"Ugh, I swear every single pore in my skin is sweating," Sydney complained, wiping off her damp palms on her uniform skirt as the queue inched forward.

"I know, right?" Daphne agreed. "I'm so freaking nervous. If my results on the SAT are bad, my mum will kill me. My dad might even help-"

"How do you think they would do it? Chop you up and feed you to a pack of wild dogs?" the blonde pom-pom girl inquired, gruesome relish dripping from her words.

Justin shivered, no longer bored. He was going to have nightmares if Syd kept this up. He didn't want to say anything and look like a wuss, though.

Fortunately, he was spared that indignity when Sydney reached the front of the line. "Name?" a man with a badge on his jacket, identifying him as a monitor with the Educational Testing Service, asked.

"Sydney Thompson."

The man scanned a list affixed to the clipboard he had in his hand. "Show me a picture ID, please."

Sydney extracted her driver's license and held it up.

After making a check mark on the list, the guy asked, "Do you have a cell phone with you?"

The cheerleader gave him a ‘duh' look, as if wondering who wouldn't have their mobile with them, before nodding. "Yeah."

"Sign here."

As she did so, the bloke motioned toward a table behind him. "Print your name on one of those envelopes, put your phone inside it, and add it to the bin we've provided."

"Why?" Syd asked, puzzled.

"Students aren't permitted to receive or make calls during the test," the man replied. "Collecting your mobiles ensures that won't happen."

Sydney shrugged and moved over to the table.

Once Daphne had gone through the same process, it was Justin's turn. "Uh, I don't have a cell phone," he admitted, a little embarrassed as he glanced at the growing pile in the plastic bin - he was probably the only one sans mobile.

The man frowned, cautioning, "You'll be disqualified if you do use a cell phone during the test and will have to petition the Educational Testing Service before you're allowed to take the SAT again."

Justin shrugged. He couldn't produce a phone he didn't have. "Uh, it was stolen," he mumbled. That sounded better than saying he'd lost it, the lad thought.

His stern expression relaxing, the monitor directed, "In that case, just step over to the table, and one of my colleagues will show you to your seat."

Justin hovered awkwardly next to the table, glancing around the testing classroom, which was really just two of the larger classrooms combined, with the accordion wall pushed to one side. He'd just spotted Daph at the back of the room when another monitor approached, asked his name, and then led him to a seat near the front of the classroom.

The boy looked at the booklets on his desk and swallowed hard. One contained the test questions, and the other was to be used for his answers, the monitor explained, telling him not to open either booklet until instructed to do so. For the first time that morning, he felt a bit of trepidation about the SAT, and waited impatiently for the rest of the senior class to be checked in and seated.

It was eight thirty before the check-in process was complete and the test coordinator, an older woman with a no-nonsense look about her, could begin her spiel. She guided them through entering their personal details - full name, date of birth, and mailing address - in the answer booklet, reading the instructions verbatim in a monotone voice, and almost putting Justin to sleep; she could out-drone even Mr Süc, his IT teacher, the blond boy thought a trifle hysterically. He heard jaws cracking around him as other students yawned and shifted in their chairs in an effort to stay awake.

"You may now ask questions about testing procedures," she stated a good fifteen minutes later. "Since I cannot answer questions about test content, please refrain from asking about it."

"Are the maths questions about, like, arithmetic?" a wiseacre immediately called out.

A number of students laughed, and the tension in the room eased a bit.

"You'll find out soon, I suspect," came the swift response. "Any other questions?"

Another student piped up, "Can I use the restroom, like, now? I need to go."

Justin groaned as he recognised the voice.

"There will be three breaks," the coordinator reiterated the information she had already provided. "The first one will be in approximately one hour and ten minutes, after the reading comprehension section, and will be five minutes in duration." Ignoring the wordless whine of protest from the full-bladdered girl, she continued, "After the writing and language section - that's grammar, vocabulary, and editing skills for those who remain blissfully unaware of the contents of the SAT - there will be a second, longer break for ten minutes, before the mathematics part of the test commences."

Justin blinked in surprise at the hint of amusement, the only evidence that the spare, severely-dressed woman possessed a sense of humour. He wasn't sure anyone else even picked up on it.

The coordinator paused to consult a list before concluding, "There will be one final five-minute break before the optional essay, which the administration has informed me all of you will be writing. During the breaks, you may visit the restroom or eat a snack. You will not, however, be permitted to use your mobile phones, which we have confiscated to prevent you from texting for assistance during the test."

Why anyone would waste time keying a message on the multi-tap, alphanumeric keypad, Justin had no clue, but it had apparently happened before.

"But like, how can I call my dad to tell him when to pick me up?" a boy seated near Justin inquired.

Justin barely refrained from rolling his eyes. The test coordinator must think she was dealing with a senior class comprised of morons.

