Brian felt like he had spent the night in a boxing ring as he slowly climbed the stairs up to his loft. His head was throbbing, his stomach was protesting even the slightest movement, and his legs had the tendency to suddenly give out on him whenever he used them for longer than five minutes at a stretch. He imagined he could still feel the after-effects of the ecstasy and hoped his eyes didn't carry evidence of drug use. It was bad enough he smelled like a combination of sweat, booze, and sex.

Finally reaching the top landing, Brian was met with two people leaning against the wall by the door to his loft. Detective Horvath had been joined by a tiny Asian woman, who had the most serious face Brian had ever seen - and that included his high school maths teacher.

"Mr Kinney," the bulky copper greeted him, before motioning to his companion, "this is my partner, Detective Wen."

Brian grunted. He didn't particularly care to make another acquaintance in the police force, especially not someone who appeared like they could completely eviscerate him with just one look.

The female detective just returned his grunt, though, not bothering to speak either. Instead, she turned to the loft door, unlocking it.

Horvath gave Brian a wry grin. "Welcome back home, then," he told him. "We'll just have one last quick look around and then we'll leave you to it," he assured him. And with that, the three of them entered the flat.

Brian looked around, feeling slightly disoriented. Of course he remembered that his loft had been cleared out and that there was essentially no furniture to speak of, but knowing about it and actually seeing it again were two different things. "Geesh," he sighed, walking across the bare expanse of his living room.

Horvath nodded. "I know, all the empty space is a bit overwhelming, but I can assure you we're doing everything we can. Aren't we?" he turned to his colleague.

Chang - or whatever her name was - nodded slowly, a seemingly bored expression on her face. Brian just ignored both of them and made his way over to the kitchen - the only room which looked more or less intact, mainly because the kitchen island was bolted to the floor and the burglars couldn't have made away with it. He started opening and closing the cupboards, though he knew he would find most of them empty. He was staring at a lonely packet of napkins that occupied an otherwise empty cupboard, when a thought occurred to him - the dishwasher was likely to be full of clean dishes, because Justin usually turned it on after they had their shower in the morning and unloaded it after he came from school in the afternoon. Brian would bet the short blond had planned to do it after he came back from his sister's birthday do, but didn't get to it for obvious reasons.

Opening the dishwasher now, the brunet cheered internally as he found it fully loaded with clean dishes. That was one thing he didn't have to immediately replace, he thought.

"Everything all right?" inquired Horvath, walking up to Brian and peering over his shoulder curiously.

The brunet stud nodded, pulling out one of the drawers and motioning to the dishes. "I'm just made up these are still here," he muttered.

The police officer grinned in understanding. "I suppose one has to eat off of someth-" He broke off, a furious blush spreading across his meaty cheeks. "Oh, you meant that."

Brian frowned, inspecting the dishwasher in confusion. What the flaming heck had got the detective's knickers in a twist? His eyes flitted over the inconspicuous bowls and glasses, before settling upon the smooth surface of his favourite glass dildo. Huh, he thought, no wonder the copper looked like he was about to have a stroke. Deciding to rub the detective's face in it a little more, Brian pulled it out and waved it around nonchalantly. "This little thing?" he taunted.

Horvath's cheeks were now almost purple, and Wen's lip twitched in what could've been anything from amusement to discomfort - either way, it was the most emotion she had shown so far.

"Something bothering you, Detective Chen?" Brian snarked, wiggling the glass shaft in her direction in hopes of unsettling the Asian. 

The woman didn't even move a muscle at the wrong name or the childish gesture and just continued to stare at him unbothered. Brian's drug-addled brain concluded she was made of stone, and it was therefore no use to try and rile her up. He put the dildo back down.

"Anyroad," he exclaimed, clapping his hands together, "if you've seen everything you wanted to see, you think you could leave? It's just that I have a lot to do here - like make a list of all the necessities I need to replace - and I'd appreciate if-"

"You talk too much," the Chinese detective interrupted him in a low voice, before turning on her heel and just leaving the loft.

Brian stared after her for a second before turning to Horvath with raised eyebrows. The detective shrugged. "Yes, she's always like that," he said, before chuckling. "I'd better go after her or she'll drive away without me." And with that, the bulky man scarpered after his partner, leaving Brian alone in the uncomfortably empty loft.

The brunet looked around himself again, feeling dejected. The big space seemed even emptier now that the two coppers were gone, and Brian felt at a loss as to what to do. His steps echoed hauntingly on the wooden floors as he paced to and fro across his living room. Having lived with the lesbians for the past week, he hadn't really managed to come to terms with the reality of what had happened but now, standing in the cleared out space, he realised how much he had actually lost. There was nothing of his identity left in the loft; it might just as well have been any other flat in the area and he wouldn't have known any different.

Having decided to stop dawdling and actually do something, Brian set upon making a list of necessities to buy so he could spend the night at the loft. In order to do that, though, he had to find a paper and a pen first, which was an issue of its own. He looked towards his right, where he expected to find his work desk, only to encounter an empty corner. Great, he didn't even have a sheet of paper or a pen to write down that he needed a sheet of paper and a pen. Flaming hell, he hadn't even begun yet and he was already frustrated.

The brunet was just about to give up and simply sit down on the floor and sulk - in a very manly way, of course - when he remembered his briefcase he had left in the car. He knew he not only had his laptop in there but some notepads and pens as well in case his laptop ever ran out of battery while he was in a meeting with clients. Jogging back down the stairs and to his jeep, Brian pulled out his briefcase as well as his peacoat that he had accidentally left in the car in his rush to meet the policemen. Bringing both items upstairs, he hung the coat on a hook next to the door and then went to stand at the kitchen counter - the only writing space in the whole loft, unless he wanted to sit on the floor. Opening a bottle of green tea that the burglars had graciously left behind in the fridge - all of his booze having been nicked - Brian began the list. The first item he put down was bed linens, then came the towels, shower gel, toothbrush, and a toothpaste. Fuck, he even needed toilet paper, since only a few lonely sheets were dangling from the nearly empty roll in the dispenser and none remained in the cabinet under the sink - his maid probably not having gotten around to replacing it before the loft got burgled. He also made a note to order more of his Dior anti-aging facial cream. It wouldn't do to get wrinkles. Glancing at his platform bed and narrowing his eyes at the naked mattress, he imagined the burglars stripping off the fitted sheet and shuddered. He wrote down another item on the list, a new mattress. Pillows were next, since he wanted something to rest his head on.

Determining that would be enough to survive the night in moderate comfort, Brian began a new list. He would need a new work desk, a chair, and probably a dining table too - since, contrary to popular belief, he did actually sometimes eat at home. And a coffee maker, he thought, since he was never able to properly wake up till he had his morning caffeine injection. A couch and a TV, as well as the bedside tables and a dresser, could wait till later.

He should also go to the bank and make a copy of all the documents he had stowed away in his security box - the copies he had kept at the loft were gone, and he considered it irresponsible to keep all of his important documents in just one place. This would also give him the opportunity to bring home his toy box, he noted absentmindedly.

And lastly, he had to go to the shops and buy coffee, a couple bottles of booze, and some basic groceries. Just chicken or tuna as meat would do and then some tomatoes, cucumber, bell peppers, carrots and - what did Justin put into that potato casserole? - aubergine, yes. He would have to remember to pick up some hard Italian cheese as well, otherwise Justin would refuse to even touch the-

Brian swore. Loudly. Justin wasn't there to cook anything, let alone gripe about the lack of cheese. Brian huffed as he crossed off almost the whole grocery section of his list, leaving only coffee. It wasn't like he could cook.

He could probably call the blond and persuade him to rustle something up, though - the teenager was sure to still be pining after him, so he would do it without complaint, right? Maybe he could even be persuaded to a quick roll in the hay, Brian mused. They would never again have the sort of relationship they'd had - if what they had could even be called a relationship - but they could still have a good time every now and then, no need to attach any strings.

But he wouldn't do anything right away, he decided, it was better to let the blond stew a little longer before making his move - the more desperate the lad was, the better Brian's chances. Ignoring his growling stomach, Brian chose to skip lunch at the diner and sate his ‘other appetite' instead. He wasn't going to waste a perfectly good, clean dildo, after all.

Pulling out a small bottle of lube he kept in his briefcase, Brian headed towards the shower, not wanting to touch the contaminated bed. He undressed quickly and then turned on the tap, tilting the shower head away from himself, so he didn't get drenched in cold water. Once it warmed up, the brunet stepped into the scalding stream of water, letting it beat down on his nape and back, relaxing him.

Brian began running his hands over his torso, missing his shower gel with a fleeting thought. Despite the lack of lather, his skin was smooth and slick with water, and the brunet enjoyed the sensation of his hands caressing the sensitive flesh of his abdomen. Sliding his hands lower, he tugged at his member lightly before moving further down and massaging his balls. His breath hitched and Brian widened his stance, so he could reach even further behind himself and tease at his entrance.

