind."

The fresh pout that had been forming on Justin's face vanished, and the blond giggled. "Whose fault is that?"

Vic smirked as he tucked into the food on his plate.

There was silence for a short time, all four of them chowing down on the breakfast Vic had prepared. 

Brian didn't have much on his own plate - just one rasher and a piece of dry toast. When Justin cut a slice of buttered toast in half and set one half on the edge of his plate, Brian, without really thinking about it, took that and started eating it instead of his dry toast.

"This is really good." Justin smiled at Vic as he helped himself to more of everything a few minutes later. "If only I could put milk in my tea, it would be perfect." He gazed wistfully at Gus, who was guzzling from his bottle.

Before he could stop himself, Brian suggested, "I'm sure Gus would share. I could tell Linds how much both of you like her breast milk."

"Gross!" Justin complained, a revolted expression on his face. He set his tea down without drinking, the cup rattling in the saucer.

As if responding to a distress call, Harley flapped his wings and madly chirruped, "Blowjob! Blowjob!"

Looking a little nauseated, Vic chastised, "Let's not talk about that over breakfast, okay? Or any other time," he added after a moment.

The toast threatening to come up for a visit, Brian could only shrug apologetically. What in the heck had possessed him to say that? The bird had the right idea. If only Justin were up to par, he'd give the lad a blowjob and cleanse his palate.

"You've got good colour today," Justin addressed Vic with a welcome change of subject. "Are you feeling better?" he asked, smiling brightly at the older man.

The lad was right, Brian realised. Vic did look much more chipper than he had in some time.

A smile spreading across his face, Vic replied, "Yeah, I think my new cocktail has finally kicked in. I almost feel like my old self again, like I could go dancing at Tunnel. Or have a drink at Julius."

"Those are in New York?" the blond asked, clearly fascinated.

Brian was almost as eager to hear about gay nightlife in the Big Apple but did his best not to show it. Regrettably, travelling on business for Ryder rarely took him to the city, so he was still itching to sample everything that was on offer.

"Think Babylon and Woody's, just glitzier," Vic told Justin, his eyes sparkling. "Way more hunks to ogle too."

Justin sighed. "You must've been to all the cool clubs and the hotspots, huh? Did you do the touristy stuff too?"

"Erm..." The last question appeared to have nonplussed Vic.

Brian smirked, tongue in cheek. He suspected Vic had been too busy checking out the hot guys - and fucking as many as possible - to bother with anything else. 

"Jushun!" Gus interrupted, pushing his plate towards the blond, before Vic could do anything more than stammer. 

"Whoops!" Justin rescued the plate, which was teetering on the edge of Gus' tray. "We don't want Mickey to do a header onto the floor, do we?"

His sonnyboy must've thought Justin was talking about Harley because he responded with an enthusiastic "Gee!"

"Close enough," the teen said equably. "I'll get you some more food, little man, but let's clean you up a bit first." Taking one of the wet wipes from a strategically placed packet, he wiped off the nipper's hands and face - Gus squirming and giggling the whole time - before swiping at the tray with another moist tissue.

While Justin was occupied with his son, Brian took the opening to pluck another piece of toast and half a rasher from the blond's plate. He left the tomato behind though, choosing to add more slices from the platter, along with another rasher.

Gus happily eating from his replenished Mickey Mouse dish, the teenager just gave Brian an exasperated glance before adding more food to his plate. "What did you like the best?" Justin pursued the topic of New York City's famous landmarks with Vic. "I mean, I'd like to see the Statue of Liberty and go to the top of the Empire State Building, but I'd probably spend the most time in MoMA."

Vic's face was definitely pink now, Brian noted in amusement. "Uh, I haven't done any of those things. I wish I had though," he commented sadly, his regret plain to read on his countenance. "I lived in the city for years but hardly ever ventured out of the Village and Chelsea."

"What would be at the top of your list?" Justin asked curiously.

Vic chuckled. "I'm afraid it wouldn't be MoMA."

Justin giggled and rolled his eyes.

"If I had the chance, I'd take the ferry over to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island," Vic declared. "It would mean a lot to Nonno and Nonna. That's how the Grassis and Bianchis ended up here, after all - a long voyage in steerage class from the old country and then through immigration at Ellis Island." Taking a forkful of egg, bacon, and tomato, he chewed thoughtfully. "Ideally, I'd go this time of year - take Sis with me so she'd get a break from working so hard."

"Now?" Justin's voice rose in astonishment. "It can't be any better weather in New York than it is here."

"It's not just because of Santa and his reindeer that Christmas is my favourite holiday."

It took Brian a second to catch on to what Vic was insinuating. He'd completely forgotten about the older man's birthday. When Vic was in town for the holidays, Debbie had always made a huge to-do, celebrating it along with Christmas.

"Because of your birthday?" Justin hazarded a guess, bouncing a little on the donut cushion, his face lit up with excitement. "When is it?"

It figured the kid would be quicker than Brian on the uptake. Must be because he was into celebrating birthdays and other shit like that. Why anyone would want to celebrate getting older was beyond Brian. It was something anyone could do - hardly an accomplishment. As far as he was concerned, it just meant wrinkles, greying hair, and creaking bones. Worst of all, it would get harder to pull tricks.

A twinkle in his eyes, Vic replied, "December 1st."

"B- but it's already the 19th!" the teenager exclaimed. "How come you didn't tell me?"

"Don't go getting your knickers in a twist, Sunshine," Vic worked at allaying Justin's obviously hurt feelings. "It's a long-standing tradition - ever since I moved to New York, really - to celebrate on Christmas. Deb has always claimed that the Christ child and I are practically birthday twins."

"Three and a half weeks apart?" Justin commented dubiously. "That's kind of a long time."

Vic chuckled. "I know, but Sis has always insisted it's close enough since I was born in December."

Both Brian and Justin laughed along with him. 

For once, he was in possession of a piece of trivia that the blond didn't know. Of course, his usual method for ‘celebrating' a birthday, no matter whose, was to fuck his way through it. Hmm, he needed to find out when Justin's birthday was... The kid was bound to enjoy his ‘usual,' especially with the extras Brian would add just for him.

Speaking of his lover, Justin still wasn't quite over his upset, as evinced by the pout that had returned to his lips. If he didn't suspect that he'd be rebuffed, Brian would be tempted to lick it off...

"I think you should celebrate both days," the boy muttered obstinately. He started to get excited. "I mean, like, two celebrations are better than one, right? We could-"

"Okay, okay," Vic cut in, capitulating. "Next year, we can celebrate together on the first."

"Alright!" Justin pumped a fist in the air, clearly chuffed to have obtained Vic's agreement. 

Brian couldn't help thinking he had a better use for the lad's fist- er, hand. It would have to wait till Justin was up to par, though. No way was Brian letting the boy satisfy him if he couldn't reciprocate.

Harley chirped, "Blooowjob," seemingly in agreement with him. "Jushun, gooood boy," the budgie added, cocking his head inquisitively at the teenager.

Brian liked the way the bird thought. A blowjob would be even better than a handjob, although he was sure he'd be ready to settle for anything once the blond twat was cleared to have sex again.

Waggling his eyebrows, Vic leered wickedly at Justin. "My schedule's open, Kiddo. Just let me know when."

His jaw hanging open, his face a fiery red, Justin stared at Vic.

"Huh," Brian observed nonchalantly, "I didn't know just making the offer would render you speechless, Sunshine. I thought it took-"

"Briaaaan!" the teenager got out through his apparently constricted windpipe, his voice coming out in a weird, high-pitched whistle. Amazingly, his face went an even deeper hue of red.

Brian chuckled, getting a kick out of teasing the kid unmercifully.

Justin looked totally put out, but then a sly looked crossed his face. Quick as lightning, he stabbed at the half rasher that was all that was left on Brian's plate.

"Hey!" Brian protested. He looked pointedly at Justin's plate, which had a small mountain of eggs, a slice of buttered toast, and a piece of bacon - besides the one he'd just filched from Brian.

Justin cut into the bacon, scooped up some eggs and tomato, and crammed it all into his mouth. Once he'd swallowed, he gave Brian a toothy grin, reiterating, "Tastes better when you nick it."

Brat, Brian thought. 

Not long after Justin stole his bacon, all the food had vanished from the table. Standing up, Vic began collecting the plates. "Who's up for a scone?" he asked.

"Me!" Justin immediately piped up.

Brian was aghast. Where was he gonna find the room? The teenager had stuffed himself with bacon, toast and eggs, almost single-handedly decimating the serving dishes of their contents. 

"Good to see you've got your appetite back, Kiddo," Vic said cheerfully, apparently considering Justin's enthusiasm to be perfectly normal.

The dirty dishes removed, Vic set a platter with scones, strawberry jam, and clotted cream in the middle of the table before distributing dessert plates and clean forks. 

What the heck was this - death by carbs? Brian wasn't even sure why Vic had pushed a plate in his direction; he wasn't going to use it.

As he poured coffee into his cup and added a smidgeon of sugar, Brian noticed that the plate intended for Gus had Winnie-the-Pooh characters around the rim, with Piglet smack dab in the middle. "Oh look," he snarked, jerking his chin at it, "there's your plate, Sunshine."

"Har de har."

Brian grinned at the frustrated look on Justin's face. The boy was obviously annoyed that he couldn't come up with a better retort. He laughed outright when the lad tried to turn to the side and present Brian with his back, but was frustrated by the donut cushion, which held him firmly in place.

"Ignore your dada," Justin whispered anything but sotto voce, plainly wanting Brian to overhear. "Piglet's not a glutton. He's a good guy and loyal friend." The lad transferred one of the flaky, buttery scones to a plain white plate, cut it in half, and set the other half on top of Piglet. He then sliced that half across the middle and slathered the bottom part with clotted cream and jam.

Yep, that confirmed it. It was a ‘piggy plate.'

His sonnyboy made grabby hands at the plate.

Justin started to put the top half back on the bottom but then stopped, looking at Gus assessingly. "Hmm," he joked, "you probably can't open wide enough for that yet. I'll just slather both halves, yeah? Then you can eat them one at a time."

"Jushun!" Gus crowed, bestowing a gummy smile on his idol.

The instant Justin set the plate on his tray, Gus grabbed one of the slathered pieces - Brian couldn't tell if it was the top or the bottom - and tried to cram the whole thing into his mouth. He failed, most of it sliding out of his chubby hands and onto Piglet, but Gus was unperturbed, giving Justin a smile as he gummed at the chunk he'd succeeded in chewing off. 

Absentmindedly tearing a chunk off the half scone on Justin's plate, Brian winced; his offspring definitely didn't take after him when it came to food.

Brian watched in astonishment as Justin plowed his way through the half scone on his plate, followed by another two of the carb-laden pastries for himself and two more half scones for Gus. Where in the heck were his sonnyboys putting them? Despite his fear of gaining weight, Brian did his best to help Justin out a little, taking a couple more small bites from what the teenager put on his plate. After all, he didn't want the kid to blow up like a balloon.

After fuck knew how long, Justin pushed his chair back from the table a little and gave Vic a sunny smile. "I've never tasted scones as good as yours," he told the older man, regret lacing his voice, "but I can't eat anymore." 

Probably because there was nothing but a few crumbs left on the platter, Brian thought, snorting.

Vic smiled back at the teenager. "Between the four of us, we made pretty good inroads."

The four of them. Right, Brian mused sardonically. What he'd eaten didn't amount to much more than the crumbs that were left. 

"I think I may have taken a page out of Sis' book," Vic admitted with a rueful laugh, "and overbaked. Brian, why don't I send some home with you? You can share with Ted and Cynthia," he half begged as he looked over at the counter, where a bunch more of the scones had been cooling on a baking rack.

Brian didn't really want the fattening things anywhere near his loft - he might be tempted to eat one - but he supposed his minions, the new girl included, would appreciate them, so he reluctantly conceded, "Yeah, okay."

"Um, don't send them all, okay?" Justin piped up. "I, uh, might want another one later. Gus too," he tacked on.

Jesus, the kid was a bottomless pit.

Vic chuckled as he got up from the table and collected the plates. "No worries, Sunshine. "I've got more in a container on the sideboard. Right next to Harley's cage, in fact. They're best eaten within a day or two of being baked, so they'll be coming out of your ears."

"Yum," Justin enthused. "Right, little man?" he asked Gus.

"Guh." The tyke nodded in apparent agreement.

"Blooowjob." Harley took a break from pecking at his eggy treat and added his two cents' worth.

While Justin conferred with Gus - something or other about what they were going to do this afternoon - Brian got up and sauntered over to the counter, where Vic was putting some of the scones in a Tupperware container. "You did a good job with Sunshine's hair," he complimented the older man. "You wanna give mine a go?"

Vic turned his head and slanted an eyebrow at Brian, again reminding the brunet of whom he'd gotten the mannerism from. "Don't you usually go to that fancy-schmancy place dahntahn?"

Brian grinned. Vic had mostly lost his Yinzer accent during the years he'd lived in Manhattan, but the way he said ‘downtown' betrayed his working-class roots. 

"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "The stylist who's cut it the last two times - and who's supposedly from ‘Gay Paree-'"

"Like hell," Vic interjected. "Who moves from Paris to the Pitts?"

"No shit," Brian agreed. "Anyroad, the wannabe Parisian with the atrocious French accent hasn't gotten it right after two tries. That's my limit. You can hardly do worse."

His eyebrow arching again, Vic chuckled. "Is that meant to motivate me, ragazzo?"

"Sure." Brian smirked. "It would give you bragging rights - you'd be the stylist for the Stud of Liberty Avenue."

"Been there, done-" Vic started to say.

Tongue in cheek, Brian claimed, "You can relive your lost youth."

Vic burst out laughing, exactly as he'd intended. "I never had much luck controlling my own hair," he warned Brian, "but I should be able to give you a decent cut. If you want, I could do it after I load the dishwasher."

Brian declined, "Nah, I've got to get over to the loft and make sure no one's playing hooky - we've got a lot to get done before we open. How about in a couple of days? You free on Thursday afternoon?"

Vic shrugged as he boxed up the scones. "I'm not going anywhere. Thursday's good."

That settled, Brian accepted the scone-filled Tupperware container from Vic - Christ the thing was heavy; lard obviously weighed a lot - gave Justin a quick kiss, and breezed out the door after putting on his coat and gloves. Another enthusiastic "Blooowjob" from the cheeky budgie was the last thing he heard from inside the house.

 

Once Brian had left, Vic shooed Justin off to the living room along with ‘Master Gus' so he could clean up in the kitchen. After making sure he had all the art supplies he might want as well as various toys for Gus, Justin had settled Gus down on a blanket, right next to the couch. He surrounded the tyke with some matchbox cars, wooden building blocks and a couple stuffed teddy bears, before taking a seat himself. He let out of a soft whine of discomfort, not from the dull ache in his balls but because he'd overstuffed himself. 

He turned up his nose at the way his stomach was pooching out. It made him look like he was pregnant, he thought in disgust. Thank fuck Brian was no longer there to witness it; the man would go permanently soft.

Justin glanced down at Gus, hoping he wouldn't have to bend over to tend to him for at least a few minutes. Even with the forgiving stretch of Brian's sweatpants, that wouldn't feel good.

