Brian's wheezing snore halted when a pudgy little hand batted at his nose and a happy voice chortled, "Ghaba."

What was going on? There was no satisfactory reason for his latest trick to talk nonsense to him instead of sucking Brian's cock. Brian lifted his head from what should have been an unsanitary wall in Babylon's back room, his eyes slitting open, to espy not a trick but rather his son playing pattycake with his mouth.

"Uh?" Brian grunted. What was the deal with mornings and lesbians? Why did they have to insist that the first part of the day be devoted to quality father-son time? In spite of his pounding head, he cracked a smile when Gus patted his mouth again, bestowing a kiss in the center of the nipper's palm. Raising his head a bit higher, he tried to ascertain what was weighing down the lower half of his body and right arm. He was certain he wouldn't have brought a trick to the munchers' house, but in his muzzy-headed condition couldn't figure out who else might be lying on top of him.

It definitely wasn't that fucking blond teenager, he thought - and just like that the previous night suddenly came back to him. Fuck, no! Surely, it couldn't be that bulldyke lawyer on top of him. As peals of laughter assailed his ears, he belatedly noticed Lindsay standing next to the couch, supporting Gus with a hand behind the tyke's back.

He was about to voice his displeasure with Lindsay's outrageously inconsiderate behavior when the weight on his abdomen eased slightly and Mel croaked out, "What the fuck, Linds? What are we doing on the couch?"

"Get off me," Brian growled, hips bucking upward as he tried to dislodge Melanie. He absolutely did not want the muff diver so close to his groin. He might catch lesbian cooties.

"Bah!" Gus announced, his hand tapping against Brian's cheek - as if in agreement - while his blonde mother laughed harder. 

Mel's head shot up, her hair looking like a bird had nested in it, as she exclaimed, "You're not Lindsay!"

"No shit, Sherlock," Brian snarked, beginning to feel a bit better at having the advantage for once. Waving a hand in front of his face, he complained, "You should go brush your teeth; you smell like you slept in a distillery."

Mel muttered something about a rotten influence as she clambered off of Brian, her face reflecting her loathing for her current circumstances.

"Watch out!" Brian snarled at the lawyer, as her left hand landed perilously close to his balls.

Rolling her eyes, Melanie pushed down a little harder, supporting herself as she finally stood up. "Don't worry; my touch didn't turn you in a pussy." She brushed a boozy kiss against Lindsay's lips, and as she staggered toward the stairs could be heard saying, "Although that would be a distinct improvement."

Brian had just opened his gob to berate his blonde friend for leaving him in Melanie's clutches the previous night when his face took on a grayish tinge and he gasped for air. "What the fuck?" he wheezed.

A terribly amused Lindsay opined, "Like father, like son. I suggest you change your son and then yourself."

With a look of affront on his face at the notion that he smelled as foul as his son, Brian tried to pass Gus off to Linds so that he could stand up more easily, but the blonde shook her head and backed away. "Nope. You change him and bring him to the kitchen while I start breakfast," Lindsay insisted.

Stomach lurching at the thought of food, Brian held Gus against his hip as he wobbled to his feet, steadying himself with a hand against the back of the sofa. The boy's diaper squished unpleasantly under his left hand and another blast of unbearable stench assaulted his nose. Ugh! 

Brian hastened up the stairs as quickly as he could, carrying Gus to his changing table, holding his breath as he removed the soiled diaper and tossed it into the Diaper Genie. As he cleaned the tyke's bottom, he mused that there had to be a more odor absorbent diaper than the Huggies that were prominently displayed next to the changing table. Perhaps he should research brands and make sure that his son had the best diapers available, maybe even find out who that company used for their advertising. In the next moment, Brian thought he must be losing his mind. Who would want to be fucked by an ad exec who promoted diapers?

Once Brian had delivered a clean Gus to the kitchen and settled him in his highchair for Lindsay to feed, he sprinted out to his jeep. He'd glanced at his watch while he was changing his son and had been aghast to discover it was nearly seven o'clock. At the loft, he would have been able to rush through his morning routine and arrive at work on time, looking fresh and polished irrespective of his hangover. Everything was completely disrupted in Muncherville, however, with Linds constantly lumbering him with Gus. Even though he loved the little lad, Brian was having difficulty adjusting his schedule to accommodate his son on workdays.

Brian cursed as he grabbed yesterday's shopping bags from the vehicle's back seat. He needed time to shower, shave, take something to alleviate the pounding in his head, and iron one of his new shirts - another task that was not part of his routine, since that was one of his cleaning lady's duties. Grumbling to himself about paying the Ukrainian girl for her services when she couldn't even enter the loft - not that there was anything for her to clean even if she could get in - Brian hurried back up the walkway and into the house.

"Linds," he beseeched after reaching the kitchen, dumping the bags on the table and removing the packaging from one of his new shirts, "Would you...?"

The busy mum shot Brian a distracted glance from the stove, where she was stirring something eggy in one pan and vegetables in another, cutting her friend off before he could complete his question, "I can't help you Brian. I have to take care of Gus."

Resigned, Brian asked, "Where is it, then?" while smiling indulgently at his happy offspring, who was babbling and banging his palms against the tray in front of him.

"Where's what?" Lindsay replied without looking up. As if she sensed Brian's exasperated glare, she added, "I'm not a mind-reader; I don't know what you want."

"The iron, Linds," Brian sighed, "and the ironing board. I had to buy new clothes yesterday, and I can hardly wear a wrinkled shirt to work. It's bad enough that I'm wearing the same suit, which looks anything but elegant, for the third consecutive workday."

"Over there," Linds pointed toward a narrow cupboard with her free hand, noting; "you could have kept your suit in better condition by taking off your jacket and slacks and putting on something else last night."

"I'd had a fucking awful day," Brian complained, the aroma of the eggs and veggies increasing his nausea as he set up the ironing board and plugged in the iron, "or did you forget me telling you that?"

Lindsay didn't show any sympathy, "How did that prevent you from taking care of your suit? You must've known you'd need to wear it again today."

"It's because of that fucking blond!" Brian burst out. "I ran into him at the diner, and he acted like he didn't have a care in the world. He's responsible for this whole mess and he's not even affected."

"How can you say that?" Lindsay reproved. "Of course he's affected by losing his home."

"The loft wasn't his home," Brian seethed, "he was just bunking there temporarily." 