"Your cell phones will be returned afterwards," she explained with a little bit of ‘duh' in her tone. "After we have told you to stop writing, your essays have been collected, and you've been dismissed," she then specified patiently.

She must've had to answer equally idiotic questions every time she administered the SAT, Justin figured.

"Any other questions?" The testing coordinator looked around the room. "No? Then I suggest we begin."

"This is getting to be a habit," Ted remarked, "me giving you a ride."

"The only place you'll ever give me that kind of ride is in your dreams, Theodore," Brian immediately retorted.

A beater that had been parked in front of the office building where Wertshafter's accounting firm was housed pulled out as they approached in Ted's Mercedes, and the accountant smoothly guided his vehicle into the spot. This was the reason he'd asked for a ride, Brian mused sourly; it was the only way to relive the glory days of his once-infallible parking karma.

"I meant in my car," Ted chuckled.

That didn't really clarify matters, unless the older man- "Don't tell me you've never done it in your car," Brian said, appalled, his mind veering to the ‘rides' he'd given a certain blond twat in his jeep. On one memorable occasion, they'd even found a relatively isolated spot where they could reverse things, Justin topping him, the chance that they'd be discovered - and recognised - adding spice to the adventure.

"Not since college. Even then, it was a last resort. Fucking uncomfortable," Ted punned, "banging into the gearshift, steering wheel, and whatnot."

"I bet you wouldn't notice any of that if you were steaming up the windows with your professor," Brian commented slyly.

"Hmm." Ted turned off the engine and looked thoughtfully around the spacious interior of his sedan. "Maybe..."

Certain that ‘Bented' would soon be enjoying a bout of car sex, Brian made a mental note to let the professor know who to thank as he got out of the Mercedes. 

As the two men pushed through the glass door and stepped into the foyer, they encountered a jowly, bespectacled man with grey hair who was escorting a woman in a pantsuit toward them.

"Mr Wertshafter," Ted politely greeted his former boss.

"I told you to call me Bert," the businessman chided. "Now that you're no longer my employee, it won't set a bad example."

Wertshafter had outstretched a hand toward Brian when the woman laughed, "My husband can be a bit of a stickler for propriety. If you want to shake him out of acting like a fuddy-duddy, just call him Hildy."

"You're the only one who gets away with that nickname," Hildebert objected, holding the door open for her.

"That's because you can't sack me." his wife replied with another tinkling laugh as she waltzed out the door.

Wertshafter ruefully shook his head. "Now you can see why I don't share my first name with my employees."

They'd have a field day if the man did, Brian thought, wincing. What a horrible first name to be lumbered with.

"And I thought ‘Theodore, Ted for short' was boring," Ted blurted, a horrified expression on his face.

"I'd suggest we trade first names, but I suspect it's a bit too late for that," Wertshafter commented drily as he ushered the men toward a glassed-in room, where Brian could see two other people sitting at a conference table.

"Even ‘Teddy' isn't so bad compared to ‘Hildy,'" Ted muttered to Brian as they followed the older man inside the room.

"These are my junior partners, Daniel Elsborg and Lisa Wentworth," Bert introduced a man with mousy, receding brown hair and a bottle blonde with sharp features, neither of whom looked much younger than Wertshafter. The owner of the firm then turned to Brian, laughing self-deprecatingly. "I've just realised I never finished introducing myself to you, Brian, what with Marge blurting out that horrid nickname."

Lisa tittered, "Bert's not that awful, Mr Wertshafter."

Daniel chucked in agreement, smiling obsequiously at his boss.

Huh, Brian mused. It appeared that even Hildebert's partners weren't privy to the nickname. "No need," is what he said, though. "We already got that out of the way on the phone." He shook the hands of the junior partners, whose names he'd already forgotten - they were obviously of no account. Besides, Ted could always remind him, if necessary.

"Theodore," the man greeted Ted. "We've missed you around here."

"Dan. Lisa." Brian's CFO nodded politely at Bert's partners.

Brian thought he detected a lack of enthusiasm in Theodore's voice, but he trusted that his friend would have warned him in advance if there was anything he needed to be wary of.

"Would you like something to drink before we get started?" Bert inquired, taking a seat and gesturing for Brian and Ted to do the same. "Coffee? Tea? Water?"

"I'd kill for an Americano right about now," Brian divulged, "but I'll settle for black coffee with a bit of sugar."

"Same here," Ted requested. "But with cream. No sugar."

Since he didn't know whether he'd be able to spoon the sugar from a bowl, or if there'd only be a couple of tiny packets on his saucer, Brian kicked Ted under the table.

His CFO immediately amended his request, "Uh, maybe a bit of sugar for me too."

"We have a newfangled espresso and cappuccino machine," Hildebert informed them, "so there's no need for either of you to settle for regular coffee. As I recall, though, Theodore, you don't favour straight espresso."