The teenager kept an eye on the toddler as he picked up the folder where he kept his loose paper sketches and drawings. Despite the sugar rush from the scones, he doubted his young partner would last long before he gave into the need for a kip. Gus was already yawning widely and kept tipping sideways, despite the determined furrow of his brows as he attempted to balance one wooden block on top of another. He sort of managed two but hadn't quite been able to work up to three - the blocks wobbling and falling over as soon as he tried.

Justin leafed through the folder, trying to decide where to start. Scrunching his nose up when he saw his pathetic first efforts at a logo for Kinnetik, he considered starting with that. Some of the ideas that had formerly been nebulous were now taking shape, but he thought he might let them percolate in his brain for another day before trying to capture them on paper. He knew Brian was anxious to get a move on; business cards and letterhead couldn't be printed until the logo was finished, but he thought he could produce better designs if he waited just a little bit longer. With Deb remaining adamant about him not working for a couple more days, he had unexpected free time, so waiting a day or two wouldn't delay him by much.

Flipping over the early, useless attempts at a Kinnetik emblem so he wouldn't have to see them, Justin looked at the next sheet. A smile crossed his face as he studied the unfinished sketch of him and Daphne that he'd started a couple weeks ago, during the bus ride after the ‘special' Saturday calculus session. The girl had fallen asleep during the long trip to Debbie's house and slumped against him, her head lolling on his shoulder. Just like then, Daphne's head was resting on his shoulder, but they weren't sitting on the rattletrap bus; instead, he'd posed them standing in front of the picture window here in Debbie's living room, the drapes drawn behind them. Not that anyone would be able to tell where they were since he planned to blur the background and only show them from the waist up

A week after creating the first rough sketch of Daphne, he'd worked on the drawing a little more, taking a break from SAT prep. Ugh, he wondered if you could tell he'd been looking in the bathroom mirror when he added himself to the drawing. He'd swear the giant zit he'd had on his face had somehow transferred itself to the sketch. 

It would be easy enough to eliminate that particular defect, Justin assured himself, especially on the thick grey paper he'd been working with. Really, it was the perfect background to make him look better. This was what he'd work on first, the young artist decided, extracting it from the folder and setting it on a large sketchbook for support as he drew.

The grey paper already provided him with the midtones, so he started blocking in the shadows with a soft lead pencil, liking the way they enhanced Daphne's soft, trusting expression. He spent the next fifteen minutes darkening the shadows, but then faltered when he got to his best friend's hair.

It had been in a sort of weird cross between a sloppy bun and a ponytail that Saturday, he recalled, the fringe falling into her eyes. He'd already planned to change that and put her hair in the cornrows Daphne favoured. 

The problem, he now realised, was that he'd never drawn cornrows before. The pencil hovering over the grey paper, he finally decided to leave it for last and fiddle with it then. 

Peering over the edge of his sketch pad, he noticed that Gus had fallen asleep, one hand keeping a tight hold on a wooden block, while the thumb of the other was shoved in the tot's mouth. Chuckling at how the little boy snuffled in his sleep, Justin continued with his sketch by blocking in the areas of light with a harder white pencil - faces, shiny parts of jackets, his blond hair.

He hadn't gotten very far with that part when Vic came into the room, prompting Justin to look up at him. The blond lad groaned, his balls trying to crawl up into his body, when he realised the man carried an ice pack. "I don't think I need that anymore," he attempted to get out of applying the freezing cold pack to his junk. "I mean" - he gestured toward his genitals - "I feel loads better. It doesn't hurt; it barely even aches."

Vic observed mildly, "Barely doesn't mean not at all, Kiddo."

Shit. Regardless of how reasonable he sounded, Justin could tell from the stubborn set of the older man's chin that Vic was going to insist that he use the ice pack.

He was right of course, Vic noting, "You're still healing, Sunshine." Taking in the mulish look that Justin couldn't quite suppress, he cajoled, "Tell you what. Numb up your gonads for the next fifteen minutes, and then I'll bring you a warm towel to replace the ice pack."

The towel sounded good, the teenager thought wistfully. If only he didn't have to use the ice pack first... Resigned to his fate, he pushed his sketchbook to his right and held out his hand for the ice pack.

"That Daphne?" Vic asked, gazing curiously down at the picture.

Busy positioning the ice pack under his balls, careful not to jostle the tender, bruised flesh, Justin could only hope that his right arm hid his own likeness from Vic. He hadn't yet had a chance to disguise the acne bomb on one cheek or to make his eyes seem less close-set. Disgusted by how he looked in the drawing, he couldn't quite decide whether he'd just done a bad job of capturing his face in the mirror or if he'd actually looked that awful a week ago Sunday. "Yeah," he squeaked out, edging his arm over to cover his image as soon as he let go of the ice pack, his fingers feeling numb. "I, uh, thought she might like it for Christmas?"

"She's bound to like a portrait with her best friend," Vic remarked, grinning.

A sigh slipped out from between Justin's lips. That wasn't so bad; Vic must've just got enough of a glimpse to know it was him but not enough to see that he was almost cross-eyed and had bad acne, never mind his doppelganger's other defects.

"Careful," Vic cautioned as he turned away and headed back to the kitchen, "you're gonna smudge that pretty face of yours."

Uncertain as to whether Vic had been joking him - there might have been a hint of tongue-in-cheek humour underlying his comment - Justin jerked his arm away from where it was touching the sketch. Staring down at it, he was thankful to see that he hadn't done any damage; the drawing of him did not need that kind of help.

He shouldn't have used his right hand to hold the ice pack, the blond realised, blowing on his fingers in an attempt to warm them up so he could hold a pencil properly. He might be somewhat ambidextrous, but he'd rather not have to rely on his left hand to draw with.

Positioning his left forearm so that it would hold the drawing in place but not smear the lead, Justin set to work again. He began refining the dark areas, finally getting to Daph's hair and detailing the facial features and jacket details for both of them. He kept leaning forward and twisting around to look in the decorative mirror that was hung near the TV credenza. It was a little weird and off-putting to be drawing himself, just like it had been when he made his first attempt while looking in the medicine cabinet mirror in the upstairs bath. At least now, he wasn't bracing his sketchpad on the sink, which had been really awkward. He'd felt like a jack-in-the-box, constantly raising his head to peer into the mirror and then bending back down to check if he was getting it right.

He wasn't any happier with the results this time, however. His mouth didn't look right, he thought critically. His lips were too thin and tightly pressed together, making it seem like he was in a bad mood. Or constipated. Gross.

Judiciously using an eraser with a fine, soft edge, Justin was able to clear away the worst of it, draw his bottom lip again, and then fix the shading. He still wasn't satisfied, but at least it was passable.

Frustrated by how long this was taking - he couldn't recall the last time he'd fought so hard to capture someone in a drawing - he lifted his head and rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to ease the tension. He was squinting at his drawing, thinking that Daphne's cornrows looked all wrong and trying to figure out how to fix that problem when Vic came back into the room carrying a tray.

"You look like you could use this," the older man observed as he set down the tray, which held a cup from which steam was rising as well as a plate with one of the scones, already slathered with jam and clotted cream, and a rolled-up towel.

Only a short time ago, Justin would've sworn that he couldn't eat another bite, but his stomach rumbled in appreciation of the snack. He smiled at the older man. "Thanks, Vic." 

"You can just put the ice pack on here," Vic said, after moving the cup of tea and scone onto the coffee table. "I'll get rid of it for you."

Justin asked hopefully, "The last time?" immediately removing the ice pack and exchanging it for the warm towel. He sighed happily, his eyes sliding part way shut as he snugged the towel in next to his frozen balls.

"We'll see," Vic replied non-committally, whisking the tray away and returning to the kitchen before Justin could push for a better answer.

Sighing again, Justin glanced down at Gus, who was still sleeping but starting to move a little restlessly as if he might wake up soon. He then looked up at the rooster clock, right as it hit ten minutes past ten. That wasn't so bad, the lad thought in relief; he should have enough time to finish this drawing - he was close to done - and then work on a couple of others.

When he returned his attention to the drawing, he decided the cornrows looked bad, so he went to lighten the pencil lines by dabbing over them with a kneaded eraser so he could try again. The problem, he realised as he was lightening the plaits, was that he hadn't left enough space for the scalp to peek through between the rows, so they ended up looking unnatural. After a minute of tinkering, with slightly larger gaps, the hairstyle looked good.

A few minutes later, his friend's hair finalised, Justin picked up his soft white pencil and drew the harsher highlights in his own hair, both their eyes and the metal parts of their jackets. Eyeing it assessingly when he was done, he thought that Daphne looked beautiful and that his mouth thankfully didn't ruin the picture.

Justin had just carefully placed the finished sketch in his folder and was deciding what to work on next when Vic came back into the living room, newspaper in hand. He was heading toward his recliner when Gus whined and shifted restlessly, a strong odour immediately beginning to permeate the air.

Tossing the Post-Gazette at his chair, Vic changed direction and scooped Gus up instead. In response to Justin's apologetic look, he commented, an amused gleam lighting his blue-grey eyes, "It happens."

Justin giggled at the way Vic had obviously omitted the ‘Sh'.

"Besides," Vic continued as he exited the room with the tyke, who was now beginning to wail, "It's hardly the first bum I've diapered. Whenever I visited, I used to take care of Michael to give Deb a bit of a break."

Justin screwed up his face in disgust. He could've happily gone the rest of his life without having that mental picture in his head. Purposefully turning his attention back to his sketchbook, Justin thought of what to do next. He considered working on one of Debbie's gifts - he'd researched sacred hymns, based on an idea he'd had a couple weeks ago, and created a calligraphic rendering of one of the songs, arranging it like a poem. He'd debated between Ave Maria and Salve Regina before settling on Ave Maria. Debbie would prefer the Ave, he thought; plus, it better expressed the warmth that both the Virgin Mary - and his newfound mum - exuded.

Setting up the ‘poem' had taken a couple of tries since he didn't have much experience with calligraphy, but Justin liked the way it had turned out. Now he just needed to add the border, which would consist of miniature sketches of Debbie, her grandparents, parents, Vic, Michael, and the rest of the cobbled-together ‘family.'

So he could get Vic and Deb's parents and their Nonna and Nonno right, he'd secreted away a couple photos from the Grassi family album that had been unearthed during the attic cleaning. Sadly, he'd left the photos upstairs, he now remembered, so this sketch would have to wait. Besides, he didn't want Vic to see it before he gave the present to Debbie for Christmas.

Setting that project aside a little reluctantly, he pulled out the drawings of a fat spider tatting lace, which he had also created after the attic cleaning. He'd taken them off the fridge a couple weeks ago, replacing them with one of Gus' pieces of art. The ‘art' was really just randomly placed dots and short scribbles on a greasy piece of paper, but then Justin, seeing potential, had joined the dots with straight lines at various angles. When he was done, the greasy spot to one side had been centred between intersecting lines and looked kind of cool, like a space nebula. 

Debbie must've had a similar thought because upon seeing it, she'd exclaimed, "What is that? It looks like the night sky with a comet flashing across it."

That worked as a description of Gus' first ‘masterpiece,' the teen had thought, opting not to say anything. Gus deserved something special in return for giving away his masterpiece, right? He was contemplating framing the two panels of the lace-tatting spider and gifting them to Gus for Christmas when Vic returned with the toddler.

His young partner was fast asleep again, Justin noted with a fond smile as Vic resettled him on the blanket at his feet. Gus didn't stir at all, other than to snuggle a little closer to one of the teddy bears.

Once he was certain Gus was still securely ensconced among the stuffed animals and wooden blocks, Vic stood back up and sauntered over to his chair and sat down. Reclining the chair as far as he could, Vic laid the newspaper across his chest and announced, "The real men are gonna take a nap now."

Justin was concerned for a moment that Vic was feeling poorly again, but an easy smile and a comment that he'd gotten up with the fucking roosters and just needed a short rest reassured him. As he returned his attention to the spidery sketches, he mused with a rueful smile that at any other time a nap would probably sound good to him too - when school was in session, it seemed like he was perpetually short of sleep - but right now he was just glad to have something approximating his normal level of energy. It was the first time since his injury that he'd felt this alert.

Glancing down at Gus, who was breathing deeply in his sleep, Justin felt inspired to draw another version of the chubby arachnid. If he didn't like it, he could always go with the original plan. Who knew; he might even want to create an arachnoid series for the little boy. That was bound to make his mothers happy, he thought with a giggle.

Taking a fresh sheet from the sketch pad, Justin thought about the scene he wanted to portray. Ousted from Debbie's house, he imagined the spider travelling with tiny little suitcases in search of a new dwelling. Where would its new home be? If Debbie didn't want it in her house, maybe little Gus would appreciate a new friend?

The blond propped the two spidery panels up against the arm of the sofa - he wanted the new drawing to complement them - and started sketching a simplified tarantula. He didn't have a reference handy, so his creature ended up being more just tarantula-adjacent than an actual realistic representation, but it worked out in the end as it looked less scary like this. 

This was fun, the lad thought, grinning to himself as he drew an organic-seeming tent made of thick lace, the tarantula standing imposingly in the doorway. One side of the tent was pinned to the ground, the other anchored in the fur of a generic-looking teddy bear to set the location as a kid's room. He then added flourishes that looked like pieces of spider silk blowing in the air to balance out his composition.

Was the spider a he or a she? he wondered as his pencil flew across the page, its dwelling rapidly taking shape. He mulled it over as he kept drawing. Maybe Linds and Mel would be more favourably disposed toward spidery decorations in Gus' room if it was a girl?

Since he didn't know whether a female spider would help with the girls - Justin was pretty sure neither of them was going to be inclined toward things spiderish, cute or not - maybe he should attempt to come up with a name first and see if that revealed the arachnid's gender. It couldn't hurt to try for something that would tickle the girls' fancy, though.

The young artist suddenly realised he'd stopped drawing, his pencil poised over the paper as he thought about a name. Reaching over to the coffee table, he snagged the bottle of water he'd brought from the kitchen earlier. Justin had guzzled most of it - the bacon made him thirsty - but he wasn't going to drink the dregs and could use it to moisten the new watercolour pencils he wanted to use.

He'd decided to forgo the line work, so he lightened the sketch with a kneaded eraser till it was barely visible. Then, dipping each watercolour pencil into the water, he began using them to colour the illustration. The water not only made the pencils easier to apply, it also made the colours brighter. 

Hmm, what to call the spider? Mr Muffet was out; that was what Emmett's former beau had named his tarantula and certainly wouldn't predispose the girls toward Gus' new friend. Arachne? Linds and Mel might like that one if they were familiar with Greek mythology, but it just seemed kind of bland and wouldn't really appeal to a little boy. Justin thought up some more options - Spidey, Webster, Silky and Legs - but rejected them all. None of those felt right.

Charlotte for the famous spider from Charlotte's Web? No, that wasn't original enough. 

He kept sketching, pleased with how the drawing was progressing. Justin had selected a lot of bright colours that all applied evenly to the paper and were vibrant and saturated.

He grinned when the nursery rhyme about the itsy-bitsy spider sprang into his head. Itsy would be a cute name, and he could even incorporate the rhyme into the drawing, maybe ‘carve' it around the door frame or put it on a plaque on the door. Mel and Linds were bound to like it too; they'd probably end up crooning the catchy rhyme to their son.