He ran the pads of his fingers around his rim, putting light pressure at the centre and gasped. His body was loose and limber as Brian lifted his left foot up on the shower ledge, effectively opening himself up a little more to his probing fingers. He pressed his forefinger inside slightly, taking a deep breath to relax his inner muscles - he hadn't done this in over a week, and unlike the majority of Pittsburgh's population, he was tight. Some of those tricks must have bigger traffic than the I279 in order for their arses to get so out of shape.

Bending his knees and arching his back, the brunet slid his finger deeper inside of himself, searching for that hidden spot. Justin could always find it unerringly, but when Brian fingered himself on his own, the angle was a little awkward and it always took him a bit until he found his prost-

He gasped and his knees weakened. There it was. He bumped against the bundle of nerves again and felt his member get painfully hard. He tugged at his erection a few times to relieve a bit of that mounting pressure, before returning his focus behind himself. Drizzling a little lube over his fore and middle fingers, he pressed both of them inside, twisting. He was hot all over, his arousal joining the scalding water in raising his temperature, and his muscles were trembling. Jesus, he had barely even started.

Now thrusting his fingers in and out, occasionally bumping against his prostate, Brian built up a good rhythm. His breathy moans resonated in the spacious cubicle of his shower, becoming embarrassingly loud. "Fuck," he whined, slightly adjusting his stance. "Fu-uck."

He wouldn't even need the dildo, he thought; he was going to come just on his fingers. Brian was about to reach around and finish himself off with a few well-timed strokes, his moans now reaching new heights, when a disturbing picture of a tiny Chinese woman appeared in his mind. It was the scary Detective Wank, saying, "You talk too much," as she judged him with a measured gaze. Brian's arousal immediately wilted. Well, fuck.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any memories of the female - he didn't want to get an ulcer - settling his thoughts on a familiar blond instead. Deciding not to fight the fantasy for once - it didn't mean he cared for anything else but the lad's assets after all - Brian began teasing his hole again. He added more of his lube, scissoring his fingers inside of himself as he imagined Justin behind him. The blond would finger him till he was painfully hard again, before bending him over with an insistent hand in the middle of his back.

Brian's arousal came crashing back, and soon enough, he was reaching for his favourite dildo, bending over as if Justin had really manhandled him. Slicking up the glass shaft, the brunet pressed it against his opening before pushing back. The teenager would surely make him work for it, asking Brian to push back and fuck himself instead of pounding into him right away.

Slowly swallowing the dildo up as he canted his hips, he let out a loud moan. The imaginary Justin behind him whispered dirtily, "That's it, Bri. Let me hear you," and Brian moaned again. Gah, he felt so full. He didn't remember the dildo being this big.

Pressing back a little more, he felt the hard shaft inside of him slide completely home, brushing against his prostate on the way. His knees almost gave out underneath his trembling weight, but he managed to keep his balance by bracing himself against the wall. He was panting heavily from exertion, but the fictitious blond inside of him didn't give him any time to recuperate, instead beginning to thrust in and out with long movements. Brian's hand clenched around the base of the dildo, driving the toy faster and deeper inside of himself. "Fuck," he breathed out again.

The brunet could feel sweat running down from his hairline, immediately getting washed away by the steaming spray of water, and he shuddered at the feeling. For some reason, he considered a few drops of clean sweat to be one of the sexiest things - much better than most of the other bodily fluids, with one obvious exception. His contemplation of perspiration got interrupted by the slick toy inside of him brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves again, causing Brian to gasp. Fuck he was close. His manhood was as hard as ever and swollen with blood, pre-come leaking freely.

He nudged his prostate again and again, bringing himself closer and closer, but the desired peak was still unreachable. That would be the day, thought Brian, that he would finally come untouched. Leaning his shoulder against the shower wall so he could free his supporting hand, Brian gave his erection a few strokes with a twist at the end, and his breath hitched for the last time before he erupted with a long moan. Both his hands continued twitching with inertia from his rapid movements, further stimulating him and thus prolonging his orgasm. His lungs began burning after a while, making Brian realise that he wasn't breathing. He gasped in a shuddery breath, letting in the much needed oxygen. Fuck, he couldn't remember the last time he'd come this hard. There was a blissful smile on his face, and the brunet was sure nothing could ruin his good mood now - he had his loft back; he had just buggered himself to a pleasant fantasy; and there were endorphins running through his bloodstream.

Brian slowly eased the glass toy out of his sensitive channel, his poor prostate suffering one last nudge, before he cleaned himself off underneath the slowly cooling stream. His water boiler was apparently already losing its steam, which wasn't very surprising with how long he had spent in the shower - it was a wonder the water wasn't cold.

Turning off the shower, Brian padded out of the cubicle and reached for his towel, encountering an empty space on the warming rack beside the shower. Huh? Where had the flaming towel gone? Too late, he remembered he was currently in possession of exactly zero towels, because the burglars had made away with his fluffy and expensive Egyptian cotton terry ones. So much for his good mood, thought Brian as he was forced to awkwardly stand in the middle of the bathroom, waiting to air-dry, so he didn't track water onto his precious hardwood floors.

When he was satisfied he was no longer dripping water, the brunet found out he had to dress himself in the kit he had worn the day before, because the rest of his clothes were still at Manor Lesbos. He decided that before he did any of his shopping, he needed to fetch his bits and bobs from the lesbians - hopefully, they wouldn't be too infested by carpet muncher cooties.

Making his way out of the bathroom, again fully dressed in his smelly clothes, Brian's gaze fell upon his bed once more. He still didn't feel comfortable even touching the mattress, let alone sleeping on it, so he tried to figure out how to get rid of it. Maybe he should donate it to some homeless shelter or an AIDS hospice? Or even better, he'd auction it off to the gay population of Pittsburgh and then donate the money. He was sure to raise a lot of it; he figured there were bound to be a lot of fags willing to pay for the mattress the famous Brian Fucking Kinney had slept and shagged on.

Made up that he had his plan of attack for the afternoon of shopping ready, Brian grabbed the list he had made before his shower and left the loft. He had a lot to do.

"Jushun!" Gus crowed, squirming in Lindsay's arms as Mel pushed the empty stroller into the diner behind her partner. Rain was streaming from the ponchos they'd donned to combat the cold, stormy weather, the little boy in his own bright yellow slicker.

The teenager set down the tub of dishes from the table he'd just bused, wiped his hands off on his apron, and jogged over to Lindsay. 

"Thanks, Justin," Lindsay exhaled in relief as the young man scooped the wriggling child out of her arms. "He's been babbling, ‘Jushun, Jushun,' practically nonstop since we told him we'd see you at the diner."

"Meanwhile," Melanie interjected wryly, "neither of us rates so much as a ‘Ma.'"

The girls shucked their dripping raingear and hung it from the pegs near the door, while Justin beamed at Gus, not minding in the least that the toddler was dampening the front of his T-shirt with his jacket. He probably shouldn't be so proud that his name was the one Gus kept calling, but... It felt awfully good to have this Kinney scion so attached to him, especially since his encounters with the tyke's father had been anything but pleasant lately. He'd been missing the child something fierce this last week and had been thinking of calling the lesbians to find out whether they had need of a babysitter. The teen had only delayed doing so because he hadn't wanted to run into Brian at the munchers' house. Surely the police would release the loft to Brian soon; then there would be far less likelihood of having to contend with the man when he visited the lesbians.

While those thoughts were flitting through his head, Gus cried out, "Jushun!" one more time, throwing his chubby little arms around the blond's neck and snuggling under his chin.

"Like father, like son," the teen thought, recalling how Brian had liked to fall asleep on top of him, his head in the hollow of Justin's shoulder. Not that the brunet would ever have confessed to cuddling, of course.

A bright flash startled Justin, and he looked up to see Mel smiling as she lowered her camera.

"Aw, that's going to be such a cute photo," Lindsay cooed.

Rocking Gus in his arms, Justin asked, "Could I get a copy when you develop that roll of film?" If he wouldn't have to field taunts from jerks like Hobbs and his cronies, he'd buy one of those binders into which one could insert a picture on the front cover and carry it with him all the time. The homophobic jocks at St. James would never stop harassing him, however; they'd jump to false conclusions, possibly even offering insincere congratulations on becoming a real man and dipping his dick into pussy.

"Of course, you can have a copy, Sweetie," Melanie responded. "After all you're as much a father to Gus as Brian... more so, in fact."

"Now, Honey," Lindsay remonstrated, "Brian is a good dad. You have to admit he's been helping out a lot this past week."

"He hasn't seemed all that happy to take on diaper duty," Mel retorted.

A shriek of laughter escaped Linds. "I wouldn't describe any of us as ‘happy' to do that. Gus packs a powerful stink."