"Temporarily? You mean until you threw him out?" Lindsay queried in a sarcastic tone.

"You know he left the loft unlocked!" Brian snarled, "so why do you keep defending him?"

Lindsay shut off the burners and turned around to look at Brian, before replying in an excessively reasonable manner that grated on the brunet's nerves, "I'm not defending him, and I'm not taking sides. Justin made a mistake, but it was just that - a mistake. He hardly did it on purpose, so why can't you forgive him?"

"Because he doesn't give a toss about what happened!" Brian ranted furiously, the ironing board nearly collapsing as he pressed down too heavily with the iron. Fuck, he'd almost said because the teenager wasn't sorry. What was wrong with him? He didn't believe in apologies or regrets.

Brian was grateful when Lindsay dropped the topic after shrugging and shaking her head at him pityingly. Neither of them uttered another word, Brian finishing up with his ironing and stalking upstairs with his shirt and his other bags to take a shower. He really hoped the dykes had some Aleve in their medicine cabinet since he didn't want to ask where they kept it - he'd had enough of both Lindsay and Melanie for one morning.

Meanwhile, Justin's morning hadn't started off badly at all - he had woken up to his alarm clock blaring at six o'clock, grimacing at the dried come that had adhered to his belly but otherwise feeling quite refreshed by a solid night's sleep. He'd hopped out of bed, taken a quick shower, and gotten dressed - happy with his decision to iron his shirts the previous evening - and hotfooted it down the stairs to scrounge a bite to eat for breakfast before he had to catch the bus.

Justin was surprised to find both siblings in the kitchen, having expected that Vic would still be sleeping. The redhead was admonishing her brother, who had Tuesday's Pittsburgh Post-Gazette spread out in front of himself, "Don't forget to take your pills," while pointing to a row of bottles lined up on the counter.

Vic peered over the top of his half-rim eyeglasses, "Quit flapping, Sis. I have HIV, not Alzheimer's."

Both of them cackled at the absurdity of a Deb who didn't fuss, then the redhead exclaimed, "Here's our little ray of Sunshine, brightening our morning," as she bestowed a lipsticky kiss on the teen's cheek.

As Debbie attempted to wipe away the red smear, Justin mumbled, "Uh, good morning." Taking the Special K from the cupboard, he fleetingly smiled as the cereal reminded him of that first night with Brian - which seemed eons away from their current stand-off. Justin grabbed the milk from the fridge as well as a bowl and a spoon, settling in across the table from Vic.

Right as Justin lifted the first spoonful of cereal to his mouth, the older man emitted a series of moans, teasing, "Nice sound effects from your room last night."

Justin's spoon plunked down into his bowl, splashing milk onto his shirt and tie while his face turned crimson. "I don't know what you're on about," he mumbled, completely unconvincingly.

Vic just raised his eyebrows, waiting him out, causing the young man to nearly give in to the temptation to slide under the table. He couldn't believe he'd been so noisy during a simple handjob. Dabbing at his tie with his napkin, the teen stammered, "I'm sorry, Vic, I didn't mean to keep you awake."

"Don't listen to the old reprobate," Debbie recommended, giving her brother a light slap to the head, "I have no doubt Vic enjoyed himself." Shrugging, she added, "The walls in this house are so damned thin, you can't help but hear a mouse fart in the next room."

Vic winked at the mortified teen, who was busily scooping up his cereal. "Heck, Sunshine, I know you're a healthy gay boy. Thanks for reminding me of my youth."

Rescuing the blushing lad from further discussion of his jerk-off session, Deb whisked away his dishes and offered, "Honey, would you like to take a couple slices of the chocolate cake with you for dessert? You could share with Daphne."

As he gave the warm-hearted woman a lopsided smile, Justin conceded to himself that he was becoming closer to Debbie than to his own mum. Ever since he'd admitted he was gay, Jennifer had treated him awkwardly, forgoing affectionate moments like this one. "Thanks," he managed to choke out as he pushed away from the table, "that would be great."

"Ah, your famous cake from a box is a hit all over again, Sis," Vic joked with a twinkle in his eyes.

"That cake is made from an old family recipe," Deb retorted, "handed down through the generations."

"Decades of Betty Crocker bakers," the older man riposted, "although I don't recall Mum ever making this particular cake."

After accepting the Tupperware container from Debbie, Justin headed toward the front door. "Okay, bye! I have to catch my bus."

His words overlapped Deb's, "Shit! I'm going to be late for my shift," the waitress abandoning her banter with Vic, grabbing her coat, and hustling out the door behind Justin before turning in the opposite direction.

When he saw the orange Port Authority Transit bus pulling into the bus stop a couple minutes early, Justin sprinted down the block, gesticulating wildly and yelling as two other passengers boarded. "Thanks," he gasped at the driver as he climbed on and showed his pass, before collapsing into a seat toward the back of the vehicle.

Aware he couldn't afford to waste time before he transferred to the next PAT bus, Justin pulled out his notebook and began recreating the short story he'd nearly completed for his creative writing class - a story that was currently unreachable in his backpack on the floor of Brian's loft. Justin, who had taken to heart the dictum that he should write what he knew, shrugged philosophically. Even if he couldn't recall everything he'd written before, he had plenty of new material for his story about a bullied teen and was sure he could finish it quickly - which was essential, since he also needed to complete midterm projects for other classes. Head bent over his notebook, Justin's pen flew across the page as the words poured out of him.

Brian strode toward his office - a good fifteen minutes later than usual - hoping he looked confident and in control. His rumpled, less-than-fresh suit and imperfectly-styled hair grated on his nerves and were definitely undermining his self-confidence. When he approached Cynthia's desk, saw a Starbucks cup waiting on the corner of her desk, and received an affirmative nod that the triple-shot latte was for him, he could have kissed his assistant. Brian's gratitude withered, however, when he saw the astonishment with which the exquisitely coiffed and attired blonde was viewing him. "What?" he barked, glancing down to make sure he hadn't missed a spot of Gus' spit-up.

Cynthia hastily rearranged her features into a neutral expression, "I'm sure you did your best with what you had available, Brian," she soothed him. "You just look a bit like you were rode hard and put away wet."