Justin still hesitated, however. That name still seemed too... ordinary, like one all sorts of other people would come up with. He sighed, wishing he had a computer so he could try and surf the Internet for ideas.

"What's wrong, Sunshine?" Vic asked right then, lowering the footrest and bringing his chair to an upright position.

"I can't think of a name for a spider," Justin told him, frowning a little in irritation.

Vic looked around warily. "What spider? Did another one of those ginormous ‘huntsmen' move in?"

"Huh?" It took a second for Justin to realise what Vic meant. Giggling, he motioned toward the two panels next to him. "Not a live spider. A companion to these that can go in Gus' bedroom. Something fun, you know?"

"Can I see what you've got?" Vic asked, rising from his chair and coming over to the sofa. He sat down on the carpet next to Gus, who was beginning to stir.

Feeling a little shy, Justin held up the drawing. "It's not done yet," he warned Vic. "I kind of wanted a name before I did anything more. So I can, like, put in the right details," he elaborated.

The two men went over the ideas Justin had already had, Vic rubbing his chin thoughtfully and absently humming a tune.

Justin frowned; the tune sounded familiar to him. He searched his memory and came up with an image of his da- Craig singing to himself as he pottered around in the garage. "...must come down," he supplied a few of the words to the song. "Spinnin' wheel, got to go round." He bolted upright, exclaiming, "That's it! Thanks, Vic!"

Breaking off the song he was humming, Vic looked at him in bemusement. "What're you thanking me for?"

"The spider," Justin said excitedly. "You named the spider!"

"I did?" Vic hooked a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, she's Spinderella."

Vic's brow furrowed and then he started laughing. "You'll have to credit Blood, Sweat & Tears for that one, Sunshine."

It was Justin's turn to be puzzled. It took him a second before it dawned on him that that was the name of the band. "Oh, right," he mumbled.

Vic shook his head, looking both fond and exasperated. "You need a better musical education," he claimed.

The teen didn't really agree, but at the same time, he wouldn't mind checking out Vic's recommendations. Heck, some of it might even be stuff Brian grew up listening to. He could even tease his lover about it, he thought with an impish giggle.

"Gah 'ama," said Gus, his words indistinct as he yawned and gave them a good view of his gullet.

"No," Vic laughingly corrected the tyke, "Debbie's your grandma, not me."

Figuring Vic would get a kick out of being called ‘grandpa,' Justin spoke up, enunciating carefully and almost making it sound like two separate words, "‘Grand pa,' Gussy. That's your ‘grand pa.'"

Gus rolled his head toward Justin and looked at him curiously out of wide hazel eyes.

Justin felt a catch in his throat - the boy looked so much like his father - as he encouraged him, "You wanna try it?" Slowly and distinctly, he repeated, "Grand pa."

Something seemed to click, the nipper giving him a big, gummy smile before crowing, "Gah pah. Gah pah, Jushun."

Vic laughed uproariously as Justin flushed red. That wasn't quite what the blond had intended. 

But then Gus turned his head so he was looking at Vic and waved chubby fists at the older man. Bestowing a drooly smile on Vic, he said, "Guh, Gah pah."

Justin had to grin at the dumbstruck expression on Vic's face. The older man was utterly transfixed, a soft smile stealing across his face when Gus waved his hands again and reiterated more emphatically, "Gah pah. Gah pah!"

A strong desire to capture this moment made Justin's fingers twitch. Unfortunately, if he set aside the drawing he was working on and flipped open his sketchbook, that was bound to disturb Vic and Gus. He'd just have to try and recreate the scene later.

"Gah pah," Gus said once more, looking imploringly at his grandpa.

Vic freely interpreted that as, "I bet that means you want to learn to use the telephone. Right, young Kinney?"

Agreeably, Gus replied, "Guh."

‘Guh' seemed to range in meaning from ‘great!' to ‘look' to ‘bah!' to an exclamation of surprise, Justin thought, grinning. He could use an all-purpose word like that. His smile broadened. Other than ‘fuck,' that is.

Leaning back, Vic reached around the side of the couch and rescued the old Fisher-Price toy phone from where Justin had tucked it out of his sight, pulling on the cord and wheeling it around until it was beside him.

"It still looks creepy," Justin huffed upon seeing the garish, clunky toy.

Vic shrugged and ignored him, much like the last time. He helped Gus sit up, bracketing the boy with his outstretched legs. Steering the phone around until it was on the carpet in front of Gus, he explained as he lifted the handset from the cradle, "What you do is pick up this piece and hold it up to your ear."

The wee nipper tilted his head up and looked at Vic seriously as he placed the receiver against Gus' ear, the tyke's eyes rounding as he listened.

Justin was surprised to hear the buzz of a dial tone. He wouldn't have expected the old toy to be that functional; there must be a battery somewhere in the base.

"You wanna call your Jushun?" Vic asked.

Gus bounced a little in excitement. "Jushun!"

Vic informed him, "Jushun's got a special nickname. You know that, right?"

Gus seemed uncertain, his expression quizzical.

"It's ‘Sunshine,'" Vic related in a loud whisper that easily carried to Justin.

"Guh."

"Exactly," Vic confirmed. "He even has a special phone number that corresponds to the letters in his name. It's so special that it even has an extra digit. Unlike regular phone numbers, it's got eight digits instead of seven."

Oddly touched, Justin could feel his face warming. He hadn't been sure about the moniker when Debbie dubbed him with it upon meeting him; he'd even called the redheaded waitress a ‘freak,' he remembered, wincing at his callousness. The nickname had quickly grown on him, however, and he now really liked it when his mum called him Sunshine. Brian too, of course.

"Guh?"

"Yep, eight," Vic reiterated. "So the number we're going to dial is 7-8-6-7-4-4-6-3. That's the same as S-U-N-S-H-I-N-E."

Gus nodded thoughtfully, as if he understood every word. "Jushun!" he cried out, clumsily clapping his little hands.

"Okay." Vic took Gus' right hand in his, put the chubby index finger in the hole for the number 7, and helped the boy turn the dial clockwise until they reached the metal stop. Then he lifted Gus's hand, and the dial returned to its original position with a whirring sound.

"Guh!" Gus exclaimed, clearly entranced. He began sticking his fingers in the holes, trying to reproduce what had just happened.

Justin forced himself to tear his eyes away from the action taking place at his feet and focus on his drawing. If he didn't get a move on, Spinderella wouldn't be able to move into her new abode today.

Listening as Gus squealed and ‘guhed,' Justin added a couple suitcases next to Spinderella, who was standing just outside the entrance to the tent, a briefcase in her hand. A stack of haphazardly stacked boxes could be seen inside. Peering out from a box that had already been opened, a red, white and blue Fisher-Price phone was beaming a welcoming smile at the tent's new occupant.

Maybe the toy phone wasn't so bad after all, Justin mused, smiling as he listened to Vic patiently explain the workings of a rotary phone and help Gus operate it. It was just kind of a weird thing to teach a kid; rotary phones were obsolete, so Gus would never use the skill - not that the wee lad was absorbing the lesson to start with. The teenager couldn't remember his parents ever having a rotary phone, so where Gus might encounter one, much less need to use it, he couldn't imagine.

Justin glanced up from his sketch, noting that Vic looked to be having just as much fun as Gus. Laughing under his breath, he decided that was really all that mattered - the two boys were having fun playing. 

He continued sketching more details, a spinning wheel taking shape under the awning in front of the spider's dwelling, with Spinderella's name carved around the edge of the wheel. On a little hanging sign above the door, he drew a miniature of the spinning wheel with the arachnid's name etched above the polished wooden hoop.

Next came a clothes line to one side of the tent with four pairs of little socks - one set bright red with black spiders on them - hanging on tiny little wooden pegs. Taking in the bright blue sky from which the sun was shining down on Spinderella, Justin quickly drew a pair of sunglasses atop her head with eight lenses of various sizes. Flowers sprang up in various spots, and a fly buzzed dangerously close to the spinning wheel before veering off, Justin adding little puffs of vapour to show it making a frantic escape. 

Justin was surprised by how fast the sketch was taking shape. Now that he wasn't trying to draw himself, he was back to his regular speed, the pencil flowing across the page. After adding the last couple of details, the blond grabbed his inking pen and began to meticulously outline the sketch with simple, thick lines suitable for a kid's illustration. 

Once he was done, Justin took stock of the sketch, holding it up to see what it might look like once it was hanging on the wall in Gus' room. 

It looked good, he concluded, knowing he would have loved the sketch when he was younger. The drawing had all sorts of little touches that he would have discovered and had fun pointing out to everyone, just like Gus would do when he was a little older. 

He'd been obsessed with spiders and everything related to arachnids as an eight and nine-year-old. Luckily, his mother had supported his interest, helping him do research, although she drew the line at allowing him to have a pet tarantula. Justin sighed wistfully. Jennifer had really been a good mum and even seemed to be coming around to accepting that he was gay-

Vic interrupted his maudlin thoughts, requesting, "Turn that around, Kiddo, so we can see it."

Shaking off the childhood memory, Justin hesitated for a moment but then flipped it around. It wouldn't hurt for Gus to see the drawing now, he reasoned; it was unlikely the tyke would remember it when Christmas arrived in a few days. 

Vic chuckled as he looked at the sketch. "That's the friendliest-looking spider I've ever seen, Sunshine. I wouldn't mind if Spinderella dropped by for a visit."

"Spu du! Coo!" Gus voiced his opinion.

Gus was probably just aping his ‘gah pah,' Justin figured, but he wondered where the ‘coo,' the little lad's word for ‘cool' had come from just now. Did Gus actually remember Sunday's dinner conversation which had revolved around spiders?

Vic cocked an eyebrow at the little boy. "Cool, huh?"

His memory jogged, Justin recalled Melanie asking the exact same thing yesterday. Maybe he shouldn't have shown Gus the sketch? The wee lad did seem awfully enamoured by spiders after he'd talked the arachnids up so much.

"Spinderella's the only cool spider," Vic teasingly informed his young playmate. "She's the only one allowed in the house, okay?"

"Coo," the nipper repeated enthusiastically. "Spu du!"

Justin's worry that Gus might remember the sketch come Christmas grew. It didn't really matter, he then decided after a moment. Gus wouldn't be able to convey that he'd seen it before, right?

He was just relaxing, satisfied that there wouldn't be a problem, when Vic asked, "Aren't you supposed to be at the diner soon, Kiddo?"

"Huh?" He should have plenty of time; it was barely twelve thirty when he'd last checked the clock, which couldn't have been more than a few minutes ago. The teen started to glance at the clock again, just to double-check, but was distracted by Gus stretching toward the drawing with the damp fingers he'd just had in his mouth.

Justin quickly pulled the sketch back a safe distance and then turned it around so Gus couldn't see it any longer. When the tot's lips turned down in a trembling pout, a wail seeming imminent, he assured the wee lad in a soothing voice, "Spinderella's not ready for that close an acquaintance just yet, Gussy. She's a little shy. Give her a few days, okay?"

His calming tone worked, Gus responding with one of his gummy smiles and the all-purpose "Guh."

"I just need to change out of these-" he was saying as he finally glanced at the clock, only to break off and squawk, "What?" He shot off the couch, the minute hand moving to twelve fifty-three as he watched.

"I'm going to be late," he stated rather frantically, hitching up Brian's overlong sweatpants that were pooling around his ankles and dragging on the floor. "I'm supposed to meet Arthur at one."

"It won't hurt the man to wait a few minutes," Vic noted a bit sourly. "You go change, and I'll call a taxi for you."

"A taxi?" Justin replied uncertainly. "I can just walk."

"A taxi," Vic repeated firmly, his tone brooking no objections. "You're not up to walking yet. Now go change."

The thick cotton of the sweatpants bunched up in his hands so he wouldn't trip over the legs, Justin trudged toward the stairs, thinking Vic was making a big deal out of nothing. He could easily walk the short distance; his balls didn't ache that much.

 

Justin stepped out of the cab and almost went down on his keister, righting himself just in time. The pavement really was slick, he thought, now really glad that Vic had called a cab for him, insisting Justin wasn't up for the walk yet, especially in such wintry conditions.

Not wanting a broken tailbone now that he was finally doing better, the blond lad shuffled cautiously toward the door to the diner and pushed open the door. The bell jingled merrily and he smiled, feeling welcomed by the din from the customers and the aromas from the kitchen.

Shucking his jacket, he noted Deb talking to a man in a long, black wool coat who had his back to him. Justin couldn't see much of the man since he was wearing a homburg, with a grey-patterned paisley scarf wrapped around his neck and covering up his hair in the back. He might've thought it was Brian - the coat looked like it came with a designer label - but for a few things. One, Justin knew Brian was at the loft, working to get Kinnetik up and running. Two, he'd never seen Brian wear a hat or anything paisley. Okay, that was probably two and three, the blond lad realized, grinning. There was also the fact that the man was at least an inch shorter than-

His thoughts scattered when Debbie shook a finger in the bloke's face. "Now see here, buster, that's no way to behave."

If Justin hadn't already ascertained that the guy wasn't Brian, the way Debbie pronounced ‘buster' would've given it away. This ‘buster' came out purely accusatory, completely lacking the exasperated fondness that would've been there with Brian.

Straightening his already ramrod posture, the stranger attempted to defend himself. "I can assure you, madam-"

Justin instantly recognised Smythe's voice, the proper way he spoke and the way he rounded his vowels unmistakable.

"I ain't no ‘madam,' Debbie cut in in an offended tone.

She had to be deliberately misunderstanding Smythe. He'd never heard Deb use ain't instead of isn't, and she'd know that ‘madam' was a polite form of address rather than a slur. In fact, he'd normally expect her to crack a ribald joke about how she'd make better money as a madam. He couldn't imagine what Smythe could have said to upset Debbie; the man always came off cool and collected on the few occasions Justin had spoken with him. Suave too, with just a hint of... Slipperiness described it best, the teenager finally decided.

"I had no intention of insulting you," Smythe corrected himself, sounding like he had a stick up his arse. "Or anyone else. I'd just like to speak to-"

Justin winced. Going all stiff and proper wouldn't win the bloke any points with his mum. Deb wasn't fond of overly polite people who didn't just call her by the name on her nametag. Something else must've set her off before Justin got here though, since it looked like she was just about to rip the Brit a new one.

"You've had plenty of chances to speak to him!" the irate waitress interrupted again. "To check on the well-being of someone who works for you." She poked Smythe in the chest with a pointy nail that was polished a bright red and decorated with sparkly green glitter. "Make that worked," she amended, her voice filled with smug relish.

Realising they were talking about him, Justin was tempted to turn around and go back out the door. He couldn't backtrack, however; the heavyset guy he'd just squeezed past had pushed his chair back out again, leaving no space for anyone to get by him. Just as well, he thought with a quiet sigh. He should intercede before it came to fisticuffs or something.

The blond lad had to stifle a laugh as a vision of Deb chasing the Brit out of the diner, battering him with heavy-handed slaps, popped into his head.

"Ahem." Justin turned the laugh into a clearing of his throat but evidently didn't do it loudly enough, neither Debbie nor Arthur taking notice of him.

"I can assure you, m-" Smythe started over but then quailed at another glare from the redheaded waitress. Cutting off what was doubtless going to be another ‘madam,' he altered it to, "-miss, that I take the welfare of my employees - all of them - very seriously."