"Like father, like son," Melanie muttered before she, too, started chuckling. "You're right, though, changing a poopy diaper isn't my favorite thing."

"Are you giving your mums a hard time?" Justin asked Gus, placing a kiss on the tyke's downy head.

"Ach, he's an angel... most of the time," Melanie acknowledged, reaching out to gently pat her son on the back.

"Unlike his father," Lindsay ruefully admitted.

Justin was surprised to hear even such a mild rebuke from Linds; she had quite the soft spot for her college pal and usually understood Brian better than a certain ‘best friend'. It was true, he ruminated, that ‘angelic' wasn't an expression normally associated with the brunet. It wasn't entirely unsuited to Brian either, though. Particularly when that soft, shy smile appeared on the man's face - the one the teen had only seen directed toward himself or Gus - Brian looked almost sweet.

Justin refused to let himself dwell on the fact that he didn't know when, or if ever, he'd next catch that smile on Brian's face again. "Where would you ladies like to sit?" he inquired cheerfully.

"Where is everyone?" Lindsay glanced around in puzzlement. "I don't think I've ever seen the place so empty at noontime."

Justin shrugged, "Deb and I were trying to suss that out earlier. We figure it's a combination of fags hungover from celebrating Veterans Day at Babylon and weenies who can't handle a little rain."

A vivid flash of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder and pelting rain provoked Mel to shift uneasily and comment, "This is more than a ‘little' rain. Maybe we should have stayed at home."

"You're safer here than you would be at home," Justin hastened to reassure the girls, "what with the lightning protection system."

"Even with all the windows?" Melanie stared dubiously at the large panes of glass.

"No place is completely safe," Justin conceded, "but after a caff two blocks over was damaged by lightning ten years ago, the owner of this place made the diner as lightning-proof as possible. Just to be extra secure, how about this booth?" the teen suggested, leading them to a table along the windowless wall. 

"How do you know all that?" Lindsay inquired curiously as she and Mel slid into the booth. "I mean, I'm from Pittsburgh, and don't remember that incident."

"Mostly from Debs and Vic," the teen replied. "Plus, I've been leafing through a really neat book about the neighborhoods of Pittsburgh that we found when we started cleaning out the attic yesterday. There's, like, really cool old photos and information about how fire and flood have destroyed parts of the city in the past, including fires sparked by lightning."

"That must have happened when we were both away at university, immersed in our studies," Melanie reflected, "although I am surprised we didn't know about it."

As the girls slid into the booth, Justin handed Gus to Lindsay, helping to peel off his yellow slicker, before hanging it next to their jackets and nabbing one of the highchairs for the little boy to sit in. When he returned with the chair, he clarified, "I don't think anyone in that caff was badly injured. I'm sure Debbie would have told me if that were the case. I think it just put a scare into everyone."

As she murmured, "That's not so bad, then," the frown on Lindsay's brow cleared. "Have you had your lunch yet?" she asked the teen. "If not, maybe you could eat with us. It's been ages since we had a good chinwag."

"I could do with a bite," Justin replied, his stomach grumbling at the mention of food. Darned tummy always betrayed his willingness to eat, he thought, blushing slightly when the girls giggled.

"Do you mind waiting till Debbie returns from her break?" the teenager inquired, just as the door banged open, a drenched, redheaded waitress rushing into the diner.

"Fuck! It's colder than a witch's tits," she complained as she squelched her way over to their table. "I wasn't expecting the wild and wooly wet weather, or I would have grabbed my anorak on my way out the door."

"It's monkeys outside and the rain is sheeting down," Melanie concurred. "Those dark storm clouds came scudding in just as we were about to leave our house, so we bundled up in our trench coats. Otherwise, we'd be drowned rats, just like you."

"Winter is coming," Justin intoned solemnly, causing all three women to stare at him like he'd gone bonkers.

"What?" he defended himself. "George R. R. Martin's books are the bomb."

"Who's that?" Lindsay questioned in confusion.

"Just, like, the greatest fantasy author since Tolkien," the teen spluttered. "You really don't know about the Game of Thrones series?" He looked at the women in amazement.

"It's all the rage," Justin enthused. "Everyone at school is talking about it, even the teachers."

"Are the books perhaps designed for a young adult audience?" Lindsay inquired.

Justin couldn't decide how to respond to what was surely an unintentional insult. Linds couldn't possibly think of him as a young adult, could she?

The lesbian's eyes opened comically wide as it dawned on her that she'd lumped Justin in with kids in their early teens. "I didn't mean you, Justin," she hastily reassured the teen.

Waving away her apology, Justin raved, "Martin has constructed this complex world that's kind of like medieval Europe, with magic and supernatural creatures thrown in. What makes it so fascinating is the characterization, how no one's purely good or evil, and the multiple motivations behind each person's actions. Everyone really needs to band together to survive the long winter that's descending on them, but most of them are too busy fighting each other to pay heed to the coming danger. And it's definitely geared toward adults," the teen concluded, "what with lots of raunchy sex and violence."

"Doesn't sound all that different from real life," the redhead opined. "There's lots of fucking going on here in the neighborhood. No shortage of violence either."

"Not everything is about sex," Lindsay claimed, a rather prudish look on her face.

"Since when?" Debbie hooted. "It's scientific fact that a gay man thinks about sex every nine seconds. Isn't that right, Sunshine?" she inquired of the teen.

"Ehm, more like every five seconds?" Justin muttered, gazing at the floor as his face turned crimson.

"Babe, we think about sex too," Melanie remonstrated mildly. "In fact, we..."

Deb let out a mighty, "Achoo!" interrupting the conversation, and then sneezed loudly again.

Looking closely at the shivering redhead, Justin exclaimed, "Deb! You're wet to the bone."

"I know, Kiddo," Debbie acknowledged, sniffling miserably.

"Why don't you go home now, get out of those wet clothes, and warm up with a hot bath and a cuppa?" Justin suggested. When the waitress began to protest, the teen cajoled, "C'mon, Deb, you'd make me go home pronto if it was me getting ill, right?" 

"It's not the same," the woman mutinously mumbled.

"It's exactly the same," the teen insisted. "Let me help you," he begged. "I'm supposed to work until two o'clock anyhow, and it's easy enough for me to stay till four, when you would get off." When she still didn't look convinced, he gestured at the nearly empty diner, "There's next to no customers, and Harry will be here in less than two hours. We'll be fine. Go, please."

With the girls also urging her to go home and pamper herself, a stubborn Debbie finally acquiesced.

Standing up, Melanie offered, "Why don't I give you a ride?"

"Oh, hush, and sit back down," the redhead demurred. "It'll be just as fast for me to walk home; your car would be hydroplaning all over the road."

Justin helped Debbie into her anorak, gently teasing, "If you aren't up to snuff this evening, you should just supervise while Vic and I clean the attic."

"I'll be fine by then," Deb claimed, leaning over to peck the blond on the cheek before stepping out into the rain.

Justin gazed after Debbie as she walked down the sidewalk, feeling concerned about the motherly woman. From what he'd observed in the past week, she was always so busy taking care of others that she tended to neglect herself. He resolved to make sure she took it easy that evening, at the very least.

After coming back from the shops and a quick stop by the munchers', arms burdened by almost a dozen shopping bags, Brian flopped down on the floor in the middle of the loft. He had already ordered the necessary furniture, but it hadn't arrived yet, so he'd have to make do with the hardwood for now. Spreading the bags around himself, he began sorting the things he had bought. First, he decided to put away the coffee beans, hoping the coffee maker would arrive soon, so that he could brew a cup.

Next, the brunet unpacked the Egyptian cotton bed covers and towels - three sets of each. As he picked them up and headed for the bedroom, he made his customary detour around Justin's backpack, which the boy never failed to leave at the foot of the stairs. Brian slid the folded sheets into a drawer in his closet, before stowing the new towels into a bathroom cabinet. Making his way back into the living room, the brunet noticed that the rucksack he had avoided wasn't actually there. Huh. He could've sworn it had been exactly where it always was when he first saw the loft after the burglary. Had he imagined it? Or, he thought in annoyance, had Justin managed to sneak in and make away with it at some point during the past week? Brian realised that he had never actually asked the lad to return his key to the loft, so it was possible. The ad executive shook his head in disbelief; Justin really had some neck.

His thoughts were interrupted by his intercom. Establishing that it was the delivery service with his mattress, pillows, and duvets and not another group of burglars - now that he had stuff they could steal again - Brian buzzed them up. Two hunky blokes dragged in a rolled up king-size mattress and unpacked it for him. After he waved a couple bucks underneath their noses, they even agreed to roll up the old mattress, so he wouldn't have to do it himself when he auctioned it off. Brian immediately began making his bed, stretching a dark blue fitted sheet over the newly acquired mattress and slipping his new pillows and blankets into equally deep blue bed covers.