The ad exec was astonished to have his assistant describe him so colloquially. Fuck, he must really look bad for Cynthia to use such an inelegant turn of phrase. Muttering about always being the one who busted the bronc rather than the other way round, Brian snatched the cup with the white-on-green logo and turned away from Cynthia in a huff.

Following him into the office with folders in her hand, Cynthia acerbically speculated, "I take it you still haven't spoken with Justin, or if you did, the conversation didn't go well."

"Didn't we have this discussion just yesterday?" Brian growled. "Is there a good reason for you to sound like a broken record first thing in the morning?"

With an offended expression reminiscent of the previous day, Cynthia dropped the stack of files on Brian's desk, grabbed the Starbucks cup out of his hand, and marched out of the office.

"Fucking blondes in cahoots with each other," Brian sighed as he watched Cynthia - and his latte - disappear from sight. First Lindsay and now his secretary. He could have used a bit of sympathy this morning, but instead he got nagging, badgering, and harassment. 

Later that morning, Brian rubbed his hand across his face as he put away the last page of the client's contract. Antoinette's was a quickly growing bakery that specialised in birthday and wedding cakes and was hoping to grow across the state border and open a shop in New York. The principle of the advertisement was simple and funny - referencing Marie Antoinette's famous quote about cake - which Brian liked, but it assumed a certain level of knowledge of historical bon mot, which Brian didn't like. One of the cardinal rules of advertising - right next to ‘sex sells' - was that people were stupid and you had to hand feed them information. If there was something Brian hated more than fags trying to mold themselves into a heteronormative monogamous lifestyle, it was having to explain a joke. If you didn't have the mental capability to get it on your own, you didn't deserve to laugh.

The brunet threw one last glance at the contract, before slipping it into the appropriate folder along with a few rough drafts he had come up with in the past hour. The words ‘Qu'ils mangent de la brioche' were taunting him from one of the papers as he closed the folder. Brian checked his watch, and noticing he still had a bit of time before he had to be in a meeting with Ryder, he figured he'd go and check up on the art department.

He threw on his suit jacket, which he had draped over the back of his chair when he'd first sat down that morning, and went to the door. When he opened it, he nearly had a heart attack as he almost ran into one of the sales representatives, his hand poised to knock.

"You want me to close the door again, so you can finish knocking?" Brian asked when he had regained his composure.

The man, who Brian thought to be called Thomas, quickly dropped his hand, giving Brian an embarrassed smile. "No, I... thank you," he stammered out, before asking, "You were going somewhere?"

The ad executive quirked an eyebrow at the question. "What gave me away?" he retorted.

Thomas shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Sorry, I'm a little nervous. I was wondering if I could talk to you?"

Brian checked his watch again. He still had ten minutes until he had to be in Ryder's office, so he decided to humour the man. "Sure," he agreed, "come on in."

He motioned for the other man to seat himself in one of the chairs in front of his desk, while he sat back down behind it. "What can I do for you, Mr Thomas?" he queried.

"Well, sir," the sales representative began, "I managed to secure this account over the weekend - eh, Kofola, it's a European fizzy drink - and they're asking for a Christmas ad that would help them break through on the US market."

Brian nodded. He was aware of which one Thomas was talking about; it had landed on his desk on Monday and he had already come up with a vague idea for the ad since then. "I know the one," he acknowledged. "Is there something I should know?"

"No, I mean, there's no problem or anything," the man assured him, "I was just wondering if I could share my idea for the ad with you."

Brian raised his eyebrows. Well, this was certainly interesting. It wasn't all that rare for junior employees to suggest an idea or two to one of the other account executives, but it was certainly unusual for someone to have the bottle to pitch an idea to him - Brian wasn't exactly known for his amiability. "What do you have in mind?" he asked, more curious than actually interested.

Thomas leaned forward, clearly excited to share his thoughts. "Okay, so my idea was to show a bottle of Kofola underneath a Christmas tree, a bow around its neck, and like, show several different Christmas trees in different homes with the bottle underneath." The sales rep paused, trying to build tension, before rambling on, "And then there's one tree that doesn't have any presents yet and suddenly you see Santa Claus putting the bottle underneath the tree... and maybe winking into the camera... and what do you think?"

Brian cottoned on immediately, nodding. "And perhaps show the Santa drinking from the bottle at the end?"

Thomas' eyes brightened. "Yes! That's exactly what I imagined."

Brian snorted. "Of course you did, Coca-Cola," he snarked, and ignoring the startled squawk from the other man, continued, "You literally just nicked the annual Christmas ad from Coca-Cola. Do you want us to get sued?"

"But that's completely different!" protested Thomas, "I've never seen Coca-Cola do something like that. They always have that gaudy truck lighting up with Christmas lights."

Brian sighed. "It's the thought behind it - they have Santa giving out Coke bottles as Christmas presents," he explained, "You can't use it."

"But, Mr Kinney-"

"Thank you for your effort, Mr Thomas," Brian interrupted him forcefully, standing up, "but I think I'll use my own ideas for the Kofola campaign."

The other man looked taken aback as he also stood up. "Of course, sir," he conceded, "I'm sorry."

Brian nodded, his lips pressed into a tight line in annoyance. "You can go," he said, offering Thomas an outstretched hand.

They shook hands, but when Brian went to pull back, Thomas held on. The ad exec lifted his eyebrows in question.

"I was hoping I could do something else for you, sir?" the other man offered, voice suddenly thick. "We could work on the campaign together."

Brian tried to let go again. "I think I have everything under control here," he assured the man.

Thomas stepped closer, running his other hand up Brian's arm, before tugging at his lapel softly. "Are you sure? I can be very... helpful," he flirted.

Under any other circumstances, Brian would have immediately taken him up on it - he was sex-deprived and the other man wasn't exactly bad-looking - but after hearing the delusional idea he had tried to pitch to him, he wasn't interested. "I'm sure you can," he said, finally managing to liberate his hostage-appendage, "but I think I can take care of that myself too."

"Brian-"

"You can go now, Mr Thomas," Brian repeated forcefully, "and we'll forget about this." He was astounded by the other man's brazenness, though he couldn't help but admire it a little too. Brian's own direct approach wasn't much different when he was wooing an attractive client.

The other man scowled, his sultry and flirtatious smile morphing into an ugly curl of the lips. "I don't think so, Mr Kinney," he countered, "you might want to reconsider letting me work with you."