Debbie snorted. "Yeah?" she challenged belligerently, taking a half step closer to the club owner and crowding him against a punk rocker with a pink and green fauxhawk who was sitting at the counter. "So what happened with Sunshine then?"

Arthur blinked at her in confusion, obviously thrown by the nickname.

"Watch it," the punk rocker growled at Smythe when the Brit accidentally elbowed him.

"Excuse me," Smythe apologised. He side-eyed the irate customer as he edged away, making Justin want to laugh again. You'd think the club owner would be used to all sorts of characters; a rocker with a fauxhawk was really pretty tame.

Debbie began berating him again when Smythe looked at her, apparently deciding she was the lesser of two evils. "You shoulda looked after my son better than that, mister!" she charged, her voice rising.

A light sweat breaking out on his forehead, the man looked at a loss, patently searching for the words to pacify Debbie.

"Um, Deb," Justin tentatively interjected, "Arthur, uh, didn't know..." He trailed off, not sure what to say. Just thinking about Sven and the dodgy drugs he was passing out like candy made the blond feel a little ill.

"Didn't know?" the redhead screeched. She glanced at Justin, giving him a quick pat on the cheek before rounding on Smythe again.

Conversation at nearby tables died away, the customers avidly listening in. It all made Justin want to sink through the floor; he wasn't keen on everyone in the eatery hearing about how he'd stupidly accepted drugs from an untrustworthy source.

Debbie shrieked, reiterating, "Didn't know? How could you not know? I know everything that goes on here, down to the drag queen who smokes a joint in the women's loo every morning at six o'clock. You can bet your brassiere that I'd know if anyone took any hard drugs in here."

Looking utterly taken aback, Smythe blinked at the redhead. The irate waitress was silent for a few beats, staring at the club owner in clear expectation of a better answer, so Justin took the opportunity to step in again. Mindful of the elbow that was sticking out in his direction, Justin moved closer to Deb and gave his mum his best ‘sweet, innocent, blond boy' look. That look almost never failed him, and Justin mentally crossed his fingers that it wouldn't this time.

When her expression softened a little, the teen beseeched, his voice low, "Uh, could Mr Smythe and I maybe talk in one of the booths? I know he's really sorry about what happened at Babylon." He paused for a second in hopes that Arthur would have the good sense to grovel a little.

Fortunately, Smythe recognised the cue. "I truly am very sorry," he said, his gaze earnest and tone sincere as he looked at Debbie. His voice hitched a little as he went on. "I- I think very highly of Justin."

The blond lad held his breath as his mum studied Smythe through narrowed eyes. "Okay," she relented, "you can have a palaver with Justin over there." The redhead gestured at a table directly across from the counter that was just now coming free. "I'll be keeping my eye on you though," she warned the club owner, "so don't go trying to pull a fast one. "Sunshine won't be going back to work for you, you hear?"

Smythe nodded, although the teenager wasn't sure if that was just because he wanted to get away from Debbie or if he'd decided that getting Justin to continue with the dance gig was a lost cause.

The Brit meekly followed him to the just freed table, which Justin started to clear off so they wouldn't be talking across a clutter of dirty dishes.

"None of that, Sunshine," Debbie admonished as she breezed over with a tray with two steaming cups on it, along with saucers and spoons. She balanced the tray on the narrow ledge between booths and set about swiftly stacking the dirty dishes.

"Do you mind?" asked a skinny carrot-top who was sitting in the neighbouring booth. He turned to glare at the waitress, wispy, sparse hairs that Justin assumed were meant to be a goatee, sticking out at odd angles.

"Mind what?" Debbie didn't even look up as she swiped at the table with a damp dishrag.

Justin could almost hear the carrot-top's teeth grinding together, but he apparently thought better of making a fuss when Deb looked up briefly, lifting a finely shaped eyebrow at him.

The bloke subsided back into his seat with a sullen, "Nothing."

"Good," Debbie said briskly, taking the cups off the tray and placing them on opposite sides of the table. "Peppermint tea," she told Justin. "It'll make you feel chipper." Eyeballing Smythe, she finished, "Won't do you any harm either, I reckon." 

When the two men didn't move, she instructed, "Go on, rear ends on the green upholstery," waving the damp cloth at them.

Arthur looked like he was afraid of getting cooties, Justin thought with a mental snicker as he slid onto the seat, setting his messenger bag and coat down next to him. Given his reaction, he had a hard time believing the man had ever been here before. The club owner hesitated for a moment longer before wrapping his coat more tightly around himself and sitting down gingerly on the other side of the table.

Transferring the dirty dishes to her tray, Debbie trotted off towards the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, "Don't forget. I'm keeping an eye on you."

She'd probably be quizzing him about exactly what was said, Justin mused ruefully as he wound the teabag around his spoon to squeeze out excess moisture before setting it on the edge of the saucer.

Not doing a very good job of hiding his astonishment, Smythe inquired, "That's your mother?"

Justin could practically see the wheels turning in the Brit's head as he searched for a semblance between them. "Yeah, she's the best," was all he said, smiling brightly.

"I'm glad you have someone... caring taking care of you," Arthur got out after a moment. "Truly," he emphasised the point before probing, "Are you really okay? No ill effects from your fainting spell?"

"No," Justin answered honestly. The lingering ache in his balls didn't have anything to do with the drugs after all. "I'm okay."

Pushing his tea to one side, Smythe reached out and patted Justin on the hand. "I want you to know that MacAllister and I are normally scrupulous in checking that there are no underhanded dealings at the club."

Justin swallowed hard. ‘Underhanded dealings' was vague, but Smythe must know something had happened to him, if not exactly what, or he wouldn't have made that comment.

Looking him directly in the eyes, Arthur earnestly continued, "Babylon's reputation is important to me - I'd hate to have it tarnished - but the well-being of my employees is even more important." He paused for a moment before asking, "You'd tell me if anything was going on that I should know about, right? Anything untoward?"

Justin smiled to himself, thinking that Brian was wrong about Smythe. The man did care about his employees and wouldn't turn a blind eye to drug dealing on the club's premises. He might leave it up to the go-go boys if they wanted to take drugs or not, but it wouldn't go any further.

The teen might wish that Arthur hadn't immediately lost interest in Vic after he found out Vic had Aids, but he couldn't fault him for it either. In any case, it didn't have any bearing on whether he was a competent manager who looked out for his employees' welfare.

"Justin?" Arthur prompted.

He'd been silent for too long, Justin realised, starting. "Um, I was just thinking about Vic," he blurted out.

The older man's expression softened. "I'm sorry. I'm just not-"

"It's okay," Justin hurriedly cut him off. He didn't need to hear Smythe's reasoning on a topic he hadn't meant to bring up. "No, uh, nothing happened to me at Babylon," he assured the man, hoping the way he stumbled over the lie would be attributed to his being upset about Vic. He wasn't about to tell Arthur about Sven. They could catch him giving mystery pills and powders to someone else, which they were bound to do one of the times they checked out the locker room.

Arthur sat back, looking relieved. "I'm glad to hear it. We handle problems in-house when we can, but if it was anything serious, we'd have to call in the police. That wouldn't go over very well; they're not exactly fond of gay clubs."

Justin essayed a tepid smile before reaching into his satchel, glad he'd remembered to grab it before leaving Debbie's house since it contained the perfect way to change the subject and get himself off the hot seat. Extracting the folder with the drawing he wanted, he nudged his teacup to the side, wiping at the spot with the sleeve of Brian's red jumper. He didn't think there was any dampness there or anything, but he didn't want to chance staining the sketch before he'd even shown it to Arthur.

He flipped open the folder, and then suddenly feeling self-conscious, stammered, "I, uh, thought you might like this," as he turned the folder around.

The club owner looked down impassively at the silhouettes of two men dancing, a slight tenting visible in their trousers.

"Erm," Justin babbled nervously, "I thought you might like an updated design for your T-shirts. Or it could be, like, an alternate design," he tacked on when Arthur's expression didn't change. He'd been underwhelmed by the plain design on the tee Freddie tossed him the night he met Eric, but Smythe probably had a better feeling for what the patrons wanted, the young artist thought, deflating a little. "Or you could, you know-" Justin hesitated about saying ‘toss it,' not wanting the design to go in the trash.

"Get a batch printed up," Smythe concluded for him, finally looking up, his grey eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'll have Mac get on it right away. The T-shirts are going to sell like hotcakes. How much do you want for it?"

"Huh?" Justin asked, confused.

"For the drawing," the Brit clarified. "You deserve fair compensation, young man."

"Oh!" Justin exclaimed, his face flushing. "Nothing, I just wanted to thank you for taking a chance on me, you know? I still feel like I'm leaving you in the lurch, quitting with no notice."

Shaking his head, Arthur gave him an indulgent glance. "If you had actually left me in the lurch, Justin, this would far more than make up for it. As it happens, however, I've already added a new go-go boy to Babylon's line-up. Are you sure you just want to give this to me?" 

"Yes," Justin stated determinedly. It was nice of Smythe to offer to pay him for the sketch, but he didn't want money for it. The design hadn't even taken all that long to create, the idea coming to him as he thought about the way Emmett and his marine had moved together in perfect unison.

"If you're sure, then I'll accept the sketch in the spirit in which it is intended." An acquisitive look in his eyes, he closed the folder and tapped his index finger against it.

Did he polish his nails? Justin wondered, fascinated by the light shining dully off the manicured fingernail. He glanced at Smythe's other fingers as unobtrusively as he could, trying to suss it out.

"Thank you, Justin. It's very thoughtful of you," Arthur commented, smiling at the teenager.

Justin returned the smile, glad he'd been able to do something to thank the man for hiring him. Now he didn't feel as bad about quitting like he had.

Pushing back his coat sleeve, Smythe glanced at his wristwatch, the overhead light glinting brightly off the burnished gold case that surrounded the dial. 

It looked a lot like the Rolex his dad had bought to celebrate his fortieth birthday, Justin thought, distracted from his previous musings about the man's fingernails. His mother had been tight-lipped for days after that, the family dinner she'd arranged for Craig turning into a tense affair with barely a word exchanged.

"I should get going," Arthur said with another friendly smile at Justin. "I have a meeting with Mac in a few minutes to finalise the details for Babylon's Christmas show. "If you'll excuse me?"

Justin nodded politely as Smythe edged out of the booth, holding the folder with the sketch comically high above the table, as if he was afraid that the tea he hadn't drunk was going to jump out of the cup and stain it. 

"Please do drop by over Christmas if you can; I think you'll enjoy the show, Justin." 

The teen just nodded again. He didn't really mind that Arthur was leaving so soon; it wasn't like they had anything to talk about now that-

"Wait!" he yelled as Smythe took a step away from the table.

The Brit turned around, his eyebrows rising. "Yes? Was there something else?"

"Erm, yes," the blond lad replied, a little flustered. "My cheque?"

Now Smythe looked flustered. "My apologies," he stated, reaching inside his coat and removing an envelope from the breast pocket. "I completely forgot in my concern about you." He handed the envelope to Justin. "Here you are." He laughed sheepishly. "Maybe you should take a look and make sure I haven't given you someone else's cheque. Just in case."

Justin was grateful to have an excuse to take a peek without appearing gauche. Lifting the flap, he glanced inside the envelope - his name was on the cheque and the amount looked right - and then returned his gaze to Arthur. "It's mine," he assured the man.

"Don't forget, Christmas. If not, come by for New Year's," Smythe instructed with a genial smile. "That's always spectacular."

"Okay." Justin gave the club owner another nod as he turned around and then swiftly wended his way out of the diner.

Debbie promptly made her way over to the booth and plunked herself down opposite Justin. Frowning in annoyance at the full cup with the tea bag still floating inside, she grumped, "Mr High and Mighty didn't stay long. What did he say?"

"Athur was worried about me," Justin explained; "he wanted to know if anything bad had happened to me at the club."

The waitress harrumphed, making her opinion clear.

Justin insisted, "Really. He said he'd call in the police if that was needed."

"Huh. I bet Smitty would've changed his tune right fast if you'd offered to call Carl here and now," Debbie shrewdly observed.

"Uh, Arthur liked the sketch I gave him," he divulged, thinking that might give his mum a better impression of Smythe. "He even offered to pay me for it."

"Sketch!" Deb shrieked, drawing the attention of everyone in the diner for the second time since Justin had arrived. "What sketch?"

It might've been a mistake to mention the sketch, Justin thought, wincing. "I just gave him a new design that he could, like, put on T-shirts," Justin shared. It sounded pretty lame when he put it like that, but Arthur had seemed keen on the design.

"Sunshine, honey." Debbie reached over and patted him on the hand just like Arthur had. "You're just too nice sometimes."

Justin could feel himself colouring up, embarrassed to have Deb treat him like a child.

The waitress went on, "You shouldn't let people take advantage of you."

Now the teen was starting to get a little angry. He slid his hand out from under his mum's and stated fiercely, "Arthur didn't take advantage of me. I just wanted to thank him for hiring me. I mean" - Justin gentled his tone - "it's not like anyone besides you was going to offer me a job."

"Bri-" Debbie tried to interject.

"Brian's different," Justin overrode her. "You know he is. He never would have offered me a job if he didn't already know that I could draw and if we didn't have that-" The blond was so rattled that he couldn't think of the right term, so he settled for "-think tank about the bookstore. "He'd never take a chance on an unknown, not when it comes to his business."

The redhead sat back, turning her hand from side to side in what Justin took as an acknowledgement that he was right.

"Maybe you need to give Smythe a chance?" Justin suggested. He really wanted to say something like, ‘Not make a snap judgment,' but he knew that would just get Debbie's dander up, so he substituted that for, "Arthur's really not a bad guy, Mum."

The ploy worked, the frown that had been forming on the redhead's brow dissipating as soon as he uttered ‘Mum.' "I'm willing to do that," she consented after a moment, "if you're willing to consider that I might be right, Kiddo." She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

That was probably the best he could hope for, so Justin nodded in agreement.

"So what have you got planned for today?" Debbie asked, changing the subject. "You need something to eat first?" 

Justin wasn't really hungry - he'd eaten two scones since breakfast - but he wouldn't mind a little something to eat. Maybe some French-

The redhead leaned in, imparting in a whisper, doubtless so none of the patrons would overhear and depart en masse, "The Finn's manning the cooker right now, so you know, stick with something fishy if you want a hot meal."

Justin's appetite withered. He might normally have a lemon bar to tide him over till later, but he didn't want anything sweet right now. Shaking his head, he told Deb, "I'm good for now. Um, I was hoping maybe we could go to the bank together? I want to deposit the cheque Arthur just gave me and the one for here - if it's ready." He gave the waitress an inquiring look.

Debbie nodded. "I've got it in the till for safekeeping."

"Then I'll just draw until you can take a break," Justin expanded a little on his plans. He gave his satchel a pat, glad he'd had the foresight to bring one of his sketchbooks.

The redheaded waitress looked around the diner assessingly. Justin looked too, judging that although it was still busy, the late lunch crowd was starting to thin, a few tables having emptied right after Smythe left.

"Yo, Harry," Debbie yelled.

Justin swivelled around, looking for the Vietnamese waiter, but he didn't see Harry. The group that was standing around a table at the back of the diner must be blocking his friend from view.