Not having much to do at the moment, the brunet flopped down on the bed, not really caring that he was messing up his earlier efforts at straightening the sheets. Staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, he began planning his week. He had to prepare for two client pitches, one on Monday afternoon and the other on Wednesday morning; then there was the staff meeting on Friday morning and a client dinner in the evening. Getting up to fetch his planner, he opened the little booklet up at the appropriate week, before coming to a halt. Thursday, the 16th of November was Michael's thirtieth birthday, and he hadn't even thought of what to get the man as a present. He normally just bought a few comic-related knick-knacks or some rare edition comic book, but this year he had completely forgotten about doing his usual research. It was understandable with what had been happening this past week, Brian reckoned, but Mikey was bound to be disappointed when he received some thoughtless junk instead of the usual well-thought-out gift.

He sighed, desperately requiring something to relax him during his deliberations. Wait, he had just the ticket. The brunet stooped down and reached into the compartment under his bed, retrieving a reefer. He held the joint under his nose, inhaling deeply, a blissful expression on his face. Thank fuck he'd made time to retrieve his toy box and stash from the safety deposit box at the bank. Now he'd be able to strategize.

After lighting the doobie, he flopped back onto his bed, taking a long toke. Determined to figure something out, the brunet started making a mental list of things Michael wanted - outside of superpowers, because not even Brian could swing that. His best friend had never had much ambition except for perhaps wishing to become a manager at the Big Q, but the adman could hardly help with that. Mikey had also once mentioned that he'd always imagined having a comic book store as a kid, but Brian was hardly going to invest in someone who had never even seen a business textbook, no matter how good of a friend they were. It probably wasn't anything Michael wanted anymore anyway. 

Brian racked his brain, trying to remember any of his recent conversations with his best friend, but he had been so stressed out lately that he had spent most of his time ignoring the man rather than listening to him. There was a foggy memory of Mikey begging Brian to accompany him to next year's Comic Con, but the ad executive could hardly take a several day holiday from work. 

Brian's planning was interrupted by another buzz of his intercom. This time there were two delivery guys at his door - one bearing a first-rate DeLonghi coffee maker and the other from Italian Moda, bringing furniture. After dealing with both men, again sparing a few dollars to have the machine installed and the furniture unboxed, Brian returned to his bed. There just had to be something that he could give his best friend, preferably something that would keep the man a little busy, so that he wouldn't be constantly hanging around him. Don't get him wrong, he genuinely cared for the older man, but he wasn't a hero, and it would be better for both of them if Mikey realised that. Brian mused that he had probably been a little too dependent on Michael, too, relying on the man to cart him around when he was drunk or high, regaling him with his sexual exploits. Small wonder, then, that his friend hadn't been able to let go. 

Maybe if Michael had a colleague who wasn't gay that he could depend on at work? Or a significant other he could confide in? A figurative light bulb appeared above his head as Brian grinned at his ceiling - why not give him both? He could throw Michael a birthday do as a present and invite someone who would make a good friend as well as some fit hunk that would make a good boyfriend.

Brian shifted frustratedly on the bed as he pondered how to break the news to the girl - what the heck was her name? - that Mikey was gay. Maybe he could track her down at the Big Q that evening, but he still had to figure out how to approach the matter. Ugh, dealing with heteros really wasn't his forte. What if whatshername outed Michael to the rest of his colleagues? That wouldn't be doing his friend any favours. So, Brian would have to chat with the girl to determine whether she could be trusted. The brunet tried to imagine how the conversation might go once he'd divulged that Mikey was gay. What could he say when the woman asked - as she was almost certain to do - why Brian was telling her this?

He could hardly claim that it was because he'd benefitted from being completely out and proud. Sure, he'd always been openly gay in the workplace, but he'd never had the balls to out himself to his parents. Other than Michael, Debbie, and Vic, none of his friends were even aware of what a coward he was in that respect. Telling himself it was bound to go badly was just an excuse. He still couldn't picture confronting his parents, however. Jack would probably throw a punch and roar at him to get out of the house, while Joan would start praying loudly to Christ and all the saints to lead Brian back to the path of righteousness.

Grimacing, the brunet shunted aside that unpleasant scenario. He'd deal with that another time. For now, he needed to help Michael. He firmly ignored the hypocrisy of helping Michael but not himself.

At that moment, he got another great idea - if he managed to find Dr David and somehow put him and Mikey back together, he would not only get his friend off his back, he would also get back into Debbie's good graces. She wasn't exactly angry, but she had been a bit shirty with him ever since Michael and David had broken up, thinking Brian was to blame. On top of that, perhaps if he had a chat with his best friend's girlfriend at the Big Q and invited her to the knees-up, Mikey would find a good friend he could confide in. It was time he came out to her anyroad; the poor lass was probably picking out baby names by now.

That was settled then, thought Brian; he would invite Dr David, the girl from the Big Q, and the gang, and Bob's your uncle, he had a present. He wouldn't actually have to buy more than just some ordinary comic book figurine then. They could celebrate at Michael and Emmett's flat - that way Brian wouldn't have to pay for a lounge; he could use Emmett's party planning hobby to his advantage; and wouldn't even have to join in on the clean-up. Happy he had everything figured out, Brian went to the kitchen and made himself a proper cup of coffee. The blunt had mellowed him out so much that he now needed the stimulation of caffeine before braving the Big Q.  

Justin delivered meals to a trio of university students who were working on a project together as well as topping up the coffee cup of an older gent who was perusing his newspaper. Then he carried a tray full of food and a pot of tea over to the girls' table. 

"I hope bangers and mash is okay," he stated as he set down the plates. "Fahad's the chef today, and he's gone all homesick for the years he lived in Dublin as a child."

"That's a fuckton of food," a nonplussed Melanie eyed her full plate askance.

"Don't worry. I'll help you with it," the teenager responded with a toothy grin. "Anyroad, you'll want to leave room for the bread and butter pudding. I tasted a spoonful and it's to die for."

"We can't pass that up," Lindsay readily agreed. "Our nanny used to make that for me and Lynette when we were little."

Spooning up a bit of mashed potato and gravy, Justin asked, "Is it okay if I feed Gus some of this? It's about as finely pureed as it gets."

"Aw, you wuv mash, don't you, my little lambskin?" Linds directed her cooing response to her son.

The teen did his best to hide a wince at the baby talk. He had hoped the girls were past that after last Sunday's dinner, but evidently Lindsay was backsliding. He really needed to spend additional time with Gus, interacting with him on a more adult level so his development wouldn't be stymied.

"Gosh, he's so good for you," Melanie observed when Gus eagerly swallowed a mouthful.

"Must be because I named him," the teen replied with a smug grin.

"And play with him, draw with him, eat with him..." Lindsay broke off, laughing when Justin lifted the next spoonful of creamy potato to his own mouth.

The tyke began to bang on his tray, opening his mouth for more.

After finely dicing a bit of the sausage and making sure Linds nodded in approval, Justin scooped up the meat and potato mixture before feeding it to Gus.

The little boy swallowed happily, a bit of juice dribbling down his chin.

"Good stuff, huh, Gus?" Justin conversed with the child, eating a few more bites himself.

"Brian will be thrilled that we've introduced Gus to diner cuisine," Melanie commented drolly, making the other two adults laugh.

"For all that he bitches about the food, he still eats here at least once, if not twice a day," Justin mentioned.

"Brian's diet is so ridiculous," Melanie sniffed in disdain. "I mean he won't touch Linds' delicious lasagne, kvetching about all the carbs, but then he'll come to the diner and sneak fries off his friends' plates. Talk about carbohydrate heaven."

Justin thought to himself that the brunet had probably just wanted to avoid that flavourless vegan pasta with the texture of cardboard and not carbs. Stifling a sigh of regret that Brian was no longer snitching chips off his plate, he dished up another mouthful of mash for the man's son.

"Oops! Runaway potato," the teen laughed as Gus batted at that spoonful before it reached his mouth, sending the meat and potato concoction flying into Justin's hair.

"Oh my God!" Melanie choked on a bit of sausage, clapping a hand to her mouth and whooping with laughter at the sight.

"Do you want a wet wipe?" a giggling Lindsay offered, reaching into her mammoth tote bag.

The blond accepted the moist tissue, gently wiping off the tyke's chin before dabbing at his hair. So much for Gus being on his best behavior with him...

Lindsay watched as Justin tried to remove the congealing mess, sighing enviously. "My son stole my hair. It used to be just like yours."

"Huh?" Justin blinked at Lindsay; he'd only ever seen her hair as it was now. How could Gus have stolen it anyway?

"It used to be just as thick and lustrous as yours," the blonde woman recollected, "until I got pregnant with Gus. Now it's flat and thin."

"Maybe it'll rebound once you stop breastfeeding?" Justin speculated. 

Melanie stared at the teen in astonishment. "The doctor told us there was a fifty-fifty chance of that happening. How could you know that?"