Brian was amused. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Because it would be very easy for me to leave this office now and go to Mr Ryder to tell him what had just happened here."

Brian was a little confused by Thomas' calm attitude. "You mean tell him you came onto me?"

The younger man laughed. "Of course not; don't you remember what happened? I asked for an opportunity to help you with a campaign and you agreed - under one condition, that I sleep with you."

"That's ridiculous!" fumed Brian, removing the man's fingers from his lapel and taking a couple steps back.

"Oh really?" taunted Thomas, "you sleep with anyone and everyone - no one will be surprised if I file a sexual harassment suit against you."

Brian felt himself break out in cold sweat. He had to admit that the sales representative was right; no one would believe him if Thomas filed the lawsuit. He was well known for sleeping with his clients, as well as some of his employees - he had never had to coerce anyone though; men were usually falling all over themselves to knock him off. "What do you want?" he asked.

The other man smiled at him. "I want to work on the Kofola account with you and I want credit for the idea."

Brian was angry. "Are you having a laugh? I told you we can't use your idea."

Thomas shrugged. "Then give me credit for yours; I don't care."

"You have some neck," Brian commented, in awe of the sales representative's daring, "but I can't let you do that."

"No?" The man taunted him again, "Do you really want to end up banged up? I can go to Ryder right now, if you want."

Both men were startled by a third voice joining the conversation, "That won't be necessary, Kip. I think I've heard enough."

Brian turned to the door to his office where, unnoticed by either man, stood Marty Ryder in all his underwhelming glory. The bearded man was leaning against the door jamb, his arms crossed. Brian gave him an unsure look. "Boss," he said, "I don't know what you heard, but-"

"I assure you, Brian, that I've heard enough to come to the correct conclusions. Mr Thomas will have a lot of explaining to do."

The ad executive breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring Kip's sputtering. "Thank fucking God," he swore, made up to see Marty for once. "What are you even doing here?" he asked his boss.

Marty shrugged, giving Brian a look. "You were late for our meeting, so I came to see what had held you back. I'm glad I did."

"Well that makes two of us," muttered Brian, shuffling back over to his chair and flopping down on it with a grimace. He watched in disbelief as Marty led an almost catatonic Kip Thomas out of his office. He couldn't even begin to imagine the nightmare that he had just barely escaped; Thomas might've really ruined his whole life with just a few words. It didn't even matter that the bloke might not have been able to prove anything - his reputation would've suffered a deadly blow anyway, and it was all because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. Sure, he hadn't even touched Kip, but his reputation didn't exactly give him credibility. He might have to change that...

Brian was in deep thought when Cynthia entered his office, just moments after Ryder's departure with Thomas in tow. "Brian," she inquired tentatively, "are you okay?"

"Fuck if I know," Brian replied, rubbing a hand over his face, still shaken by his encounter with Kip.

"What happened? Why was Ryder practically dragging Thomas out of here by his ear as I returned to my desk?" Cynthia queried, the concern evident in her voice.

Maybe if he described what had occurred, he could determine how to proceed, Brian figured and so he then related how Thomas had shown up at the office and how the man had ultimately threatened to file a lawsuit if the ad exec didn't give in to the junior sales rep's demands to work with Brian on the Kofola account.

After he finished his recount, Cynthia was on a roll. Brian could almost see the steam coming out of the blonde's ears as she paced back and forth in front of his desk, ranting about ingrate employees trying to make their way up the corporate ladder through such unethical methods. From her tirade, Brian gathered that Kip had only been hired because Ryder's CFO was a good buddy of Thomas' daddy. How or why his assistant had acquired this information, Brian had no clue.

"Devious little bounder," Cynthia raged, "probably thought he'd be offered your job after he filed that lawsuit. Coca-Cola," she snorted derisively, having adopted Brian's snide nickname for the sleazy employee, "would probably try to sell ice to Eskimos."

Brian felt somewhat mollified as he watched his whirling dervish of a secretary rant on his behalf; it felt good to have this sort of righteous anger on his side for once. 

The blonde abruptly stopped pacing, turned to her boss, and advised, "You'd best write a statement immediately, Brian, as long as it's still fresh in your mind. Ryder may not have been present for Thomas' entire entrapment spiel, and you need to make sure the pipsqueak doesn't somehow finagle a way to stay with the agency."

Considering that to be a sound recommendation, Brian immediately opened a document on his computer and started typing. "I'd better lawyer up," he asserted, "in fact, I'm going to consult with a friend before I have Ryder's legal department look this over."

"Good idea," Cynthia encouraged, "and I'll go find out what gossip might be making the rounds. We'll stop that slimy git in his tracks." Turning on her heel, the woman on a mission stormed out of the office.

Brian typed with one hand while he pulled out his Nokia cell phone to give Lindsay a call. He couldn't remember the name of Mel's firm - he'd never been interested enough to learn it - or he'd have called information instead of bothering his friend. When she answered with a distracted but friendly ‘Hello?' Brian spoke, "Hey, Linds, can you give me Mel's number at her office?"

"What? Why would you need to call Melanie?" Lindsay queried in surprise, a hint of alarm in her tone. "Hold on, let me set Gus down."

Brian heard rustling noises and Lindsay cooing to Gus, "That's your daddy on the phone. We'll go for a walk in the park as soon as I finish talking to him, okay, Sweetie Pie?"

Well, at least she wasn't baby-talking, Brian mused, although he wished she'd ditch the cutesy names. Impatiently waiting for her to pick up the phone again, Brian balanced his cell between his ear and his shoulder, pecking away at the computer keys some more.

"Why did you say you needed Mel's number?" Lindsay's repeated question resonated loudly in his ear before she astutely probed, "Is something wrong, Brian?"

As insouciantly as possible, Brian dismissed her concern, "Our legal department wants an outside opinion on a contractual issue, so I said I'd call a friend who's a partner in a local firm." In a dry voice, he drawled, "Mel's law office would like to have our business, I assume."

There was a pause during which Brian pictured Lindsay holding the phone away from her ear and staring at it quizzically. He would have enjoyed teasing his blonde friend if he hadn't wanted to sort the Kip business as quickly as possible.

"I'm... impressed that you'd think of Melanie," Linds finally resumed speaking, "That's very mature of you, Brian."