Sticking the thumb and forefinger of her right hand into her mouth, Deb let out a piercing whistle. "Harry!" she shouted louder than the first time.

Holding a tub that was piled high with dirty dishes, Harry eeled his way past the knot of diners and made his way over to them. "I've only got two arms," he panted, resting the tub on the edge of the table.

Debbie gave the tub a quick glance and then sniffed disapprovingly. "That's nothing," she disparaged the heavy load. "Why, I've-"

The Asian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We've heard it all before - how you trekked ten miles through the snow to get here every day in winter. In the summer, it was flash floods-"

Justin started giggling. Deb had been known to wax poetic about how her generation had it way tougher than the current one.

With a cheeky smile, the redhead corrected Harry, "It was only eight miles, and the problem in summer was thunderstorms, not floods." She paused, tilting her head in consideration. "There was this one time, though-"

"You got swept away by the Allegheny?" the Asian lad interrupted.

Debbie claimed, "No, it was the Schuylkill."

At first confused that she'd named a river in eastern Pennsylvania, Justin then assumed Deb had done so for humorous effect.

Harry certainly thought it was funny, folding over the tub of dishes and laughing so hard that he apparently couldn't stay upright.

His amusement proving contagious, Justin and Debbie joined in the hilarity, the redhead carefully wiping a couple tears away from her eyes once their laughter tapered off. "Did I smudge my mascara?" she asked the teen. "I don't want to look like a raccoon... or a clown."

"Nope, it looks fine," Justin replied after a quick glance. How his mum did such a bang-up job of applying her makeup early in the morning, he had to clue. If he had to put on makeup - any time of day - he'd for sure stick himself in the eye with either the mascara or eyeliner wand.

Satisfied that she looked alright, Deb looked down at the tub Harry had been struggling with and then up at the waiter's face. "You think you can handle this lot by yourself for a while?" she asked challengingly, gazing around the diner.

Harry puffed out his chest, making Justin want to laugh again. His friend was putty in Debbie's hands. "Pfft. This is nothing. Hazza-Bear can handle the lunch rush by himself," Harry boasted.

"Good," the redhead declared. "Then I'm taking a break."

Harry's face immediately fell. He opened his mouth, obviously searching for a way out of the predicament he'd gotten himself into, but then closed it after only a high-pitched "Nnnnn" emerged.

"Don't worry," Deb consoled the Vietnamese waiter with a smug smile. "You'll be fine." Getting up, she directed, "Best put your coat back on, Sunshine. It won't take me but a moment to get my coat and grab your cheque."

Justin stood and stuck his arms into the sleeves of his new peacoat before shrugging it on all the way and wrapping the silky white scarf around his neck, catching the faint scent of Brian that still clung to the fabric. When Harry looked at him beseechingly, Justin clapped him commiseratingly on the shoulder. He then stepped around his friend, pulling on his gloves as he trotted over to join Debbie, who was just extracting his cheque from beneath the tray in the cash register.

A few beats later, with both of them bundled up against the cold, they were out the door. The only thing missing was one of those ushanka things Carl had mentioned, the wind biting at the blond's ears and nose and doubtless turning the tips red. Only a couple steps away from the door, Justin almost immediately took a spill, not finding much traction with his sneakers. He glared at a spot to his left, thinking it must be the same place that had almost done him in when he exited the taxi earlier.

"Hold on to me, Sunshine," Debbie ordered. Not waiting for him to comply, she moved closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. 

"Erm-" Justin wanted to protest that he could walk just fine, but unfortunately, that was patently untrue.

"Your arm goes around me," Deb teased when Justin stood there stiff as a board, both arms hanging down at his side. "Or are you embarrassed to walk down the street like this with your old mum?" she guessed at the reason for his discomfort.

"Huh? No, I just should be able to walk on my own. My uh- That is, it doesn't really hurt any more, not like before, you know?" tumbled out of Justin's mouth in a rush as he gingerly placed an arm around Debbie. He did wish his mum wasn't almost as tall as he was, the lad thought, a little resentful to have Deb's bouncy curls bring the top of her head level with his. He let out a sigh. Why did he have to be so short?

Apparently taking his sigh for impatience with his slowly healing injury, the redhead observed, her voice tinged with laughter, "I know you can walk, Kiddo. It's your footgear that isn't right. You need some decent boots." She cast a weather eye at the dark grey clouds looming above them. "Or maybe ice skates."

Justin sighed again as he shuffled along next to Debbie, who was taking easy, confident strides. He was going to have to cough up some money for boots or a pair of shoes with better tread. He'd have to check whether Marvella had anything in his size in her shop since he really didn't want a new injury. That would stop him and Brian from having sex for, like, a year, he worried, his dramatic estimate reflecting his frustration with his current predicament. 

Not really aware that Deb had stopped moving, Justin also came to a halt and looked down at his groin. He couldn't see anything through the wool of his coat, but for a second, he could have sworn that his dick had twitched in interest at the notion of Brian and sex. When he didn't feel any further stirring, the teenager decided it must have been his imagination. It had to be too cold to get a hard-on, even with his new peacoat keeping him from freezing to death.

"-let go now," Debbie's voice penetrated his musings.

"Huh?"

Debbie laughed. "I said you can let go now. We're here."

"Oh." Justin released his hold on Deb's waist, his face heating up. Pressing down on the horizontal metal bar in the middle of the heavy glass door, the teen pushed it inward and stepped inside, holding the door open for his mum to enter the local PNC.

The redhead elbowed Justin on her way past, cackling and speaking loudly, "What were you daydreaming about, Sunshine?" She didn't even pause for breath before firing more questions at him. "It musta been Brian, right? What was he doing to you?" She gave the blond a salacious wink, letting out another boisterous chuckle before heading toward the tellers.

His face flaming - it felt hot enough to fry eggs - Justin went to follow her, almost colliding with someone on their way out of the bank.

"Shucks!" complained that person in a familiar-sounding voice. 

Justin was surprised to see Marvella eyeing him inquisitively when he looked up; it was like he'd conjured her by thinking about Second Hand Job or something. He goggled as he got a gander at what the drag queen was wearing. She had on a long fur coat with a fox' head, paws, and tail around the collar and a pair of shaggy boots that looked like they'd just been fleeced from a sheep. 

"It has to be something good to produce that crimson tint, toots! Let's have the deets!" Eyeing him up and down, Marvella cheekily observed, "That shade does go nicely with your peacoat though." Studying the garment appraisingly, she guessed, "Vince Camuto?"

Stunned by Marvella's attire - her lime green wig clashing horribly with the orangish fur - the woman's first comment didn't really register with the teen. He did hear the question about his coat however, confirming her guess with a shrug and an "Uh, yeah." He liked the coat - a lot - but without Brian drumming in that Vince Camuto designed one of the best peacoats around, Justin wouldn't have had a clue. Italian and French designers were hardly his forte. Heck, he might even have made an idiot of himself, looking around for some bloke named ‘Vince Camuto' if he didn't know better, thanks to Brian.

"Marvella!" Deb backtracked to exuberantly greet the other woman. "I didn't see you."

How could Debbie have missed her? the blond dazedly wondered.

Her brows drawing together and a censuring note tingeing her voice as she eyeballed Marvella's ankle-length coat, the redhead queried, "Is that real?"

The drag queen belted out a laugh. "Heck no. Faux fur and faux fox." She reached up with a gloved hand to give the fox' tail a twirl. "I couldn't afford the real thing."

She'd done a good job of matching the gloves to her wig, the teen noticed.

"Besides, real fur would be asking for a paint job, you know?"

Her features relaxing, Deb nodded in understanding. 

"Excuse me," a pinstripe-suited man with a name tag above his breast pocket interrupted politely. "You're holding up the line, miss." He gestured at a window, behind which a teller had her hand up in the air to show she was free.

"Shit. Er, excuse my French," Debbie apologised, moving toward the teller. "Stop by the diner later, and I'll fill you in," she shouted over her shoulder at Marvella. "I'll have the specifics out of Sunshine by then."

With a hearty laugh, Marvella replied, "Tea and all the hot goss about the lad here. Sounds like just the right way to warm up on a blustery afternoon, doll."

Justin almost copied his mum's French when he belatedly realised Marvella must've overheard Deb as they entered the bank. With a weak wave at the drag queen, who blew him a kiss in return, Justin trotted after his mum. It wasn't like he even had anything racy to relate - not that he'd share with Debbie if he did - the blond lad mused rather forlornly.

All of six minutes later, the checks were deposited, less the cash Justin had withheld for Christmas shopping. The teenager was feeling flush, his wallet much fatter than in recent memory.

As they wended their way back to the diner, their arms again tight around each other, Debbie requested, "I want you do something for me, Sunshine."

Justin spoke before he thought. "Sure." As long as she didn't expect him to spill the deets about him and Brian, he immediately amended in silence.

"I want you to wait till after Christmas before you start working again."

The teen opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word, his mum reasoned, "You've had a serious injury, Kiddo. Even if you're feeling better, you need more time to recover."

He was feeling a lot better, Justin thought a bit petulantly.

"Sunshine," the redhead chided. "You just promised me."

Reluctantly conceding, Justin mumbled, "Yeah, okay." He hated leaving Deb shorthanded; that was way worse than losing out on his hourly wage and tips. But he could hardly refuse since it was his mum asking.

Debbie cajoled, "C'mon, honey, I can tell you're fading."

He was kind of tired and achy, Justin acknowledged the wisdom in Deb's suggestion. "Yeah, okay," he reiterated, this time more cheerfully. "I was thinking about going Christmas shopping, but maybe I'll wait till tomorrow."

"Good boy," the redhead teasingly approved.

Before Justin could frame a retort, Deb let out an earsplitting whistle, waving frantically.

"Geez, Deb," Justin huffed, "what was that for?" He shook his head in an attempt to clear his head as the redhead dragged him willy-nilly over to the curb.

Opening the back door of a yellow cab, Debbie let out a booming laugh. "It's your ride home, princess," she lightheartedly chaffed.

His face reddening for the umpteenth time in the last hour, Justin got in the back of the taxi while his mum gave the driver the address and handed him a tenner. "I'd best go rescue Harry," she opined, giving Justin a jaunty wave as she shut the door behind him. "It's got to be bedlam in the diner by now."

Even though the journey was a short one, the boy could feel his eyes closing on the way home. That nap Vic had suggested earlier was starting to sound good. Afterward, he'd have plenty of time to draw some more and think about how he wanted to frame his sketches before this evening's bowling practise.

 

Seven o'clock in the evening found Brian sitting on a wooden bench at the Butler Street bowling alley, tying up a pair of rented bowling shoes. He grimaced at the thought of how many people had stuffed their sweaty feet into the size twelve shoes before him. Straight people nonetheless; there were no gay bowling alleys anywhere near Liberty.

"Well, these are a bit of a tight fit," Emmett commented next to him, wiggling his large feet in his own pair of bowling shoes.

"Didn't they have any in your size?" wondered Ted as he eyed the southerner sympathetically. 

The tall queen shrugged philosophically. "They apparently only carry one pair in my size, but they already rented them out tonight. It is what it is."

Having secured his shoes to his feet successfully, Brian stood up and looked around the joint with narrowed eyes. Who in the world could've taken Emmett's shoe size? The guy had to be-

A six-foot-three mountain of pure muscle, Brian assessed as his eyes fell on an impressively built black man that was occupying lane number ten. The guy was sending his bowling ball down the polished lane with a remarkable amount of force, a stoic expression on his handsome face.

Next to him, Emmett sighed. "What a fine specimen," he remarked, eyes also fixated on the enormous bowler. "Too bad he's totally straight."

Brian snorted. "Thank your lucky stars, Honeycutt. He looks like he'd squash you with his pinky."

"Who says I don't like being squashed?" the flamboyant man retorted stubbornly, eyes following the flex of the giant's biceps. "And don't call me Honeycutt."

Brian suppressed a smile.

"So," Debbie called out from behind them, preventing any further discussion of squashing, "are we ready?"

Brian considered their motley crew for a couple seconds, attempting to judge their preparedness objectively. "As ready as we'll ever be," he finally answered skeptically. None of them looked like the next Norm Duke.

Glancing at where Justin was sitting, he noticed that the kid looked to be of the same opinion.

The redhead ignored him, her good mood indomitable. "Lane number nine is ours," she informed the group cheerfully, swinging her arm in a wide arc to motion vaguely in the direction of said lane. "Let's go!"

The group followed their surrogate mother to the polished Formica table assigned to their lane, each claiming one of the plastic chairs bolted to the floor. Ben and Ted were sent to the bar to order drinks for the group, while Emmett took it upon himself to set up the digital scoreboard showing on the TV screen above their heads.

"Two teams?" the tall queen asked.

Brian assessed their group - Ben, Ted, Emmett, Michael, Debbie, Justin and himself - and decided that since Justin had been relegated to spectator duty only as he was still too hurt to play, two teams of three made the most sense. 

"Sure," he agreed.

Michael perked up. "I'm on Brian's team," he proclaimed loudly.

The brunet adman winced. He and Michael were probably the weakest players in the group; he didn't think it was a great idea for them to be on the same team.

Emmett's thoughts must've been following a similar direction because he patted Michael's shoulder appeasingly and said, "I'm not sure that's the best idea, honey. We should try to balance the teams as best as we can."

Michael threw the taller man a sour look. "But I want to be on Brian's team," he protested. "It's not fair for you to just decide for us."

Brian suppressed a sigh. He had been hoping for a relaxing evening, not another episode of the Brian and Mikey show. As he noted the determined set to his best friend's jaw, he found himself wishing he had ordered a glass of whiskey rather than the water he had told Ted to bring him. After his pleasant breakfast with Vic, Justin and Gus, Brian's day had gotten pretty hectic. He had to squeeze eight hours' worth of work into five because he had a meeting with someone from his insurance company at half three; afterwards, he had exactly fifteen minutes to drop off his wreck of a jeep to get the heater fixed before he had to be at his lawyer's office at four to sign documents relating to the transfer of the bathhouse. He had then taken a fifteen minute break to eat an extremely late lunch - honestly, it should've probably been called dinner at that point - before his meeting with Ted regarding some tax forms he had to sign.

In the end, he had only about an hour to go home, get changed and cab it to the bowling alley. In short, he was completely drained and felt like passing on the whiskey had been a truly uninspired idea.

"You could do random teams," suggested Justin, interrupting Brian's busy thoughts. "That would be fair."

Michael didn't look too impressed with the idea. "How would we do that?" he questioned.

Pulling a battered sketchbook out of his rucksack, Justin gave Michael a wan smile. "I write all of your names on pieces of paper and shuffle them," he explained. "Then it will be up to chance if you end up on Brian's team or not."

His best friend still didn't seem happy but didn't voice any actual objections. "So it's fifty-fifty that me and Brian are on the same team, right?" he asked instead, brow furrowed in thought. "Since there are two teams?"

A disbelieving snort announced Theodore and Ben's arrival. "We, uh, have your drinks," the accountant informed the group, eyeing Michael dubiously.

Taking a bottle of water from Ted, Brian twisted off the cap and took a sip. He wasn't about to get involved in a discussion about probability; that was an area he was definitely not an expert in. He watched Justin also purposefully ignore Michael, busying himself with scribbling something on an empty page in his sketchbook. It seemed not even Justin was ready to get into it with Mikey this time, Brian noted with amusement.