The teen shrugged in response. He'd had no clue if that might be the case, but Lindsay had looked so forlorn about her dulled hair that he had wanted to offer some comfort. Who knew he'd guess right?

"God, I hope that's true for me," Lindsay wished, running a hand through Justin's hair.

Her son apparently thought that was a great idea, one pudgy fist tugging at Justin's hair from the other side.

Melanie quickly pulled out her camera again, taking another snapshot and announcing, "That one goes on our mantelpiece."

"I guess I'll see it when I babysit," the teen offered, carefully disentangling Gus' fingers from his hair. "Speaking of babysitting, do you need me to watch him anytime soon? I miss my little buddy."

"Maybe in a week or so, just before Thanksgiving?" Lindsay proposed. "We've been thinking of going out on a date."

"Yeah," Melanie agreed, "we need to take some time for romance. We're so busy all the time, and we want to keep the spark alive."

Justin couldn't help but feel sad that there would be no such opportunity for him and Brian. Their relationship had ended practically before it had begun, while the lesbians had been together for six years.

Covering the teen's hand with her own, Lindsay commented, "You're welcome at our house anytime, you know. You can hang out with Gus, we can draw together, whatever you want."

Clearing his throat, Justin replied, "Thanks. You might get sick of me, you know."

"Never!" both women chimed in unison.

The rain and wind lessened as they finished eating their lunch, a few more queers trickling into the diner, so Justin got up to serve them after only a couple spoonfuls of pudding. Before the girls departed, each of them kissed the teen on the cheek, Melanie murmuring that she'd see him later that evening.

Brian meandered down the aisles at the Big Q, keeping an eye out for Mikey's little girlfriend. He sneered disdainfully at all the junk for sale, estimating most of it was made in China. It disconcerted him to remember a rare point of agreement with Jack, who'd thought that quality goods should be made in America rather than cheap substitutes being imported from other countries. Not that he'd hesitate to advertise junk, as long as he was paid enough, the adman mused; however, that was unlikely to happen with this garbage.

Dammit, trying to help Michael be honest with whatsherface had him dredging up thoughts of Jack again. Facing the bigoted, womanizing bully wouldn't be easy, if he could actually find the gumption. How the hell had that seventeen-year-old brat managed what Brian couldn't handle at nearly-? Brian quickly cut that thought off; no way was he going to think of that dreaded day. Besides, he had nearly three quarters of a year to go, while his best friend only had a few days of youth left.

The brunet's nervous thoughts skittered back to Jack and then to Joan. Why the fuck shouldn't he tell his parents he was gay? he wondered. They could hardly treat him more indifferently than they already did. But then again, for that selfsame reason, why should he out himself? He rarely saw either parent as it was. Ignoring the tiny voice whispering that he still craved his parents' love and acceptance, he shelved the topic. Really, it would be a waste of time, since it wouldn't change his life at all.

The situation with Michael was not the same, of course. Brian was altruistically doing his best to ensure that Mikey would have one friend on his side at work. Fuck, the man was fortunate to have a good friend like him to help out - the brunet had to pat himself on the back for his generosity.

With Michael in mind, the brunet continued to casually look around for whatshername. He wasn't even sure the girl was working, but he couldn't exactly page her via the intercom when he didn't remember her name. He certainly wasn't about to try describing her to that heavy-set blonde employee, who had leered at him and licked her chops as he'd entered the box store. Brian suspected that might have been the interfering fatty Michael often mentioned - Marcia, Laverne, some female name or other.

He'd only met Mikey's ‘girlfriend' in passing a couple months ago, when he'd been on the prowl, his focus on the trick he was pursuing. Brian's memory of her was therefore hazy; he mainly recalled that Michael had passed him off as his ‘gay' friend to a rubbernecking trio of girls gawping at the sights on Liberty Avenue. The adman had never appreciated being stared at as if he were some sort of sideshow freak simply because he was gay, so he had decided not to pay the scene much attention. 

The brunet had gotten a bit of petty revenge, making the girl think Michael was enamored of her. He'd only admitted to himself as he was planning the party this afternoon, that it had been a rather shitty thing of him to do to his best friend. If Brian could only figure out how to tell her that ‘Mike' wanted a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend, while still ensuring she would have Michael's back at work, everything would sort itself out.

"Do I know you?" someone suddenly inquired, startling Brian, who discovered he'd halted in the middle of an aisle and was staring at cartons of tampons, of all things.

Recoiling from those revolting packages, he turned and came face to face with Michael's ‘girlfriend'. "Uh," he grunted less than eloquently, having completely forgotten what he wanted to say to the woman.

"Oh, you're Mike's friend, Brian, aren't you?" she announced, recognition dawning on her face. "Did you want some help figuring out which brand to buy?" she motioned toward the feminine hygiene products. "For your mother or your sister?" she questioned brightly.

Fuck. As if he'd buy those things for his mother or sister, whose existence the brunet preferred to forget. Their cycle had probably long dried up anyway with how bitter they both were.

Brian didn't want to deal with any more difficult women today. He had yet to get the better of one single encounter. First there'd been the stone-faced Detective Wu, who'd completely intimidated him. Then Mel had practically thrown his clothes at him and shoved him out the door when he'd gone to collect his things at the House of Munch, with even Lindsay seeming quite enthusiastic about his departure as well. Now he'd somehow gotten himself into this ridiculous conversation, when it should have been relatively simple to deal with Mikey's ‘girlfriend'. 

"I was hoping to run into you," the brunet stated, ignoring the girl's question and steering her away from those despicable packets.

"Yes?" the young woman asked, tilting her head curiously.

Brian prompted, "Maybe there's somewhere we could talk privately?"

"We could go to the outdoor smoking area," she suggested uncertainly. "I doubt anyone's out there in this wintry weather."

"Perfect," the brunet muttered, "I could use a smoke." He motioned the saleswoman forward. "Lead the way."

"Let me just tell Marley I'm going on my break and grab my coat," she responded, jogging toward the front of the store. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Once they were outside, Brian immediately lit a cigarette, gratefully inhaling the nicotine into his lungs. 

The woman shook her head when he offered her one. "I don't smoke," she commented. A worried frown forming on her face, she inquired, "Is something wrong with Mike? Is that why you're here?"

Okay, maybe this would go over better if Brian shouldered some of the blame for the situation, he decided. "There's nothing wrong with Michael, but there's something important that he should have shared with you. And it's partly my fault that he hasn't done that." Ugh, the brunet thought, this was veering perilously close to an apology. Disgusting.

The girl stared at him in puzzlement, not uttering a word.

"I knew you fancied ‘Mike' when we met on Liberty Avenue," Brian explained, "but because I was pissed off at Michael, I told you that he liked you a whole lot."

Eyebrows rising, the woman hmmed, encouraging Brian to continue.

"Well, I kinda exaggerated," Brian confessed.

"What do you mean?" the salesgirl asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Michael thinks you're nice, but he's not interested in you as a girlfriend," Brian elaborated. Goddammit, how long was it going to take him to tell the woman Michael was gay?

"What are you on about?" she inquired suspiciously, backing away slightly. "Are you high or something?"

The way he was rambling, it really wasn't a surprise that the ‘girlfriend' couldn't fathom what the normally articulate adman was trying to spit out. She seemed to really care about Mikey, so he was going to have to take a chance and trust her. After a deep drag from his cigarette, he blurted, "Michael's gay."

"You what? I don't understand. Michael's not gay," the bewildered girl replied, backing up another step. "I mean, he told me how he's been your friend since high school, taking you to football games and all." She was beginning to look a bit desperate, as if she were trying to convince herself.

Fuck, Mikey had better appreciate the sacrifice Brian was making for him - setting foot inside the Big Q and dealing with a female on the verge of hysteria, all so his friend could have a straight ally in the workplace. "It's true that we've been friends since high school, but it's also true that we've both always been queer," Brian replied. 

"But why didn't he tell me? she implored. Whatsherface didn't say anything else for a couple of minutes as she assimilated what Brian had told her, finally sputtering, "Why did he lead me on? I made a fool of myself, thinking he was interested in me."

"He didn't know if he could trust you," Brian bluntly declared. "He feels bad for leading you on, but he's in a no-win situation; the Big Q isn't exactly queer-friendly and with the potential promotion... He won't have any chance of becoming a manager if the higher-ups find out Michael's gay." 

The woman's face flushed with anger. "He should have told me himself," she accused, "rather than sending you to do it for him."

What a fucked-up situation. Now the girl thought Brian was Mikey's errand boy. "Michael doesn't know I'm here," the ad exec gritted out, "so please don't spread it around that Michael's gay. He does value you as a friend, and since he's never had a straight friend, I hoped you would have his back at work."

"Maybe. Mike should have been honest with me. I don't..." The woman paused, clearly trying to gather her wits. "I don't know what to think or do."