The adman rolled his eyes, biting down on his lower lip to keep from making a remark that would undoubtedly undo Linds' assessment of his maturity. He was rewarded when, a few seconds later, Linds offered, "Okay, I'll give you the number, Bri. Have you got a paper?"

The brunet hmmed, then typed the number onto his computer screen as she dictated it to him. "Thanks, Linds," he said when he had it, before finishing the call with a simple, "Later."

After taking a deep breath to steel himself, Brian immediately called Mel. If he thought about it for too long, he would never contact the bulldyke, who was almost certain to lecture him on his immoral behaviour.

"Melanie Marcus," a brisk, no-nonsense voice issued from the cellphone after only two rings.

Brian, tongue-tied, didn't utter a word.

"Hello?" the lawyer inquired, "who is this? I'm hanging up if you don't stop with the heavy breathing and tell me why you're calling."

Fuck. Melanie thought this was a crank call. "Um," Brian eked out, berating himself for sounding like a moron. Clearing his throat, he attempted to sound like his usual suave self, "Mel, it's Brian. Are you available to consult on an issue that has arisen here at Ryder?" Brian's shoulders slumped in relief; that had sounded professional and he'd gotten it out without implicating himself.

"Brian?" Melanie stated in amazement before her voice turned suspicious, "What kind of trouble are you in that you're contacting me?"

Dammit, the lesbian legal eagle was too sharp by half, and unfortunately knew Brian too well. The brunet got nervous again. "Um, I'm not sure what's going to come of it," he managed to get out, "but I think I might be sued for sexual harassment."

Melanie snorted into the receiver, sounding unamused. "You're joking me," she grumbled; "what happened?"

Brian sighed, rubbing his hand across his face again. "One of the sales representatives tried to seduce me in my office in exchange for a leg up in the company," he explained. "When I refused him, he threatened to file a sexual harassment suit against me."

The lesbian hummed. "And you didn't sleep with him, correct? Not even before today?"

"Never," Brian assured her.

Melanie hummed again, clicking something on her computer. "Now, I'm afraid to ask this, because it's a longshot... but were there any witnesses by any chance?"

It was at this point that the enormity of the situation finally dawned on Brian. Sure, he had known that Thomas could cause him some serious trouble, but actually speaking to a lawyer made things all the more clear to him. This whole affair could cause a lot of aggro and had the potential to ruin his whole career, if not properly handled. Had Marty not come in when he did, Brian would likely be up to his knees in shit just about now.

"Brian?" came an impatient voice from the receiver.

"Yeah," Brian paused to clear his throat, "I actually do. My boss came in without either me or Thomas noticing and earwigged the whole thing - or at least enough to know that I wasn't the one in the wrong."

Melanie chuckled. "Only you, Brian. Only you would tempt fate as much as you do and then, instead of ending up burning on the pyre, you get help sent down straight from the heavens."

The ad executive rolled his eyes - allowing himself the unprofessional action, since no one was about to witness it - and snarked back, "I doubt heaven had much to do with it; I was bound to catch a break."

"Undoubtedly," noted the lawyer absentmindedly, typing something down again, "I can squeeze you in at three, if you've got the time. We'll go over your statement and have it notarized, then discuss any following actions."

"Actions like what?" Brian fidgeted in his chair, irked that Thomas might somehow cause further problems for him at the agency.

"Like what we do, if he goes through with the suit. Do we want to counter sue? Do we go to the police and report him for attempted extortion?"

Shit. How long was this thing going to drag on for? It already seemed like it'd been weeks, even though it had only been an hour ago that Thomas had tried to seduce his way to a promotion. "What do you need from me, then, before we meet?" the perturbed adman inquired.

"Your finished written statement," Mel replied promptly, "which we'll review, amend if necessary, and then notarize."

"Writing it as we speak," Brian muttered.

"Better yet, why don't you email it to me as an attachment before you head over here?" Melanie suggested, "so we can easily make any changes we need to."

Moving the cursor to the top of the document where he'd entered Melanie's office number, Brian asked, "Okay, what's your email address?"

"Just a moment," Melanie requested, and Brian could hear her say to someone; "tell the McQueens I'll be right with them."

Brian snorted at the name, imagining Mel representing two colorful drag queens who were in the midst of a hotly-contested breakup, fighting over custody of their mink coats. He imagined the little twat would appreciate the thought once he told him about it when he got home that evening... he should also find out if the kid had ever watched the uber-cool Steve McQueen in one of his classic films.

Mel's voice snapped Brian back to reality. Not only could he not go home right now, he'd also evicted the blond brat responsible for that circumstance. Fucking teen.

Reeling off her email address, mmarcus@jkl.com, Mel confirmed, "I'll see you at three," and hung up.

Someone had been on the ball with that easy-to-remember domain name, Brian reflected as he read the address, although the association between lawyers and jackals was rather unfortunate.

Brian detailed everything that had happened from the moment Thomas had approached him outside his office until Ryder had escorted the man away, and racking his brains, he also listed every instance when he could recall seeing the man - in the break room, at a meeting, or on the sidewalk in front of the agency. Thankfully, the man was a junior employee, so there hadn't been much call for Brian to interact with him.

After emailing the attachment to the bulldyke lawyer, printing out two copies of his statement, and shutting down his computer, Brian slipped into his jacket and picked up his briefcase. He had one Gucci-shod foot outside his office when he realized he didn't know where he was headed, much less the name of Melanie's firm. Goddammit, the ad exec fumed to himself, he'd never been this frazzled and disorganized before that careless blond brat had left the loft unlocked for thieves to remove all his possessions. Between his makeshift living arrangements and now the Thomas affair, it seemed nothing was at his fingertips as it should be. 

There was no way he was going to chance Melanie picking up if he called her direct line; he'd look like a right prat if he had to ask her the name of her firm. Exhaling in relief when he noticed Cynthia at her computer, he commanded, "I need you to look up an email address and tell me the location for a ‘JKL' law firm." With that, Brian rattled off, "‘mmarcus@jkl.com'. Quickly, please. I need to be there twenty minutes from now."

His secretary began searching the Internet, muttering about not being able to locate that email address. Within a few minutes, though, she exclaimed, "That's it! Jacobs, Knox, and Lopez at 143 Strawberry Way."

Fortunately, Brian had been correct in his assumption that JKL wasn't far from the downtown business district, and he arrived with a few minutes to spare. Melanie was the consummate professional when she greeted Brian in the lobby with a handshake and then escorted him to her office. 