It didn't take long before there were six torn off pieces of paper, names written on them, lying face down on the table. Justin looked at Debbie. "Can you split them up?" he asked. "I don't want it to be up to me."

Clever little shit, Brian thought, hiding a smirk behind his water bottle. If there was one constant in the universe, it was Michael's tendency to blame Justin for anything and everything bad that happened to him.

Debbie didn't waste any time in splitting the papers into two piles of three and reading off the names. To Michael's great disappointment, the two teams ended up being: 1) Ben, Brian and Ted and 2) Debbie, Emmett and Michael.

Emmett, having set up the digital scoreboard for Team 1 and Team 2, clapped enthusiastically over Michael's grumbling. "Let's go!" he squealed. "Who wants to start?"

A single round of rock paper scissors later, Brian's team was up first. Having been determined to be their strongest player, Ben was chosen to go first. He picked a bowling ball from the rack, testing out the weight and the fit of the finger holes, before setting up for his first throw.

As Ben's bowling ball rolled down the lane, a generic happy jingle coming from the direction of the next lane diverted Brian's attention. According to the screen above lane number ten, the mountain of a man he and Emmett had admired earlier had just concluded his game with a score of 213 - seven large Xs on the scoreboard marking seven strikes. Well, wasn't that humbling to see? There was no way either of their teams would reach anywhere near that high a score.

Ben's ball ploughed through the pins at the end of the polished lane, knocking nine of them down. The professor scowled at the lone standing pin in disappointment.

"Not bad, babe," Ted called out in support. "That pin doesn't stand a chance now!"

Brian snorted. Couples were disgusting.

The encouragement seemed to have worked though, since Ben didn't hesitate in downing the remaining pin with his next ball.

"Spare," Debbie hmmed, narrowing her eyes at the screen above their heads as she tried to focus on the scoreboard.

Emmett jumped up from his seat. "Let's see if I can do better," he exclaimed cheerfully, walking over to the bowling ball rack. He picked up a neon green ball, tested the fit for his fingers and nodded to himself in satisfaction. He then proceeded to knock over nine pins with his first roll and the remaining one with his second, just like Ben had before him.

Debbie whooped cheerfully.

"The score is even," Brian grumbled as he went to choose a bowling ball for his own turn. "You know that, right?"

The redheaded matron grinned at him cheekily. "Not for long, buster!" she cackled. "I'm going next, and you stand no chance!"

"Oooh," Ted sounded off with raised eyebrows. "Them's fightin' words, Debbie. Can you put your money where your mouth is?"

Brian tested the weight of a dark blue bowling ball before returning it to the rack. It was too heavy for him, he thought; he might have to make another visit to the gym. "I wouldn't tease the tiger, Theodore," he told his friend, picking up the ball Ben had used. "She's gonna eat you alive."

Michael nodded while taking a sip of his Coke, dribbling a little on his shirt. "Yeah, Ma is the queen of shit-talking," he corroborated.

Ted shrugged. "I'm still saying we'll win," he insisted, leaning against Ben as he watched Brian get ready for his throw.

In the next lane, the sound system announced a strike.

Brian steeled himself for the embarrassment that was about to follow - he was totally out of practice when it came to bowling, and he had never really been that good to begin with. He threw his ball, aiming for the space between the number one and number three pin and watched as it swerved to the left at the last moment. He managed to down five pins - four of them left standing on the right side and one on the far left.

Fucking great.

His next throw went exactly as he thought it would - he managed to knock off the four pins on the right, but the last one was left standing.

Ted patted him on the shoulder as Debbie cackled.

 

About half an hour later, Debbie's team was narrowly in the lead. Michael's first turn had actually been even more pathetic than Brian's, but Emmett and Debbie then caught back up with two consecutive strikes. The only salvation Brian's team had was that it was Michael's turn again.

The short brunet picked up the bowling ball he had used on his first turn - a ten-pound, garish pink one - and got ready for his next roll.

"Go, baby!" Debbie cheered from where she was resting on one of the plastic seats near Justin, her fuchsia, sequined tracksuit clashing with the orange of the chair.

Michael sent his ball careening down the lane with what must've been unintentional rotation, causing it to end up in the gutter about halfway down. "Shit," he cursed under his breath. 

Emmett made a sympathetic sound. "It's alright, sweetie. It happens."

"It's harder than it looks," complained Michael as he waited for his bowling ball to come back. "I'm used to the guards on the side."

No one commented on that, though Debbie's eyes were doing that soft thing they did when she was looking at something precious. The unconditional love of a parent had never seemed so foreign a concept to Brian as it did right then. He couldn't imagine ever praising Gus for being incompetent at something or thinking it was cute.

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, Justin spoke up. "It's good that you're trying, Michael," he told the man kindly. "You can't get better if you don't try."

Brian rolled his bottom lip, biting into it, as Michael's face brightened with a pleased expression. Leave it to Sunshine to make him feel like an asshole, he thought half in amusement, half in exasperation. 

"Are you any good?" Mikey asked the blond teenager curiously. Justin had been relegated to watching due to his still-healing ball injury, which meant no one could really ascertain his level of skill.

Justin blushed as everyone looked at him, waiting for an answer. "I've fumbled my share of balls," he admitted self-deprecatingly.

Michael nodded in sympathy. "Then maybe we can practice together sometime?" he suggested, hastily tacking on, "Once you're healed and all that."

Sunshine's smile was so genuine, Brian's chest tightened. He didn't understand how the teenager could bear to be so open and forgiving despite everyone constantly disappointing him. You'd think that between his parents, teachers and Brian, Justin would be distrustful, stand-offish and pessimistic, but the opposite couldn't have been more true. The blond always seemed ready to give another chance.

"I'd like that," Justin agreed.

The ugly, pink ball having found its way back to Michael, the brunet got ready for his second attempt. "Here we go again," he muttered, glaring at the pins at the end of the lane.

"Try to let go of the ball a little sooner, honey," Emmett advised. "Don't throw it as much as just roll it on the floor."

To his credit, Mikey genuinely tried to follow the tall man's advice - he lowered his centre of gravity and let go of his ball close above ground. It wasn't the worst attempt - the ball was headed in a decent direction - but in the end it didn't have enough momentum to knock down more than four pins.

Debbie still hollered as if Mikey had knocked down all of them.

"Seventy points," Emmett read off the scoreboard. "It's a pretty close race so far."

Ben, who was up next to bowl, got up with a determined expression on his face. He didn't say anything, just picked up his ball of preference and got ready for his throw. Brian found himself subconsciously admiring the man's form - Ted's beau had been blessed with long, firm muscles and symmetrical features that made him look more like a professional athlete than the humanities professor he was.

The ball left Ben's hand with a remarkable speed and a precise course, successfully downing all ten pins at the end of the lane. The sound system announced a strike - the jingle being followed by another one coming from lane ten.

"Is that his fifth strike?" Ted wondered quietly, staring at the screen above the lane next to them. "That guy is unreal."

Brian snorted. The black man he and Emmett had admired at the start of the evening looked completely unfazed by his impressive score. He just picked up another bowling ball from the dispenser and got ready for his next roll.

"I hit my first strike of the evening, and you're ogling another guy?" Ben's amused words interrupted Brian and Ted's contemplation of the neighbouring player.

Theodore was quick to smile at his lover. "It was impressive, babe," he assured the professor, "but look at that. The guy must be already around a hundred and fifty, and he's only on frame six."

Ben shook his head fondly. "The romance is gone," he sighed.

As Emmett got ready for his turn, Brian went in search of his drink. The water bottle was on the table near where Justin was sitting with his sketchbook, chatting with Michael.

"-good advice," Justin was saying, smiling at the older man guilelessly.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure it was going to work, but I felt like I had more control over the way the ball was going, you know?" Mikey replied, his words most likely related to Emmett's earlier advice.

Justin grinned.

"So, um, how are you doing with the" - Michael made a vague gesture at Justin's crotch - "injury?"

Brian sipped at his water, content to listen to their conversation without joining in.

If Justin was surprised at who was asking after his well-being, he didn't show it. "I'm honestly just feeling exhausted," he divulged. "It doesn't hurt as much anymore - it's just a mild, dull ache. It's mostly uncomfortable and a little distracting but no longer torturous."

Michael nodded, hmming. "Good, that's good," he mumbled weakly.

"Strike, baby!" Debbie whooped suddenly, shimmying a little to the celebratory tune announcing Emmett's strike.

Brian sighed. It was his turn now, and going after both Ben and Emmett bowled a strike was going to be embarrassing. Another strike jingle played over the sound system, this time from the neighbouring lane again. Well, fuck.

Picking up his ball of choice, Brian decided not to prolong the torture. He'd just send the bloody thing down the lane, not think about it too much and hope for the best. For some reason, the ball made a last second turn again and hit the pins at a weird angle, knocking off five.

"Eighty-eight," Ted read off the scoreboard. "Could be worse," he remarked drily. 

"Fuck you too, Theodore," Brian returned, picking up another bowling ball. At least this time the remaining pins were standing next to each other, so he had a better chance of hitting them all this time.

"Try and aim for number six or ten," Ben advised from behind him. "You keep pulling the ball to the left."

Biting back a caustic remark, Brian did as he was told. If Mikey could follow advice and get better, then you had to be sure Brian could do the same. He watched his ball roll suspiciously close to the right gutter for a while, before it suddenly made a left turn and hit right in between pins number three and six. 

"Spare!" resonated from the sound system as Brian watched the pin-setter's sweeping arm clear all five of his downed pins. Huh, who would've thought?

He turned around, facing the gang with a smug smile on his face.

"Good job, Brian!" Mikey encouraged him, jumping in his seat. "That's your first strike today!"

Emmett laughingly chided, "You're not supposed to cheer for our opponents, sweetie."

Michael shrugged. "Why not? We're all gonna be on the same team when we face the police, right?"

Before Em could come up with a rebuttal, everyone's attention was drawn to lane ten when another strike was announced, and Brian's elation was immediately dampened a little. The black guy was on a roll, shaming everyone around him with his ridiculous score, and it was starting to grate on Brian. He always hated not being the best, and he really didn't need the reminder.

Debbie narrowed her eyes at her son as she got up. "Don't forget he's the enemy right now, Michael. An enemy we're going to take down." She transferred her attention to the bright red ball she'd claimed as her own, inserting her fingers in the slots and studying the pins intently as she approached the foul line. Rubbing at the line with one sneakered foot, she took a small step back, swung the ball back and then smoothly brought it forward.

Unfortunately for Deb and her team, she slipped right as she let go of the ball, stumbling to one side as she righted herself and then watching in dismay as her ball swerved to one side, only knocking down two pins. "Crap on a crutch!" she cursed, totally irate.

Barking out a laugh, Brian noted in amusement that the hue of Deb's face now matched the red of the bowling ball and her nails, presumably the reason she'd claimed that ball to start with. "Good job decimating the enemy," he joked.

"Shut up, assface," Debbie snapped, grabbing the bright red ball from the return and getting ready for her second roll.

"Ma!" Michael complained loudly. "That's not Brian's middle name. Besides, he's not a, not a-"

Brian, who was keeping a close eye on Deb as she got ready for her next throw, just laughed. "It's not completely inappropriate," he cheekily commented right before the redhead let go of the ball. 

Sadly for Brian, he didn't succeed in breaking Debbie's concentration. The ball rolled smoothly down the lane, hitting at the correct angle to take out the rest of the pins.

Debbie spun around and smirked at Brian. "Take that, assface!" she crowed, swiping her hands together.

Justin, Brian noted rather sourly, was giggling madly from the sidelines, while Michael just gaped, obviously unsure about how to react. He wouldn't have liked his underhanded tactics, Brian knew - not that they'd gotten him anywhere.

"Shit, Bri," Ted hissed as he got up to take his turn. "They're within striking distance now."

Brian shrugged an abashed apology at his teammate, then subtly tilted his head at where Michael was sitting.

Getting the message, Theodore chuckled. "Yeah, we should be okay. As long as I don't bollocks it up," he whispered, a frown line appearing in the middle of his forehead.

"Strike, babe," Ben called out in encouragement. "You can do it."

"Right," Ted muttered, taking an unassuming black ball from the rack. "Like I roll those all the time." 

No one was more surprised than the accountant when, a couple tense seconds later, Ted's ball plowed through the pins and knocked every single one of them down.

"Yes!" Ben cried out, hastening to give his partner a celebratory kiss. "I told you you could do it, didn't I?"

Mikey's face blanched at the score. "How does everyone keep bowling strikes?" he complained, voice reaching his typical whining register. "That's unfair."

"It's just practice, baby," Debbie placated him. "You'll get there, don't worry."

Brian finished the rest of his water to avoid commenting on that. He swallowed a laugh when Michael got up to take his turn again, cradling the lurid pink ball to his stomach. His stance was all wrong, Mikey squatting behind the foul line before letting go, instead of stepping up and smoothly releasing the ball. Despite that, he managed to knock down two pins on the left, which was pretty much a miracle in Brian's opinion.

"Good job, sweet cheeks!" Emmett applauded enthusiastically.

Brian shot a sidelong glance at Ted but caught Ben's eye instead, as the professor temporarily lost his Zen and rolled his eyes.

Emmett loped over to Michael, advising, "Try aiming more to the right, okay, honey? If Brian could overcome the drag to the left, you can too."

"But Brian's an athlete," Michael despaired.

The southern man shook his head. "You don't have to be a jock to excel at tenpins. It hasn't helped Brian all that much, has it?"

Mikey visibly mulled it over. "I guess," he hesitantly agreed, readying for another try. This time his approach was better, but he overcompensated for the leftward drag by aiming too far to the right, the ball heading directly into the right-hand gutter as soon as he let go.

Michael yelled angrily at Emmett, "You said to aim right!"

Thank fuck it was Honeycutt dealing with Mikey, Brian thought. If it was him, he'd be losing his cool by now.

"You just need more practise," came Em's unruffled response.

Debbie chimed in cheerfully, "That's right, honey. You can't expect a hundred percent improvement the first time you play."

Bucking up under their combined encouragement, Michael smiled at his tall friend. "You're ri-" he started before abruptly breaking off, his eyes opening comically wide as he looked at the next lane.

Had the remorseless bowling machine thrown a gutter ball? Brian wondered, swivelling around to check out what was happening with their neighbour. Maybe the guy was human after all.

Nope. The number now flashing on the scoreboard for lane ten nixed the likelihood of any misfires; you didn't amass a total of 245 points with gutter balls. Jesus, he thought, looking at the total strikes; the guy had bowled eight of them in one game, including a double in the tenth frame.

"Be still my heart," gasped Emmett, theatrically holding his hands to his chest.

Despite himself, Brian was deeply impressed... and not a little bit envious. At best, his team would come within 100 points of Man Mountain's total.

Ben got up from his chair, looking cool and collected. Well, why not? Brian thought. The other team wasn't going to catch up to them. The ‘striking distance' between Team 2 and Team 1 might be less than, say, that between Team 1 and the guy in lane 10, but even if Ben messed up badly with his throws, Emmett wouldn't be able to make up the difference. This game was in the bag for Brian's team.