"Look," Brian offered, "I'm throwing a surprise party for Michael's thirtieth birthday this coming Thursday. You're invited - you could talk to him then and sort it out." He pressed a card into the woman's hand. "This is the address for the place the party is being held; I've written my mobile number beneath it. You can call me if you need directions. The party starts at eight o'clock."

When she didn't respond, the ad exec abruptly turned on his heel and walked away. Not the best pitch he'd ever given, but Brian had done what he needed to do. Now it was up to the girl - and Michael.

The brunet was shaking his head as he got into his jeep, realizing he'd just had a lengthy conversation with the now ‘ex-girlfriend' without ever knowing the woman's name. That had to be a first. The stud was rather horrified at how he'd fumbled, but he'd been thrown off by doing something so atypical for him. He could much more easily envision a scenario in which he would have pushed Mikey out of the closet by inviting the ‘girlfriend' to the party, ignorant of what she would encounter, and let the chips fall where they would. If he'd just slept on it before approaching the girl, it undoubtedly would have gone much more smoothly.

When Justin got home shortly after four o'clock, he was more than ready to tackle the attic again. The diner had still been quiet when he'd left, and although Justin had enjoyed chatting with Harry, there really hadn't been enough to keep the two of them occupied. They'd even ended up thoroughly cleaning the coffee maker, which had gleamed so brightly by the time they were done that it had been difficult to believe it was the same machine. "We'd better watch out," Harry had quipped. "We're bound to get complaints that the coffee doesn't taste right anymore. I remember my granny ragging on my mum after she scoured the Brown Betty one time; claimed the tea was off and refused to drink another cuppa brewed in that pot for at least a month."

"You're pulling my leg, right?" he had gaped at Harry, who could be quite the prankster.

"Nope. True story," the other waiter had insisted and then, shrugging, he'd added, "I guess you have to be a tea connoisseur to understand."

Justin smiled, remembering that story as he entered the living room, where Gay as Blazes was blaring from the telly. Vic stood up, tromped across the room, and turned off the television, grousing, "What a bunch of drivel. It's so goddamn PC that the characters are completely wooden and not at all representative of actual fags."

"Pure tripe," Debbie hawked out - along with some phlegm - from the couch, where she was curled up underneath a gaudy purple and pink afghan. She groped around for a Kleenex, bringing it to her lips to clean up the mucous.

His brow furrowing, the teen set down the bag filled with bangers and mash - as well as more pudding for dessert, this time with the added fillip of whiskey. Fahad really had overdone it with the home cooking and had pleaded with Justin to take some of it off his hands. The blond had been happy to comply since that meant none of them would need to make time to cook dinner.

Justin moved toward the redhead and leaned down to place the back of one hand against her forehead, relieved when Debbie didn't seem to have a fever. He was surprised, though, that the fiery redhead didn't slap his hand away and make an acerbic comment about how she didn't need looking after.

Before he could ask Debs if she had a fever, Vic harrumphed, "I finally got Sis to take her temperature a few minutes ago. Just above normal, but I'm worried about the cough that has gotten much worse in the last couple of hours."

"I'm right here," the redhead protested weakly, the usual vigor missing from her voice.

"And ‘right here' is where you'll be staying, mia sorella," Vic confirmed.

"I want to help," Debbie fretted, even as her eyes began to close.

"We'll show you all the treasures we find," Justin assured his surrogate mother, her lips curving upward in response, just before she emitted a soft snore.

"Was that crazy Arab homesick for his Irish roots again?" Vic inquired, appreciatively inhaling the tantalizing aromas wafting from the bag the teen was carrying toward the kitchen.

"He's from Iran, Vic, not one of the Arab countries," the blond chided as he placed the various containers in the fridge. "Plus, he became an Irish citizen years ago." 

"I like to get his dander up by calling him an Arab," Vic countered with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. "It gives the bloke a chance to lecture me about the differences between Persians and Arabs - which he never hesitates to do."

Justin had to laugh at the older man's shenanigans. "It is true Fahad likes to talk about his heritage," he chuckled, "even claims he's descended from Mandana and King Cyrus the Great."

"And Agassi's his cousin," Vic chortled as they climbed the stairs to the attic, a couple bottles of beer he'd appropriated to ‘wet their whistles' in his hands.

"Harry says the guy does play a mean game of tennis," the blond related, chuckling.

"Must be kin then," Vic jested with a tongue-in-cheek smirk.

Justin was startled to see Brian's trademark expression on Vic's face for the first time. Had Brian picked it up from the older man? It was possible - as far as the teen knew - Vic being the only true father figure his ex-lover had ever known. Dammit, the teen castigated himself, he was thinking about Brian again. He was sure that he thought about the brunet even more frequently than the five-second intervals in which he thought about sex. Then again, he snorted to himself, Brian and sex were pretty much inextricable from one another.

Resolutely pushing aside thoughts of his ex-lover for the umpteenth time that day, he resumed, "I asked Fahad if he wouldn't like to be an American citizen, and he said he's fine with a green card. Ireland may not be the best country for queers, but he doesn't think it's much better in the U.S."

"He's probably right," Vic somberly conceded as he pulled a dust mask over his face. "It hasn't been all that long since Matthew Shepard was murdered."

"Fuck," Justin shuddered, "that was a huge topic at St. James two years ago. The consensus among the faculty and most of the students, though, was that he was asking to be killed - just because he was gay," Justin concluded bitterly.

"At least the two students who killed him were given life sentences," Vic declared. "It was a rare occasion when justice was done, even though it was too little, too late." He turned toward Justin and placed his hands on the youth's shoulders, stating seriously, "You know, Kiddo, you look a bit like Shepard. I want you to promise me that you'll be careful, that you won't let yourself get bashed by homophobes."

Shaken, the young man croaked out, "I'll be as careful as possible, Vic. But I can't just give into the bullies. Otherwise, nothing will ever change."

"I know that," Vic admitted, "but it would break my heart - and Deb's - if something happened to you. So you need to promise me that you'll think twice before you act. Okay?"

"Okay," Justin promised, blinking away tears. He was incredibly grateful that Vic and Debbie loved him just as much as he loved them.

"Now, enough of this mushy shit." Vic bumped Justin's shoulder with his own. "Let's get this attic shipshape for Debs, shall we?"

The two men set to work, heaping more stuff onto the trash and sale stacks, setting aside a few things for the redhead to examine, and adding a couple of items to replace in the attic.

After they'd been sifting through boxes for about an hour, Vic pulled out an old corset, which he pretended to don, swanning around in his best Marlene Dietrich impression.

The teen sagged back onto the old writing desk he'd been polishing and fended off the femme fatale. "I'm sorry, miss," he gasped between gusts of laughter, "but I only like men."

"Why then, I shall be a man," ‘Marlene' declared in a deep voice, discarding the corset and advancing on the giggling teen with a lecherous expression. Vic proceeded to tickle Justin with the feather duster until he begged for mercy.

After helping the red-faced blond stand up from where he'd been sprawled across the roll-top desk, Vic swatted the younger man on the bum and playfully ordered, "Back to work, you laggard."

"This desk is so cool," Justin gushed as he rolled back the top of the desk, exposing all sorts of cubbyholes.

"It was Nonna's pride and joy," Vic revealed. "Nonno had a paint shop, and Nonna did the bookkeeping. My grandfather could match colors like no one's business," he reminisced. "He'd take a look at a paint chip, the wall of a house, or a swatch of cloth, and the next thing you knew - Presto! - he'd mixed that exact hue."

"What happened to the shop?" Justin asked curiously.

"The Great Depression happened," Vic replied. "Because Nonno was an established businessman, the bank actually offered to carry the mortgage until he could make payments again, but he was too proud to let that happen. He insisted on travelling around the eastern seaboard, picking up whatever kind of work he could find so he could send money to Nonna to feed the kids."

"Those must have been incredibly hard years," Justin commiserated. "I can't imagine not having enough to eat." A shudder rippled through the lad's slender frame as he briefly wondered whether he might have gone hungry if he'd actually fled to New York after the burglary. 

"The Grassis are a tough lot," Vic announced. "We always survive."

While Vic was talking about his grandparents, Justin had been poking through the old desk. "What's this?" he asked, pulling a photo album out of one of the drawers and flipping it open on the escritoire.

"That's the family album, with photos of my great-grandparents, grandparents, and parents," Vic exclaimed, taking the book from the teen. "I wonder how it ended up in this old roll-top. I remember Sis turning the house upside down a couple years ago trying to find this scrapbook." Vic turned the pages until he was almost at the back of the album, before pointing toward a proudly smiling couple holding a baby in their arms. "That's Nonno and Nonna with Papa."

"You really take after your grandad, Vic," Justin noted as he examined the black and white photo.

"Only better looking," Vic joshed, brushing his thumb across the picture. "Salt of the earth," he murmured to the photo of his grandparents before closing the book. "Deb's going to be so chuffed that you found this album, Sunshine. It's bound to make her feel better."