Once they were seated on either side of her desk, Melanie bluntly prefaced his options with, "I've reviewed your statement, and I must say, screwing anything that moves might work in your favor, for once. You wouldn't have to abuse your position in order to get laid, which is what happens in the vast majority of workplace sexual harassment cases."

"Really? The fuck defense?" Brian protested with a bitter chuckle, "sans the fuck." At least with the bratty teen, there'd been plenty of fucks, and Brian had never had to promise the lad anything. Brian once more tried to wipe his mind clean of the invading blond, the one with whom fucking had somehow become synonymous.

"Cut the crap, Brian," the bulldyke advised. "It's lucky for you that the man didn't actually manage to seduce you first and then try to coerce you. You probably would have fucked him, and then Thomas would have better grounds for a lawsuit."

"Aren't you suggesting he could file a lawsuit anyway - and possibly win?" a discouraged Brian queried, slumping back into his chair.

"We can't predict what Thomas will do, and until he makes the first move, our options are limited. However," Mel recommended, "we can report him for attempted extortion, with your notarized statement as documentation. If we preempt Thomas before he decides what to do, that lends us more credibility."

"Christ. The Stud of Liberty Avenue brought low by a pipsqueak of a sales representative," Brian mourned, "just wait till word of this spreads."

"Brian, your career could be on the line," Melanie rebuked him. "That's a lot more important than your reputation as an unassailable asshole."

The tense atmosphere lightened a little when they both laughed wryly, acknowledging that neither of them liked to be bested.

"We could also sue Thomas for sexual harassment," Mel explained, "although I advise against that, since we would have to prove unwelcome conduct, which is difficult. It would also cost a lot of money, and if Thomas ultimately elects not to sue, it would cause unnecessary trouble, when the whole affair could be easily sorted within Ryder."

"If we proceed with reporting Thomas, what comes next?" Brian prodded.

"Then it's a waiting game," Melanie replied, "to see what Thomas does next." Looking earnestly at Brian, she then recommended, "It's also better if you don't go to Ryder's legal department for assistance in the interim."

One eyebrow quirking upward, Brian probed, "Whyever not? Aren't they meant to be a resource for the employees?"

"Theoretically, yes. But in reality, they'll have the company's best interests in mind, not yours," Melanie clarified. "That makes your forethought in seeking independent counsel particularly commendable."

Brian hmmed noncommittally, since he'd really only thought it smart to have as much legal representation as possible - he had intended to use Melanie's services on top of Ryder's legal department.

"You should also be aware of the possibility that Thomas may pretend to be heterosexual as his defence," Melanie cautioned, "stipulating that he was unsure how to refuse your advances."

"Why the fuck would he do that? No self-respecting fag would ever go along with such a harebrained idea," Brian exclaimed in bafflement.

"That's what I would advise him to do if he were my client," Melanie reasoned, "it would likely garner him a great deal of sympathy."

When he left Melanie's office shortly thereafter, a copy of his notarized statement in his briefcase, Brian's head was spinning. He was taking all the steps he could to protect himself, but he didn't know if it would be enough. Since it was almost five o'clock, there was little point in heading back to the office, so he turned the jeep toward Liberty Avenue and the sanctuary of Debbie's diner.

Justin groaned to himself as he returned from depositing dirty dishes in the kitchen and discovered a petulant-looking Michael standing in front of the cash register. He'd survived another day at St. James and another hour of detention, which had been alternately dull and tense. Bauer had hovered over the students' desks as they worked on their essays, presumably trying to provoke an outburst which would ensure the miscreant's tenure in detention for the rest of the semester. None of the four had buckled under the pressure, but Justin worried about what tactic Bauer would employ on the morrow.

And now on top of that, he had to deal with Michael. Pasting a polite smile on his face, he approached the older man, "What can I get for you, Michael?"

"Yourself," Michael answered shortly.

"Pardon me?" Justin answered, more than a bit taken aback and struggling to maintain a neutral expression.

"Uh?" Michael had apparently lost track of what he wanted.

Patience, Justin counseled himself, just have patience. "I asked what I could get for you Michael," he reminded the other man.

"I already told you," Michael testily asserted.

Justin couldn't remember the last time he'd participated in such an inane conversation. Try as he might, he couldn't think of many ways to rephrase such a basic question. "Michael, I'm right here. What do you need?" he gritted out.

That apparently jolted Michael out of his fugue. He leaned forward, wagging his index finger in Justin's face, and launched into a tirade. "Listen, you... you trespasser," the older man demanded, "you'd better be careful with my belongings. All of my superhero memorabilia took years to collect. It's priceless! My mother may have taken you in out of the goodness of her heart - when you really should be out on the street with the other trash - but she'll throw you out in a heartbeat if you damage any of my stuff."

The threat of again losing his home cut too close to the bone, making Justin vibrate with fear and anger combined. Stepping back a pace so that Michael wouldn't poke him in the eye with his errant finger, he countered in an even voice, "If your possessions are so precious, why are they at your mum's instead of in the apartment you share with Emmett? Didn't you move out like years ago?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Michael raised his voice. "Those are valuable items. I can't take the chance that a visitor might wreck something."

"Why would any of your friends fuck with your stuff?" Justin asked in bewilderment.

"I'm not worried about my friends," Michael belligerently justified himself; "it's tricks like you that are the problem."

Justin, who'd had more than enough of Michael's insults for the afternoon, yawned as if utterly unaffected and then skewered his opponent, "Wow. Your tricks must be really bored if they have nothing better to do than peruse your comic strip keepsakes." 

Michael gaped at Justin, unable to come up with a suitable retort.

"C'mon, Michael," Justin urged, "what's the real story? I get that you don't want me in your old room, but I'm not going anywhere. If you're so worried about me touching your belongings, move them to your apartment."

Looking down, Michael scuffed at the floor with his shoes, shamefacedly admitting in a much quieter tone, "Em refuses to have any more of my comic book decor at our place, says we have too much of it already."

Justin felt a reluctant surge of sympathy. In spite of his devotion to them, guileless Michael didn't quite fit in with his friends. Compassionately, he offered, "Michael, I won't wear your clothing; I won't play with your superhero miniatures; and I'll regularly launder your Captain Astro bed linens. Okay?"