While Brian was mulling over their imminent win, Ben proceeded to widen the gap between them and Team 2 by rolling a strike. He then finished off the frame with an eight and a two - bringing Team 1 to 156 points

The professor flexed his arm muscles as he turned away from the foul line. "Top that," he dared Emmett as the southerner swished over for his turn.

Em absently murmured, "Why would I want to do that?" his gaze fixed on the fine example of man-flesh to his left.

Ben wilted a little when he followed the queen's line of sight and took in the brawny man's bulging biceps and tree trunk thighs. Trudging back over to where Ted and Brian were sitting, he sighed. "Even with steroids, I couldn't compete with that."

Ted offered commiseratingly, "I like you just the way you are, babe."

"Is that why your eyes are glued to the behemoth over there?" his boyfriend wanted to know.

The professor had probably been aiming for a teasing tone, but the question came out a bit flat and sour instead, making Brian snicker. Ben obviously wasn't used to coming in second in the muscles department.

Brian's amusement evaporated, however, when he noticed that Justin's focus was also on the adjacent lane, his eyes flickering between his sketch pad and the built bowler. As he watched, the blond lad's tongue protruded between his teeth - a sure sign that Justin was beguiled by what he was trying to capture. Ben had the right of it, Brian conceded; the guy was overly muscled.

"Problem?" Ben asked, a mocking tilt to his eyebrows as he looked questioningly between Justin and Brian.

Not bothering to grace that comment with a response, Brian instead directed his attention to Emmett, who'd finally torn his gaze away from the hulk long enough to throw the ball.

Despite his obvious distraction - the southerner kept craning his head around for another eyeful of bulging muscles - Honeycutt had a good final frame, bowling an eight, a spare, and finally a nine. As Brian had already estimated though, it wasn't nearly enough, Team 2 only reaching 123 points.

Debbie muttered disgustedly, "Have our guts for garters, why dontcha? Thirty-five points. Chr-"

"Thirty-three," Theodore immediately corrected the redhead.

Deb gave him the finger. "Like two points makes much of a difference," she groused.

The accountant briefly studied the players on the opposing team before proposing, "Want to make this more interesting?"

Plunking herself down next to Brian, the chair she chose creaking alarmingly, the redhead rested her elbows on the table and looked at Ted from narrowed eyes. "What do you have in mind?"

The low growl in which Deb tendered the question didn't put Theodore off. "If you can cut that deficit in half by the end of the next game, we'll spring for pizza afterward. Er, right?" he belatedly checked with Brian and Benjamin.

Before Brian could decide how to respond, Emmett squawked indignantly, "We're not that bad!"

Debbie put in, "Darned tootin', we aren't."

Brian looked around for Michael, expecting him to voice an opinion, and found him again sitting next to Justin. Obviously recognising that he was the weakest player on the other team, Mikey had shrunk down in his chair, his face a study in misery, and didn't utter a peep. 

While continuing to scritch away, Justin unobtrusively reached over with his free hand and gave Michael a sympathetic pat on the leg. That brought a smile to Mikey's face, even if it was a tepid one. Christ, that was nice of the kid, thought Brian. If he were sitting next to Michael, he'd put his friend in a headlock and give him a noogie - which Mikey absolutely hated - to snap him out of his self-pity.

"Brian?" Theodore prompted him.

Oh right, the pizza thing. Hmm, Schmidt would never have suggested that bet if he didn't think the chances vastly favoured their team; a gambler Ted was not. Brian still hesitated before agreeing - he'd already carb-loaded this morning, and pizza wouldn't do his waistline any good - but then decided it would be okay. As long as they went to an Italian restaurant instead of a greasy pizza joint, he could always get some kind of halfway decent salad. "Yeah, okay," he acceded.

Ben shrugged and nodded his agreement. 

Ready to shake on it with Ted, Emmett suddenly retracted his hand. "Erm." The southern man's face flushed pink as he smoothed a hand down the material covering his chest. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I'm skint after buying this darling tracksuit. I can't, uh, afford to pay for y'all."

Until now, Brian hadn't really twigged to the fact that Em and Deb were dressed in the same style of leisurewear, albeit in different hues. That was doubtless because the powder blue of Honeycutt's outfit was much more subdued than the vivid purple the redhead had on.

"We aren't going to lose the bet," Debbie assured her teammate. "Even if we do - which will only happen if they use underhanded tactics - it won't cost all that much. Brian will just get a salad since it's after seven, and the professor will want a tofu pizza that's not on any of the local menus. That leaves Ted; how much can one skinny accountant eat anyhow?"

Quite a lot, Brian could have told her, having watched Theodore pack it away on a few occasions. Emmett had to know that, however, so he kept mum as the tall queen proffered his hand again, he and Ted finally shaking on it.

"Anybody else want a fresh drink?" the financial expert of the group asked, crumpling his empty water bottle as he stood up.

Everyone wanted another bottle of water, Coke, or in Emmett's case, a Dr Pepper. Until they got to Justin, that is. "Uh, nothing for me," the blond declined, holding up his still half-full bottle.

He'd pour some of his into Justin's bottle, Brian determined. The little twat needed to stay hydrated, what with taking the antibiotic twice a day.

"You guys are up first this time," Ben reminded Team 2, who immediately huddled together to strategise. Looking at Brian, the professor queried casually, "Same order of play?"

Brian replied, "Sure," not about to mess with something that had worked the first time around. Once he followed good advice and stopped dragging the ball to the left anyroad. The adman could feel himself tensing up for fear that would happen again and forced himself to relax, rolling his head and then his shoulders to loosen up the muscles.

Ted came back quickly, and after distributing the other drinks, pressed the extra bottle of water he had into Justin's hands, making it unnecessary for Brian to share his.

"No thanks." Justin shook his head, again holding up his partly full bottle.

Theodore countered, "Pretend I'm dressed in a white coat and that I look a little like Dr Singh."

Justin shook his head again, this time with a sort of amused resignation.

"That was easy," Ted joked, giving Justin the water. "I always fancied I'd have a good bedside manner - but I didn't realise it would be this good."

The blond deadpanned, "You make a pretty good bowling alley doctor, Dr Schmidt-Singh."

That zinger was worthy of him, thought Brian, laughing along with everyone else.

"In that case, you won't mind finishing off your first bottle while I wait," Theodore commented in a brisk, no-nonsense tone.

With a long-suffering sigh, the teenager downed the bottle in several large swallows and passed the empty over to Ted.

The accountant looked at the bottle as if he had no clue what to do with it. "Where's a nurse when you need one? Nurse Honeycutt, dispose of this, would you?" he grandly asked his tall friend, who was giggling at the tomfoolery.

Emmett instantly sobered up and backed away. "No can do, Dr Schmidt. It's against hospital policy since I'm not on your rotation."

After laughing at the flamboyant man's sally, Debbie opined, "This requires someone with the two Bs. Give it here."

Brian knew better than to ask, but Michael wasn't as wise. "The two Bs, Ma?" the short brunet asked.

"Boobs and brains." 

Brian involuntarily glanced down and caught Ted doing the same. His CFO mimed wiping sweat off his brow - presumably because he didn't see anything jutting out from his chest.

Deb crushed the bottle and then threw it overhand at the canister marked ‘recyclables.' The bottle whooshed into the can next to the bar without touching the rim.

Not bad, Brian mused - the bin was a good distance away, and the crushed water bottle made for a lopsided missile.

"Ha!" Debbie yelled. "Watch out, boys. I'm gonna mop the floor with you. Get ready to pony up for the pizza." Apparently designated as her team's lead player for this game, the redhead grabbed her preferred ball, got set behind the foul line and immediately rolled a strike.

That set the tone for the first frames, Debbie and Emmett rolling strikes and spares with seemingly little effort and handily making up for Michael's lacklustre play. In contrast, Team 1 could barely put together a decent point total. Ben narrowly missed a strike and then a spare; Ted accumulated points steadily, but never more than eight; and Brian... had the yips. He kept dragging the ball to the right and even managed to find the gutter with it once. It was like he was competing with Mikey for the title of ‘gutter ball king.'

 

Luckily, as the game progressed, Brian's team began showing marked improvement, while their opponents started losing their earlier momentum. The two teams were pretty much neck and neck now.

Michael was cradling his hideous pink ball, getting ready to throw, when Brian's attention was suddenly drawn by a generic ringtone coming from the neighbouring lane. The mountain of a man they had all admired at some point that evening reached into the pocket of his grey slacks, pulled out a phone and held it to his ear in a clearly well-practiced move.

"Raymond?" he grunted into the device, eyes intent on the shiny bowling lane in front of him - he had just rolled another strike, and the pinsetter was working on setting up for the next frame of the game. The man stayed quiet for a moment, listening intently, before he spoke again in heavily accented English, "I'll be there in twenty minutes." To Brian's amusement, the call was then promptly disconnected without any pleasantries exchanged.

"Aw, is he leaving?" Emmett complained from next to Brian, following the black man with regretful eyes.

Brian shrugged, uncaring. 

To Emmett's visibly increasing sorrow, it seemed the mountain of muscle was indeed leaving. He quickly and efficiently packed up his things before he exchanged the borrowed bowling shoes for a sensible pair of suede chukka boots, and sliding on a thick, black coat with an impractical number of pockets, headed for the exit. The whole thing didn't take more than a minute, and yet nothing about the man had seemed harried - in fact, he had hardly garnered any attention from the other bowling alley visitors.

Emmett sighed wistfully. "What a man," he whispered.

"Straight," Brian repeated, coughing into his fist to obscure the word.

The flamboyant queen shrugged. "That won't matter one bit when I'm jerking off to the image of those arms later tonight," he objected. "Let me keep my delusions, will you?"

Brian snorted. "Be my guest." He transferred his gaze back to their bowling lane to see Mikey limping away from the foul line, mumbling something about "fixed balls" with a thunderous expression clouding his face.

"Fixed balls?" Emmett tore his eyes away from the door through which their neighbour had just departed and looked at Michael in befuddlement.

Debbie slung a consoling arm around her son's shoulders and guided him over to sit down next to Justin again. "Don't you worry, baby. That could happen to anyone."

Em shot a questioning glance at Brian, but the adman could only shrug, equally lost. Both of them glanced at the scoreboard to see if that might provide a clue, but the 4 and 0 yielded nada. It wasn't unusual for Michael to throw a gutter ball, but he was doing a little better overall - knocking down a couple more pins than before.

The only useful thing Brian could discern from the scoreboard was that his team now had a good chance to draw ahead. Theodore shouldn't have any problem-

Brian's thoughts scattered when he felt a puff of breath against his neck, and he swung his head to the side only to encounter the accountant. Taking half a step back - Ted was almost on top of him - Brian eyed his friend.

The accountant's lips were clamped together, and he appeared to be in pain, but Brian doubted that was the case. It wouldn't hurt to double-check, though. "You got backed up integers, Theodore?" he wisecracked.

Ted gave him a dirty look before glancing away from the other two men. "Michael, uh-" The accountant choked back a laugh before finally spitting out, "-dropped the ball on his foot."

"He what?" Emmett shrieked.

"Shh," Theodore shushed his flamboyant friend. "You know how Deb is. You don't want to piss her off, do you?"

At a lower decibel, Emmett asked, "On his foot?"

Ted flicked a glance at Em, his eyes dancing with hilarity, before shifting his gaze to the floor. "Well, almost. It looked like it actually just touched his shoe before bouncing away... into the gutter, like that was its intended destination-" He broke off, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

A loud "Thank fuck!" from Michael, who was crouched over in his seat examining his foot, drew everyone's attention to where he was sitting, Deb next to him.

"What's going on, baby? Is something wrong?" Debbie asked.

"Oh! No, there's not." Looking sheepish, he sat up, elaborating, "I, uh, forgot I had bowling shoes on, you know? I was worried I'd damaged my Wonder Woman Converses."

"Jesus," Emmett muttered. "How gay can you get?"

Ted and Brian stared at each other, the accountant's lips twitching. "Uh-" Theodore paused to clear his throat, his voice coming out rather strangled. "Uh, I need a drink." His shoulders were shaking again as he walked back over to the table and snatched up his bottled water.

Brian wandered over to claim the chair Debbie had just relinquished, and uncapping his own bottle, looked around Mikey at Justin. Once he was certain the blond was watching, he tipped his head back, took a couple of swallows, and then deliberately dribbled a bit of the water down his chin and neck.

The teenager swallowed hard, his eyes riveted on Brian's Adam's apple.

Brian tilted his bottle at Justin and motioned for him to take a drink.

The blond complied, sipping at his water. He then frowned before shrugging and smiling wryly at Brian, acknowledging the clever way he'd been manipulated into hydrating.

"You're gonna need a strike if you want to keep your measly lead," Debbie mockingly addressed Ted.

"I don't know if I can pull off another strike." Theodore shook his head self-deprecatingly. "I'm out of practice."

Michael shrugged, sipping at his Coke. "That's fine; so am I and so is Brian. We used to go bowling all the time when we were kids, but then life got in the way."

Brian frowned in confusion. It was true that Michael and he had gone bowling a couple of times back in the day, but the occasions were few and far between and all of them were tinged with bitterness because of Jack Kinney. Brian definitely didn't spend his days in nostalgic remembrance of the good old bowling days.

"Good riddance," he therefore muttered, glad for whatever ‘life' had gotten in the way according to Mikey.

Michael, perhaps seeing something in his face, squeezed his thigh comfortingly. "It's okay, Brian; we're best friends - I'll always be here for you, just like you'll always be here for me."

Uncomfortable with the sentiment and needing the conversation to be over lest Michael brought up even more emotional stuff, Brian patted the older man's hand placatingly. "Sure thing, Mikey," he agreed, getting up as he added to their usual mantra, "You and me against the world. Always."

It was by chance that his eyes fell on Theodore just then. The accountant was just standing there, a peculiar expression on his face as his eyes met Brian's.

Brian raised his eyebrows at the man questioningly, but Ted just looked away, face carefully impassive. What the fuck was going on? The other man had been completely fine just a minute ago, and now he looked like someone killed his puppy.

"Problem, Theodore?" he asked caustically, trying to get a rise out of the man.

The accountant shrugged, replying curtly, "No." His face was still doing that weird thing, and Brian was getting annoyed. If the other man had something to say, he should just say it and abstain from all the theatrics.

Whatever, Brian decided, shelving the matter. Ted would get over his pissy mood soon enough. One fuck with ‘Benji' should make everything right again in Theodore's world.

Brian and Ted's weird standoff was interrupted by Ben, who patted his boyfriend on the arse, reminding him, "It's your turn, babe."

The accountant went to bowl without saying anything.

Amazingly, Ted rose to the occasion and proceeded to roll a strike, a merry jingle and a loud "Yes!" from Ben confirming it. 

Ted twisted his head around and smiled slyly at Debbie. "Thanks, Deb. You said I needed a strike, and I got one. You brought me luck."

Hands on her hips, the redhead stared at the pins, which were being reset. "Wasn't exactly what I had in mind," she grouched.

When Ted sat back down, he got a tongue-filled kiss from Ben, Brian watching a little enviously.

"C'mon, Emmylou!" Debbie hollered. "Eyes front! We've got some catching up to do."

The southerner was plainly reluctant to take his eyes off of Bented. "Who'd have thought watching Teddy and the professor kiss would get me so hot and bothered?" he commented to no one in particular as he got up.