Justin smiled happily as Vic set the album on top of the other items they wanted to show Deb. As the older man moved deeper into the attic, the teen noticed that a photo had fallen out of the back of the album. He picked it up, meaning to replace it, but stopped as he examined the beaming trio in the picture. He recognized the younger, teenage versions of Debbie and Vic and figured the other youngster must be a cousin, since there seemed to be a family resemblance.  

As he gazed at the photo, Justin couldn't help but notice how happy the three teens looked. A drawing based off the picture would make a great Christmas present for Debbie and Vic, the blond decided. He felt a bit guilty about borrowing the picture, but the photo was much more recent than the others in the album, so he didn't think it would be missed. And he'd return it immediately after the siblings opened the gift. His conscience assuaged, Justin placed the photo inside the notebook he'd carried up to the attic for purposes of making an inventory. He was compiling two separate lists - one of items for sale, and a full record of what was stored in the attic.

The two men made quite a bit of progress over the next hour and a half and were considering taking a break for dinner, when a loud rumble from Justin's stomach decided the matter. 

"Good lord, I didn't realize you'd brought home enough food to feed an Army," Vic claimed a few minutes later, opening the fridge door and staring at the numerous containers on the shelves. "This is more food than Sis makes for three meals," the stunned man professed.

"Yeah, I know. Fahad went a little nuts," Justin disclosed, grabbing some of the cartons to heat up the food. 

"That crazy Arab must have taken into account that you're a growing boy," Vic joked.

"I wouldn't mind a few more inches," the blond ruefully admitted. Immediately realizing what he'd just said, he stuttered, "Ehm, no, that is... I mean, I have plenty of inches there." Vic just laughed uproariously as his face got progressively redder.

It didn't take the men long to polish off the sausages and potatoes, before scarfing down some of the butter and bread pudding. "Fuck," Justin observed, "that whiskey really does make it better."

"I think Fahad must have gotten out his private stock of Irish," Vic noted, "just for you, Kiddo."

"He can do that anytime," the teen declared, pleasantly stuffed after two heaping servings of the main course followed by two sizable helpings of dessert.

Before heading back upstairs, the two men checked on Debbie to be sure she was resting comfortably.

Even with the dust masks, both men had sneezing fits when they reached the far end of the attic. The fine particles of grime were layered particularly thickly in that area, and what seemed like whole tumbleweeds of dust were rolling about. "Shit," Vic complained, "I wonder when anyone was last back here. Must've been before the war or something."

They uncovered various Christmas decorations, which they stacked near the entrance to the attic. Those would come in useful in less than a month, they agreed. Justin then remarked in perplexity as he withdrew a battered tin box, "This doesn't look like it belongs here." The teen scraped at the edge of the container, where the lid had rusted to the body of the metal casing, with the point of the pocketknife Vic had handed him.

The lid suddenly sprang open, dumping a few pieces of pasteboard into the teen's lap. "These look like old baseball cards," Vic squinted at the two badly faded, dog-eared ones on top of the small pile, "but I can't tell who they're supposed to be."

Thumbing through more of the cardboard squares, Justin halted in shock, a strangled "Holy Shit!" escaping as he held the card out toward the older man.

"I'll be damned," Vic breathed out, goggling at the item. "That's an autographed Babe Ruth baseball card in mint condition - must be worth a pretty penny. That's some treasure you own, Sunshine."

"Huh?" the bewildered teen grunted. "It's not mine."

"It is," Vic insisted. "Deb promised you your pick of whatever treasures we unearthed."

Justin hadn't been able to tear his gaze away from the card. Wouldn't that be the perfect gift for Molly to display with her signed baseball? It didn't belong to him, though. "I can't take advantage of Debbie like that," the blond protested, "this must be worth hundreds of dollars."

"Probably thousands," Vic countered. "That looks like an original to me, not a repro." 

"It can't be that valuable," the teen argued, his stomach roiling as he realized the signed baseball his dad had given Molly must have cost even more. It still hurt so damned much, the way Craig completely favored his daughter over his son.

When Justin attempted to hand the card to Vic, the man backed away. "Like I said Sunshine, it's yours," he repeated.

The blond huffed, "Fine. I'll simply give it to Debs." It was just as well he couldn't accept the card, he decided. He'd be torn between saving it for Molly as a Christmas gift, or selling it and depositing the money to pay off Brian. Justin carefully set the card back inside the tin and placed the tin atop the writing desk, which now resided near the entrance to the attic.

"Good luck," Vic cackled. "You'll need it to change Sis' mind."

The teen was certain Debbie wouldn't quibble. The card was hers, and the money from it would come in handy. Ignoring Vic's knowing look, he returned to sorting out the attic.

At half seven, the men finally finished cleaning and then took turns to tote five large, heavy-duty trash bags down the stairs, dumping them next to the outdoor dustbin. The items for sale had been neatly stacked along one wall, while the furniture, boxes, and other things that were being retained had been organised and neatly labelled to make them easy to locate. They carried the things for Deb to examine on one last trip down the stairs, placing them near the kitchen table.

"My aching back," Vic moaned, trying to work out the kinks, his bones popping as he twisted and turned.

"You're just getting old and creaky," Justin teased, skipping backward when Vic swatted at him.

"You'll pay for that," Vic threatened playfully.

"Only if you catch me," the teen jested, dashing toward the bathroom, where he took a quick shower when he noticed Vic hadn't attempted to chase after him. He luxuriated in the hot water, grateful the technician had easily been able to easily repair the furnace late that morning - something to do with a clogged valve, according to Vic. After removing the grit from his skin, he changed into fresh sweats and a tee. He then bounded down the stairs to the kitchen to heat up dinner for Debbie, while Vic took his turn at washing up.

"C'mon, Debs, wake up," the blond gently shook the redhead's shoulder.

"Go 'way," she grumbled, burrowing deeper into the sofa.

The teen cajoled, "You'll feel better if you eat something; you need to keep up your strength." His persistence finally paid off, as he convinced Debbie to get up and move to the dining table. 

Deb sipped at the tea Justin had brewed, while the blond dished up some of the potatoes and sausage, also taking a serving for himself. "Keep drinking," he urged, "the catechins will do you good."

"The what?" Debbie mumbled.

"They're antioxidants in green tea that'll help you fight off that cold," Justin explained as he sat down next to the redhead. "Besides, the tea tastes good, and it'll keep you warm."

"Okay, you little know-it-all," Deb acquiesced, sipping more avidly at her tea when she saw Justin enjoying a cuppa himself.

Once the redhead had become more alert, Justin opened the tin with the baseball card and pushed it across the table toward her.

"Babe Ruth," she immediately identified the baseball player, before reminiscing, "Nonna had a bit of a crush on him, and Nonno revelled in teasing her about it."

"Maybe your Nonno bought it for her?" Justin speculated. "You'll have to determine whether you want to sell it or keep it as a family heirloom."

"I may have a cold, Sunshine, but I'm not senile," Debbie claimed. "I'm not going to let you welch on our deal."

"What deal?" the flabbergasted teen shrilled.

"The one where you get the pick of the treasures from the attic," the redhead replied, examining Justin shrewdly.

"Well, then, I'll choose something else," Justin declared, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nope, ‘pick' means ‘best,'" Debbie adamantly rejoined. "Tsk, tsk, Sunshine, I thought you'd know that, being so good at English and all."

"Nice try, Kiddo," Vic wisecracked from behind Justin, his eyes twinkling as he moved toward the table. "I told you Sis wouldn't take it."

"But... but..." the teen sputtered, at a loss for words. How could they just give him this valuable card as if it were no big deal?

"It's yours, Kiddo," Deb reiterated. "Not only are you a big help to me and Vic, you're our family." Deliberately changing the subject, she pushed her mug toward the teen, "How about another cuppa? It's definitely perking me right up."

At half eight, as the three of them were oohing and aahing over the delicious, whiskey-laced pudding, the doorbell rang.

"Shit," Justin exclaimed loudly, "I forgot Melanie was coming over." All his worries about not being able to open a bank account and establish himself as an independent adult came rushing back, causing the lad to wring his hands nervously.

"Easy, Sunshine, she's on your side," Debbie assured the teenager as Vic went to answer the door.

"Hiya, Mel," the young man squeaked, giving a little wave as the lawyer entered the kitchen, briefcase in hand. He wondered for a moment if they might have cranked the heat up too high as a bead of perspiration trickled down his face. Surreptitiously blotting his chin, he noted that no one else seemed affected - must've been all because he was so anxious.

"Can I get you some tea and pudding?" he offered, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste to stand up. He quickly grabbed the back of the chair, the legs dragging across the linoleum as he righted it, making a squealing noise. "Geesh," the embarrassed young man muttered to himself; he was rarely so clumsy.