A suspicious glare greeted his conciliatory efforts. "You'd better keep your grubby hands off of my things, Blondie. I'll be watching you," Michael blustered before stomping out of the diner.

Wishing that were the last he'd see of the man, Justin sighed. He'd have to keep trying to get along, however, since that was the least he could do for Debbie. For Brian, too, since the man was his best friend, although that wouldn't matter if Brian persisted in shafting Justin.

As the early dinner crowd began to stream into the diner, Deb scurried through the door, returning from her regular afternoon break. "Time to feed the hungry hordes, Sunshine," she called out cheerfully.

Justin grinned at her, grateful that she hadn't seen Michael vanishing down the street. He couldn't lie to his surrogate mother, and it would have been difficult to cast his encounter with Michael in a positive light. The two of them started taking orders and delivering meals, falling into the easy rhythm of working together they'd had from Justin's first day as a busboy.

His head pounding and his brow creased in worry, Brian strode into the diner earlier than usual in search of caffeine, hoping that would both ease his headache and enable him to think clearly. With the Thomas affair exacerbating his early morning hangover, today closely rivalled Saturday's burglary for making a mess of Brian's life. He'd just left Melanie's office, after going over everything in gruelling detail, the dyke lawyer having freed herself up for two hours after his call, and he was exhausted.

When he saw a mop of blond hair heading in his direction from the back of the eatery, the advertising executive winced. Even in the midst of consulting with Melanie, first on the phone and then in person at her law office, the blond teen hadn't been far from his thoughts. If he found out what had happened, would the teen think Brian had brought the situation with Kip onto himself? Mr. Public Service Announcement had actually warned him to be careful a couple of times when he'd been high as a kite and left Babylon with yet another nameless trick.

Brian endeavored to convince himself that this wasn't at all the same thing - the incident had happened in the workplace, and he hadn't issued any kind of invitation to Thomas. He could certainly attest that there had been no pleasure involved, just a lot of bullshit. He suspected that Justin would view it differently, much like Melanie, who had looked at him skeptically even as she had agreed to represent him.

Brian rubbed his forehead, blatantly looking away as Justin neared, but nevertheless experienced a pang of disappointment when Justin didn't address him at all, instead vanishing into the kitchen.

Screw him then, he thought; it wasn't like he actually wanted to talk to the brat. It just would've been nice of him to at least acknowledge the person who had given him a roof over his head when he had nowhere else to go. Ungrateful little muppet.

Brian seated himself at the bar, absentmindedly picking up a menu and fidgeting on the barstool. There was this thing about barstools - no matter how narrow your behind was, you always felt like one of your arse cheeks was hanging off. Stuffing your face while sitting on one also didn't exactly help. Brian wasn't sure if he even wanted to eat anyroad, but knew that since he had already stepped inside the diner, Debbie wouldn't let him out again without feeding him.

And speaking of the devil. "Brian!" the redhead greeted him cheerfully, "What's it gonna be?"

Brian cleared his throat. "What have you got?" he asked to buy himself some time. He wasn't very successful, however, because Debbie just raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at the daily menu chalkboard behind her. "Right," he said, "I'll have the avocado sarnie then. Can you make it whole wheat bread?"

"Of course," the waitress assured him, "I wouldn't even dream of giving you anything else." The matron smiled, then turned around to go and relay Brian's order to the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Brian returned to his not-moping, silently contemplating his situation. He still wasn't quite sure what he was going to do about Kip Thomas, but he did feel a little better after talking with Melanie - she had at least given him options as to what steps he could take. The idea of suing Thomas for sexual harassment wasn't exactly enticing to Brian, what with all the unwanted publicity that could possibly be avoided and all the money it would cost him. Reporting the little weasel to the police did have some interest, though; it wouldn't make Brian look like an incompetent nincompoop and it wouldn't cost him a penny either.

He was so absorbed in contemplating his fate that he didn't notice Debbie returning until a plate of avocado sandwiches landed right underneath his nose.

"Okay, so what's wrong?" Debbie questioned, leaning over the counter to look Brian in the eye. "You've been sat here moping for the past ten minutes."

The brunet scoffed. "I don't mope, Debs," he denied, "I'm just deep in thought."

"Right," his surrogate mother nodded, her gaze still suspicious. "What about?"

He shrugged, "Just work stuff."

Now it was Debbie's turn to scoff. "Oh, don't be boring. I know you, Brian, and I can tell when something's bothering you."

Still, Brian refused to bite. "You've got the wrong end of the stick, Debs, I don't know what you're on about."

Debbie sighed, crossing her arms over her considerable chest. "I'm not leaving here until you spill it, lad," she threatened.

Before Brian could come up with another rebuttal, a loud voice came from the kitchen, "I've got number three ready!" causing Debbie to falter. Raising his eyebrows, Brian just decided to wait her out. She was stubborn, but not stubborn enough to ignore another two shouts coming from the back. Brian watched her go with a look of amusement on his face.

Just then, Brian felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as someone passed behind him - no prizes for guessing who. Deciding to ignore Justin's presence, Brian tucked into his food. He chewed slowly and carefully, not actually enjoying the taste. For some reason, the avocado was too bland and the bread tasted sour.

"Something not right with the food?" asked Debbie, having just returned from serving a table of hunks at the back of the diner, "You look like you're eating donkey shit, the way your face is."

Brian glared at her. "You should fire the cook," he advised snidely, "or at least dock his wages. The avocado's completely flavourless and the bread is old or something."

Debbie gave him an offended look. "There's nothing wrong with the sarnie," she insisted. "I can't say the same thing about you though. Seriously, what's got your knickers in a twist?"

Brian sighed resignedly, pushing his plate away. He looked around, checking that no blonds were earwigging his conversation with Debbie, before leaning closer to the woman. "I might be getting sued for sexual harassment," he said in a hushed voice, internally cursing at how many times he had found himself saying those words today.

Debbie gaped at him, at a loss for words for once.

"Now, don't get all lecturing on me," he hastily added, "I'm completely innocent in all of this. The bloke came on to me in hopes of getting a leg up and when I refused, he started threatening me with a harassment suit."

"That bastard!" exclaimed an incensed Debbie, the red curls on her head twitching angrily.

Brian immediately shushed her. "Shhh!" he hissed, "not so loud."