Everyone watched Emmett take his turn, the southerner ending up with a spare.

The score was still a bit too close for comfort, Brian mused, blotting damp palms on his jeans before getting up for his last frame. After this, it would be down to Debbie and then Ben. The pressure of being the penultimate player for his team - and bowling after his teammates had both managed strikes - had him rolling his shoulders once more in an effort to relieve the tension.

He carefully swung the ball back and then forward again, keeping his grip relaxed and the ball centred on the headpin. Letting go, he mumbled to himself, "Come on, come on," his eyes glued to the ball as it trundled down the lane.

Brian whooped when he also got a strike, vaguely aware of an "Attaboy!" from the professor and an overjoyed "Briaaan!" from Mikey. His friend was evidently still confused about which team he should be rooting for.

"Take that, Jack, you old bastard," he said through a grin as he strutted toward his teammates, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans.

Ben, his Zen completely gone, grabbed Brian in a bear hug, lifting him a couple inches off the floor, and pounded him on the back. "Way to go, Kinney!" he shouted.

"Christ, ragazzo," Debbie entreated as she trudged over to the ball rack, "couldn't you have given me a fighting chance?"

Ted observed mildly, "You could always roll three strikes in a row and take the lead. Or do well enough to come within sixteen points - half of your previous deficit. I rounded it down from seventeen," he clarified when Deb just stared at him.

"Right generous of you," Debbie muttered.

There was something off with Theodore, Brian thought, puzzled by his friend's behaviour. He hadn't congratulated Brian on securing the game for their team, and it didn't sound like he was joking around when he spoke... In fact, it was almost as if he wanted Deb's team to win the bet.

Reminding himself that Ted would get over his snit soon enough, Brian watched as Debbie played the final frame for her team. It was apparently raining strikes because the redhead also got one, the vivid red ball hitting the number one pin at just the right angle to knock down the rest of the pins. It looked like she might even bowl two strikes in a row, but the pin in the far left corner only wobbled before staying stubbornly upright. Debbie was so spitting mad that she didn't aim properly, her final throw whizzing past the lone pin without touching it.

Theodore quickly tallied up the points in his head, not looking at the computer screen. "That makes 116 points for the ninth frame and then another nineteen points in the tenth frame for a total of 135. We only had sixty points as of the sixth frame, but we've had three strikes in a row since then. Regardless of how Ben does, it looks like you'll be buying us pizza."

"I want at least one more strike," the professor stated, looking determined to do well even though it wouldn't affect the outcome.

Debbie looked over at Emmett, shrugging apologetically. "I tried."

"That's all you can do, sweetie," the southerner said bracingly. "Besides, we'll all be on the same team when we play the cops. We can choose our very best players." He plunked himself down on the other side of Justin. "You any good, Baby?"

"I'm okay," the blond replied, which didn't tell Emmett - or Brian - much of anything.

"Hmm," the tall queen hummed. "Maybe when you and Michael practise, I'll come along for a look-see."

"Erm, sure..."

In contrast to Justin's tepid response, Mikey bounced excitedly in his seat. "That would be great, Em. You can give us both pointers."

Brian chuckled to himself. Justin had probably thought the practise session wouldn't happen, but no way was he getting out of it now.

"We'll figure out a date," Emmett agreed. "For now, though, let's go eat. After watching hunkalicious' muscles ripple all evening, I'm in need of one of Pizza Parma's meat lover's pies!"

Christ, but Honeycutt had a one-track mind. "Whatever," he agreed. The pizza place didn't really matter; it wasn't like he was going to eat any of the cheesy stuff. As he rose from his chair, Brian held out a hand to help Justin up, the teen unsurprisingly looking chipper about going out for pizza.

Michael, mistakenly thinking the hand was for him, grabbed hold of it and hauled himself to his feet. "Thanks, Brian!" He beamed at his friend.

Knowing his childhood friend would attach himself to Brian for the rest of the night if he wasn't careful, the adman thought fast, suggesting, "Why don't you give the good doctor a call? The Penguins' game should be over by now, so he could join us."

"Yeah, okay," Michael replied after a moment. "He can drive Galaxy Lad over; I left him at the house last night."

Brian winced at the idea of being subjected to another sighting of the pimpmobile. He'd have to be careful that Mikey didn't get wind that he was without his ride, or his friend would insist on chauffeuring him around.

Fortunately, Mikey shuffled over to Emmett to confirm where they were going for pizza, leaving Brian in peace with his blond.

Justin giggled as he finally took Brian's hand. "Ready for pizza? We're gonna ‘eat the meat,'" he teased, repeating the slogan he'd come up with at Sunday dinner a couple weeks ago.

Brian lifted an eyebrow. That was... brilliant. The slogan would work almost as well for a pizza parlour as for a steakhouse. Maybe he could even get the owners of Pizza Parma, which was close to both Babylon and Popperz, to spring for a campaign. He'd have every queer man in the city beating down their doors.

"Hey!" Ted shouted, causing everyone to look over at him. The accountant was standing close to his boyfriend, watching Ben bowl, a possessive look on his face. "You've gotta see this. Ben's going for his third strike in a row in this frame. Fifth in a row in this game," he stressed.

"Oops." Emmett clapped a hand over his mouth. "I forgot all about the professor."

He wasn't the only one, Brian thought. He'd been vaguely aware of the jingle announcing more strikes but tuned it out, figuring it was coming from somewhere else in the bowling alley.

They all watched as Ben, his focus entirely on the pins at the end of the lane, released the ball one more time, the seconds ticking past slowly as they awaited the outcome.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes!" the normally phlegmatic accountant shouted when all the pins were knocked over. He jumped up and down and hugged his lover. "You're just as good as that hulky guy!"

Smiling smugly, Ben grinned down at Ted before swooping in for a lengthy kiss.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Debbie commented, "I guess we know who'll be starting for our team when we take on the fuzz."

No shit, Brian silently agreed. Five strikes was pretty fucking impressive. He couldn't help wondering though, if the professor would have done so well without the ‘incentive' provided by their former neighbour in lane ten.

While Ben was being mobbed with congratulations, Brian placed a call to his preferred cab company, the dispatcher assuring him they'd have a car there within a few minutes. He then drew Justin after him and exchanged his bowling shoes for his Timberlands - the shoes garnering their usual look of distaste from him. A quick check to make sure his blond was well wrapped up, and they were on their way out the door.

The taxi arrived as promised, pulling up as the door to the bowling closed behind them. "Couldn't we just ride with Ted?" Justin asked as Brian ushered him into the taxi before climbing in himself.

"He's full up," Brian replied. He didn't know whether that was true or not, but regardless, he didn't feel like being cold-shouldered by Theodore during the ride to the pizzeria. This way, he'd be able to evade Mikey and his Miata and would also be able to arrange payment for the group before anyone else arrived at the restaurant.

 

With Debbie and Emmett insisting on a play-by-play rehash of their bowling adventure, it had gone eleven o'clock before Brian and Justin saw the building at 6 Fuller. David's arrival at the pizza parlour and his insistence on hearing all about Mikey's ‘exploits' had extended the meal even further. 

The good doctor had even made some ridiculous claim about how Michael would soon replace Ben as the bowling MVP of the group. Ted had turned toward the adman, snickering, and Brian thought for a moment that the older man was over whatever had been upsetting him. But then Theodore had gone po-faced, not uttering a word. He'd evidently just forgotten momentarily who he was sitting next to. Shifting subtly in his seat Ted had presented Brian with his shoulder, making it clear that the freeze was still on.

Now, standing in the lift as it laboured up to the top floor, Brian scowled as he recalled Theodore's continuing odd behaviour. His CFO had better snap out of it by the time the team reconvened on Thursday morning. Since Brian would be tied up for a good part of tomorrow, first meeting with Carl and then taking Justin to the urologist, he'd given his staff the day off. Other than Ted and Cynthia dropping off some paperwork and Bethany meeting with Goodwin IT, they'd have Wednesday free, so Theodore would have plenty of time to get himself into a better frame of mind. Even if something was still chapping his arse, he'd better be ready to-

"Hey," Justin said from beside him.

Setting aside his preoccupation with Ted - the way the accountant was acting reminded him of pre-Ben Theodore - Brian looked down at the blond.

Brian shrugged one shoulder. Buying the kid some pie was no big deal.

"Not just mine," the boy went on. "Everyone else's too."

Brian scoffed mentally. Like he was ever going to let Deb pay for his food. She didn't have that kind of money to throw around. Plus, he'd known Emmett was broke and wanted to cut his tall friend a break. A few more people hardly mattered.

"Thank you," Justin said again, rising up on his tiptoes and pressing a kiss to Brian's cheek.

A touch of the boy's lips to his skin shouldn't feel that good, Brian reflected, feeling oddly warmed by the gesture.

The elevator jolted to a stop, and Brian leaned over to raise the wooden grate, his jeans pulling tight around his waist as he did so. His disgruntlement with all the calories he'd consumed a short while ago came flooding back, and he moaned, "Fucking carbs."

He should've had the sense to change out of his Cavalli jeans before going bowling, but he liked the way they hugged his arse - and the way they made Sunshine's eyes light up. Now, though, he was paying the price, certain that he must've put on at least two pounds.

He groaned again as he stuck the key in the heavy metal door and shoved it open, the door rattling along the track before clanging to a stop against the opposite jamb.

Justin giggled but forbore from saying anything when Brian sent a direful look his way.

It was all the little twat's fault that he'd succumbed and ate a couple of slices, Brian thought. Emmett's too, he acknowledged, spreading around the blame. The queen had raved so much about Parma's meat lover's pie that they ended up with three extra-large ones on their table, along with a medium-size spinach and feta concoction for Ben. Surprised by the variety of salad options available in the dead of winter, Brian had started to order a Mediterranean one but then decided he should sample the pizza instead. How else could he ascertain whether the pizzeria was worthy of an ‘eat the meat' campaign?

Since it really was good, Brian polished off the slice that he'd initially cut in half before cutting a sliver off another piece. Replete, he hadn't planned to eat any more. But then, after his teenage lover had scarfed down two large pieces, Debbie cautioned that he shouldn't have so much dairy - the cheese was as plentiful as the meat - while on antibiotics. That meant Brian ended up sacrificing himself and consuming the slice the kid had just put on his plate.

And now, he couldn't even indulge in his favourite form of exercise to shake off the calories, with Justin still being out of commission.

"Hmm," Justin hummed, following Brian across the threshold and stopping in front of him. The blond lad ignored the wide open door as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them at the nearest bar stool.

Brian, who'd transferred the gloves to Justin's new coat before he left Debbie's this morning, wondered in amusement if the lad had even noticed the reappearance of the ill-matching pair of black gloves.

He promptly forgot all about the gloves when Justin reached for the top button of Brian's coat and slid it through the hole with dextrous fingers. Without pausing, the boy proceeded to the next one and then the one below that. After undoing the last couple of buttons at the bottom of the coat, he peered up at Brian through thick blond eyelashes.

Frozen in place, his breath hitching, Brian watched Justin spread the peacoat open and then move to the button at the top of his jeans, slender fingers soon popping it through the hole before slowly lowering the zipper. Even though the denim was no longer uncomfortably constraining him, Brian didn't feel much relief. His rapidly thickening member was pressing insistently against his flies and demanding all his attention.

He should stop this, Brian knew. But with all his blood heading south, it was becoming more and more difficult to think.

His hands dragging at the waistband of Brian's jeans, the lad was slowly sinking down to his knees. If anybody else was about to give him a blowjob, Brian wouldn't give a fuck about them. He'd take it for granted that they'd enjoy it and that they'd get off. If they didn't, that would be their problem. But this was different. This was... Justin. His partner.

Gathering the vestiges of his willpower, Brian croaked hoarsely, "Stop."

"I'll make you feel good," Justin promised, flicking up his eyelids and bestowing a flirty glance on Brian.

Brian wavered. It already felt good. He suspected he'd embarrass himself by coming within seconds if Justin got those plump lips around his cock.

Evidently taking his silence as permission to proceed, the boy tugged on Brian's jeans, succeeding in getting them down a couple of inches.

Maybe it wasn't so bad that the Cavalli jeans were skintight, the brunet thought hazily. It gave him a chance to call a halt to this - before it was too late.

Firming up his resolve, he again choked out, "Stop." He underscored that he was serious by placing his hands over the boy's and pulling Justin to his feet.

The teenager gave him a look that veered between disappointed and angry. "Why not?" he demanded. "I can tell you want it."

"I do," Brian agreed. Considering how his dick was straining against the cotton of his briefs, he could hardly refute it. "But I-" Christ, there was no way to avoid sounding like a muncher, Brian realised; best just to spit it out. "I want you to get more out of it than just sucking my cock."

Justin looked understandably puzzled; Brian was rarely one to deny himself. "I get protein?" he tried.

This kid, Brian thought, feeling a smile steal over his face at how obstinate Justin was being. The boy was starting to droop, his injury still taking a toll on him even if the pain had abated significantly. If he mentioned that however, Justin would probably take it as an accusation - that he was incapable of giving one of his stellar blow jobs.

So Brian went deeper into the Realm of Munch, venturing, "Not if I don't get some too."

The blond smiled brightly. "I can share-"

Certain Justin was about to offer to share a mouthful of Brian's spunk, the brunet nipped that idea in the bud. "Nuh-uh. It has to be your protein."

The blond blinked at him and then looked down at his crotch - not that either of them could see anything since Justin was still bundled up in his new peacoat. "Nothing's happening," he said in a small voice. He looked back up at Brian. "It feels like nothing's gonna happen ever again."

"It will," Brian assured his lover. It had to - for the boy's sake more than for Brian's. "You see the urologist tomorrow," he reminded Justin.

Justin nodded warily.

"Once he gives us the all-clear to have sex, we'll work on resuscitating ‘little Justin,'" Brian offered, keeping his voice light and playful.

Taking the bait, the boy squawked, "Little Justin? He's- I mean, I'm-" Flustered, Justin ground to a halt. Then, his brow furrowing with worry, he asked, "But what if the urologist doesn't give me the all-clear tomorrow?" 

"Then we wait till he does," came Brian's immediate response. When the lad didn't appear satisfied with that, he sighed and admitted, "You're worth waiting for."

"Yeah?"

Christ, the kid would insist on corroboration for that un-Kinney-like sentiment. "Yeah. You're worth it," Brian repeated.

 

Chapter End Notes:

Sherry (aka sophiesmom), we hope we've provided plenty of low-drama, light-hearted domesticity as your reward for posting the 300th review on KD :)

Here's what Sherry requested: The boys enjoy breakfast at Debbie's house. Harley provides commentary. He's been trying to push Brian and Justin together, so to speak. Maybe it's time they listened. Ha! I'd also like Vic, or Gus, to be there.

‘Yinz,' a contraction of ‘you-uns,' is to Pittsburgh as y'all (you all) is to the South. A Yinzer is a native or inhabitant of Pittsburgh. ‘Yinzer' was historically used to identify the typical blue-collar people from the Pittsburgh region who often spoke with a heavy Pittsburghese accent.

Don't forget our Tricky FanDoc, folks! There are contests, so be sure to check it out.

The FanDoc includes a link to KaBrynn's Guide to BritSpeak and Americanisms. You can also access it here: Crazy English.

 

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