"Ta, no pudding - I'm stuffed from dinner - but tea sounds good," the lawyer replied. "I could use a cuppa to warm me up; it's even colder now than it was earlier."

"Looks like it might snow... I can feel it in my tennis elbow," Vic joked, cradling his left elbow as if it were paining him.

"Hah!" Deb exclaimed, "As if. I remember the time we took a tennis lesson together... When you went to serve, you nailed that poor instructor in the nuts with your racket."

"Really?" Justin wheezed, the light-hearted camaraderie relaxing him. "How'd you manage that?"

"I had a helluva backswing," Vic deadpanned. "Seriously, I'm not sure how it happened, but I never was much of an athlete."

"My friend Millie, who was dating the bloke back then, figured it served him right since she'd just found out he was two-timing her," Debbie cackled, setting off another round of laughter.

"Pour me a cuppa, would ya, Sunshine?" Vic requested. "I'm going to park myself in front of the telly and get ready for The X-Files. Mulder's kinda hot, and I want to find out whether Scully succeeds in tracking down her missing partner."

Once Vic had ambled off to the living room, Justin poured tea for Melanie before topping up Debbie's and his cups. Swallowing hard, he looked directly at the lesbian and asked, "So what's the scoop about the bank account?"

The attorney opened her briefcase and took out some papers. "As I mentioned on the phone, the simplest option would be for you to open an account with a parent. Are you sure that's not a possibility, maybe with your mum?" she queried.

"Um, no, that won't work," he stuttered. "My mum wouldn't do that without my dad's permission. Plus, she'd be sure to try and use it to control me, pressure me to recant my gayness."

Frowning in distaste at that, the lawyer declared, "We'll scotch that idea, then. I also looked into emancipation, but that wouldn't do much good, since you wouldn't have the legal status of an adult, and you still wouldn't be able to open a bank account. Lastly, I researched legal guardianship, thinking you might like to have Debbie for a guardian. She could open an account with you."

"Fuck, yes," the redhead interjected passionately, "Let's do that. I'd be happy to be Sunshine's guardian. He's already another son to me." Motioning toward Justin, she claimed, "We've already got that in loco parentis thing going, as far as I'm concerned."

Justin felt tears prickling in his eyes as he reached over to take Debbie's hand in his own. He didn't think he'd done anything special to make her feel that way, but he was fucking grateful to have this incredible woman on his side.

The legal beagle looked at the two of them with a soft smile on her face, before clearing her throat and elaborating, "While you could petition for guardianship, Justin, it would be much simpler with a letter of consent from your parents. You'd still need to file a petition - preferably accompanied by the consent letter - with the courts and pay a processing fee, though. That would be followed by interviews with your parents and other concerned parties, including you, the minor child." At the teen's crestfallen expression, she continued, "It's not as bleak as it may sound. The courts usually rule in the best interests of the child, so I think you'd win the case."

"How long would that take?" Justin snorted. "Months? Heck, I'd probably be eighteen before the courts made a determination."

"It probably would be a lengthy process," Melanie agreed, "and likely not worth your while."

"Are we just supposed to sit around with our thumbs up our asses until Sunshine turns eighteen?" Debbie complained irately. "That's simply not acceptable."

"I did come up with a possible solution," the bulldyke divulged. "I wouldn't normally recommend this since it wouldn't be legally binding and would require that both parties implicitly trust each other, but..."

"What is it?" the teenager probed, ready to accept almost any idea by this point.

"Debbie, you could set up a bank account into which you'd deposit Justin's wages," Melanie suggested. "When Justin turns eighteen, you'd close the account and hand the money over to him, and he could then open his own account."

"That's brill!" Debbie gushed, squeezing the teen's hand tightly and wondering bemusedly, "Why the flaming heck didn't we think of that? What do you say, Sunshine? I promise, I wouldn't touch a penny."

"I... I, yeah, that would work," Justin stuttered, dazed that they'd found a workable solution. "Shit, Deb, of course I trust you - I couldn't ask for a better surrogate mother." Standing up, the teen enveloped first Debbie and then Melanie in a hug, whispering, "Thank you," in the lawyer's ear.

"My pleasure, Justin," she murmured in return. When the vastly relieved, beaming teen sat back down, she advised, "A savings or money market account would probably be best, since you'd accrue interest, but I'll leave that up to the two of you to decide. Does either of you have any other questions?"

"Will I still need my birth certificate to open an account?" Justin wondered. "I know the personal banker mentioned it, but I can't remember if I'm required to show it once I'm eighteen."

"Hmm," the lawyer mused, "although you shouldn't need it to open an account, it is an important document to have on hand. I do strongly recommend that you obtain the original."

"Okay," the teen replied unenthusiastically. Shit, he'd have to contact his mum anyway, something he'd been hoping to postpone for quite some time, especially after their last stilted conversation.

"Anything else?" Mel asked with a sympathetic smile, obviously realizing Justin wasn't keen on calling his mum.

"No, that-" the blond abruptly stopped speaking, his brow furrowing. "I don't know if you can answer this, but will I be able to cash my paychecks from the diner, what with not having a bank account?"

"No, I don't think you will be able to," the attorney answered after a few moments, "although I'll check into it and give you a definitive answer in the next couple of days."

"Well, shit, how's the lad supposed to deposit his paycheck then?" Debbie asked the question that was bothering Justin.

"It will probably be easiest for him to endorse the check to you," Melanie suggested, "and then you can deposit it."

"That okay with you, Kiddo?" Debbie inquired.

"I just want to be able to deposit it, that's all I care about," the teen affirmed, before sighing. "Heck, Melanie, you're a lifesaver," he praised.

"How about another brew, Mel?" Debbie offered. With a wink at the blond, she added, "Sunshine says it cures all ills."

"Tea does that," the lesbian laughingly agreed, "but if I drink any more, I'm going to end up like Tycho Brahe. Besides, she confided, I want to get home to Lindsay. It's the first night we've had to ourselves in a week."

"Oh?" Justin's ears pricked up in interest. Could that mean-

As that thought was forming, Melanie related, "Brian has finally moved back to the loft after the police released it to him this morning."

Justin felt a surge of relief at that announcement. Now he could visit the girls and Gus as much as he wanted, without worrying about running into the temperamental brunet. Dealing with his ex-lover was just too stressful, particularly since the teen couldn't guess whether the man would even speak to him on a given day.

Melanie fumed, "That man had the nerve to claim he'd need to have his designer duds fumigated when he picked them up this afternoon - like Linds and I have fleas or something."

A snort escaped the teen, which he quickly turned into a cough to hide his amusement. He could just imagine what sort of ‘fleas' Brian was worried about. 

"Anyroad," Melanie summed up, "the minute his backside was out the door, I ran out to purchase a bottle of champagne. We're going to celebrate tonight!"

Accompanying her to the entryway shortly after that, the blond helped Melanie into her coat, before opening the door to find a layer of white on the ground. "Huh, I guess Vic's tennis elbow did predict the weather correctly," he stated in surprise. Looking at Melanie in concern, he queried, "Will you be okay to drive home?"

"Oh, I'll be fine. There's not much traffic at this time on a Sunday night, and the snow's not very thick yet. The traffic's going to be chock-a-block tomorrow, though, Pittsburghers having forgotten how to drive in the snow since last winter."

After watching to make sure Melanie got underway safely, Justin decided he'd better catch an earlier bus the next morning. The lesbian was undoubtedly right that the traffic was going to be horrible the next day, and the teen didn't want to get in trouble for arriving late at St. James.

Once he was in bed that night, the teen found his thoughts drifting toward a certain brunet. Well, why not fantasize as he pleased? It wasn't as if his ex-lover would ever know.

That decided, Justin slipped into a memory of wielding Brian's favourite glass dildo, the one that was almost as long and thick as the blond's member. He briefly regretted returning the red dildo he'd received as a ‘tip' to ‘The Promised Land,' although it had been the only choice at the time. Maybe once he started his second job, he would purchase a toy for himself.

Recreating that scene with Brian in his mind, Justin remembered slowly prepping the brunet with well-lubed fingers, while licking his way up and down the man's shaft. The teen could almost hear the sensuous moans and groans that had come out of the brunet's mouth. He'd been anything but silent.

Beginning to stroke his cock more rapidly, the blond grunted a drawn-out "Fuuuck" in unison with imaginary Brian, visualizing himself inserting the tip of the dildo into the brunet's hole.  

He could feel himself gradually swallowing the brunet down, pushing the glass phallus into his lover at the same pace. When he brushed against Brian's prostate, a steady paean of, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," issued from the man's mouth. 

Justin's hand began flying up and down, picturing the look of ecstasy on Brian's face as he pulled the toy out and then pushed it back in. The delicious taste of the brunet's pre-come flooded his mouth, and he screamed, "Bri!" as he exploded, not thinking at all about muffling the noise.

Who needed a dildo? he wondered muzzily as he fell into a sound sleep. His imagination worked just fine.