She held up her hands in the universal gesture of surrender, mouthing ‘sorry' with a genuinely contrite expression on her face.

Brian shook his head with a pained sigh. "Thankfully," he continued after he once again made sure no one was listening in on their discussion, "my boss came in at exactly the right time and can vouch for me. It could still turn out to be very unpleasant for me though; my career is at stake."

Debbie gave him a fond look, squeezing his hand forcefully. "You'll be fine, Brian," she assured him. "I know you and I know that you always manage to spin it so that you come on top."

The brunet let out an unamused chuckle. "Your blind faith in me is astonishing, Debs, but I can't exactly spin this in my favour. It's going to look bad no matter what I do."

"But why?" questioned the redhead, fire back in her voice. "You did nothing wrong!"

Brian shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe not, but I am known to sleep around constantly - that doesn't exactly lend me much credibility."

Debbie gave him a contemplative look. "Well," she drawled out, and Brian knew immediately that he wasn't going to like whatever she was about to say, "maybe this has been a bit of a blessing in disguise then."

The ad executive couldn't believe his ears. "You what?"

The waitress shrugged. "Maybe this was a wake-up call, Brian. Think about it - this could've been a lot worse had your boss not been able to vouch for you. Don't you think it's time you started thinking with your head instead of your dick?"

"Aaand, I'm out," announced Brian, sliding abruptly down from his barstool and slapping a tenner down on the bar. He scowled at his surrogate mother. "I hope you know you were no help at all," he told her, trying to sound like he meant it.

Debbie just gave him a cheeky smile, though he could still see a flash of righteous anger in her eyes, and waved him off as he booked it out of the diner.

Justin tromped into Deb's house and headed straight for the refrigerator, where he grabbed a bottle of beer. For the first time since he'd started working at the diner, his shift had seemed interminable. He'd dealt with Michael's complaints easily enough and the man had finally taken his stroppy attitude elsewhere, but then a visibly upset Brian had entered the diner. 

As he leaned against the kitchen counter, guzzling his beer, the teen still wasn't sure what to make of Brian's distraught appearance - the brunet wasn't one for openly showing his emotions. Torn between his desire to ask Brian what was wrong and his anger over the way Brian continued to reject him, Justin hadn't responded to the brunet's latest rebuff and had instead gone into the kitchen in search of Debbie. Why he still cared enough to try and help, Justin wasn't certain, but he'd hoped the motherly woman might soothe Brian's distress.

Grabbing a second beer and opening it, the teen tossed the first bottle into the recycle bin. Although Justin was already feeling a little woozy - he didn't normally chug lager so quickly - he was determined to drown all thoughts of his ex-lover in a pint of gold. The young man was heartily sick of the way Brian kept giving him the cold shoulder. He had seen Debbie talking with the dispirited brunet at the diner but didn't know what they had discussed. Both Justin and Debbie had been too busy serving customers to stop and chat about it after Brian had left and before the redhead's shift had ended.

Justin was recalled to the present by the escalating voices coming from the living room, Deb mentioning Brian's name and ranting, "It's just not right what that fucking asshole is doing!" 

Justin had been peripherally aware of the conversation between the siblings but hadn't paid any attention to it until now. His curiosity piqued, he headed in the direction of the racket, slouching in the doorway as he waited for further particulars. He wondered if Debbie had been so heatedly referring to Brian - she did often fondly call him ‘asshole' after all - however, if she was indeed talking about her adoptive son, she didn't sound happy with him right now.

He realized they were talking about someone else when Vic bitingly remarked, "So that snake, whatshisname - Thomas - might actually get away with that kind of underhanded behavior?"

"It sounds to me like Brian's the one who's going to suffer in all of this, not that Thomas character, even though the man came on to him," Debbie reported as she agitatedly paced to and fro.

"Brian's too professional to ever sexually coerce an employee," Vic emphatically declared. "Ryder must know that after all of Brian's years with the firm, especially since he caught that slimy worm in the midst of his manipulations."

Whatever had happened, it must have gone down at Brian's workplace, Justin surmised. Had Brian slept with another Ryder employee? That would be just like him, he thought bitterly.

Deb interrupted his silent ruminations, "It's a good thing he didn't sleep with that weasel. I bet Ryder would crack down hard on Brian at the threat of a gay sex scandal. Everything always sounds worse once you label it ‘gay', it seems."

So it had been some kind of false accusation, Justin guessed. He didn't see why it was such a big deal if the ever-fortunate Brian had escaped unscathed.

Before Vic could respond to his sister, Justin lurched into the room, startling the two siblings. Gesturing wildly with the bottle of beer, the teen contended, "Brian's fucking lucky he didn't catch something worse than a bad case of a lying employee. I mean, shit, he nails everything that moves, both at the office and away from it."

Taking umbrage at that insensitive remark, Vic objected, "You think that because Brian likes to have fun, he deserves to be slapped with a lawsuit? Then you must also believe I deserved to get Aids; after all, I fooled around too before I was diagnosed with HIV."

"Since when are you such a saint, Sunshine?" Debbie accused, glaring at Justin and nodding fiercely in agreement with her brother.

Justin blanched at Vic and Deb's censure. "Shit, no!" he backpedaled, "sorry, I didn't mean that at all." Slumping down on the couch next to Vic, he turned beseeching blue eyes on the siblings, "I know that everyone has the right to fuck who they want and when they want, although no one should get hurt in the process."

"Why'd you act like Brian was in the wrong, then, kid?" Vic challenged, not yet mollified by Justin's apology.

"No good reason," the teen replied, "I'm really sorry; I shouldn't have taken out my bad mood on you." Hanging his head, he muttered disconsolately, "I just want Brian to finally forgive me. I'd never actually want anything bad to happen to him."

"Give him time," a pacified Vic advised, placing a comforting hand on the lad's shoulder, "he's usually quick to forgive his friends."

Debbie chimed in, "That's right. Don't give up, Sunshine. I'm proud of you for your plan to repay Brian for his burgled goods. You'll see; he'll come around.

Vic nudged Justin's ankle with his sock-covered foot, "Maybe that's enough beer for tonight, huh?"

"Yeah," a sheepish Justin concurred, "didn't make things the slightest bit better." Rising from the sofa, he carried the half-empty bottle to the kitchen, dumped the remainder in the sink, and headed upstairs to polish off his creative writing assignment.