Ted gaped at his former employer, obviously shocked that the man knew how he liked his coffee.

Brian kicked him again.

"Uh, I-" It took Theodore a moment to get it together, but he finally managed. "A cappuccino would be great. With, uh, sugar, please."

"An espresso for me as well," Wertshafter stated.

The junior partners both nodded, so presumably that was what they wanted as well.

Wertshafter inclined his head at Libby, and she scurried out of the room. She returned a few minutes later, followed, Brian noted appreciatively, by an attractive, young, raven-haired man carrying a tray with coffee drinks.

Linda must've briefed the young man as to who had ordered what, because he smiled charmingly at Brian, placing the correct drink in front of him without hesitating. "Your Americano, sir." 

Next he served Ted, giving the accountant a friendly smile, and placed a sugar bowl between Brian and Ted. Then he handed Hildebert his espresso, before setting down drinks for Bert's partners.

Brian covertly admired the lad's pert ass as he moved around the table.

"Thank you, Nicholas," Wertshafter dismissed the young man.

"Please let me know if you want anything else, Mr Wertshafter." 

Brian turned his head slightly to watch as Nick departed, admiring his shapely derriere. It wasn't as good as the blond brat's but it was still worth a second glance. From the corner of his eye, he noted that Theodore's gaze also lingered on the same spot. Good to know Ted wasn't dead yet, he thought, smirking to himself.

As Brian was stirring sugar into his Americano, whatshisname - Dennis, or something like that - asked skeptically, "Do you really think you can bring in three hundred new accounts? That seems awfully farfetched to me."

"Mr Wertshafter said that's just for the current tax year," the blonde woman chipped in prissily. "He must have misheard."

With that attitude, and considering the withering look Bert shot at both his employees, he doubted they'd remain partners, or even employed, for long. No wonder Wertshafter was sorry to lose Theodore; he'd make a far better partner than either of these two idiots. "The problem," he repeated what he'd told Bert on the phone, "is to limit the influx of new accounts to a number your firm can handle and expand gradually in the future."

"What? All the youngsters filing their taxes for the first time are going to come to us?" Donny-boy rebutted disbelievingly.

To the man's clear surprise, Brian treated his ‘suggestion' seriously. "There's nothing wrong with targeting that age group. Many of them will be eligible to file the short tax form, but won't be eager to prepare their taxes themselves."

"Exactly." Ted picked up the ball when Brian looked at him. "It's a win-win. It won't take much time for you to file a 1040A, or even a 1040EZ, on their behalf, so you charge them a lower rate - and you gain a grateful client for years to come."

"So this is all about future profit," the blonde sneered, "from a handful of customers who won't bring in much revenue."

"Ms Wentworth," Wertshafter said coldly, "most firms start with that type of small account. It's what my grandfather did, slowly building his clientele."

"Yes, but-"

"Those aren't the only accounts proper advertising will bring to this firm," Brian cut in smoothly. He'd had enough of the blonde's naysaying. "Many individuals - and small businesses - prepare their own taxes, but would pay to have someone take that chore off their hands, provided they can find a reputable firm that charges a fair price."

"We're not the only accounting firm in Pittsburgh," Dexter commented. "Why would they choose Wertshafter?"

That, at least, was a reasonable question. "Because the advertising campaign will have caught their attention," Brian stated confidently. With a snick, he opened the briefcase he'd set down next to his chair, withdrew the draft adverts, and placed them in front of Wertshafter.

By the time Hildebert finished perusing the drafts, he was grinning broadly. "Theodore assured me, Brian, that if anyone could make filing taxes almost seem like a fun thing to do - as well as sexy - it was you. I had my doubts, but you've proved him right."

"Could we see those?" the blonde asked, sounding uncertain for the first time.

"I especially like this one," Wertshafter claimed, tapping the first panel as he nudged it toward his partners.

The junior partners studied the drawing of a young man in a three-piece Armani suit entering a building - Wertshafter's Accounting etched on the glass door - as another young professional, a woman in a Dolce & Gabbana outfit, exited. "‘You've come to the right place,'" Wentworth read out loud, taking the part of the female client. "‘I just saved a bundle by using Wertshafter. Now I have the money for a beach vacation in Aruba.'"

"‘Funny thing,'" Elsborg replied for the young man. "‘I was just about to book my trip there.'"

Wentworth flipped to the next sketch, which showed the same two people dressed in casual wear in front of a travel agency. They were smiling at each other, the young man about to open the door for the woman. "It's... brilliant," she pronounced after a brief pause, smiling genuinely at Brian. "I hope you'll accept my apology for-"

Elsborg, who was leering at the woman in the advert, interrupted his colleague, whistling, "I wouldn't mind taking a looker like that one to Aruba."

"For Pete's sake, Daniel," Wertshafter snapped. "That reaction isn't called for."

His eyes still glued to the second panel, in which the woman was wearing a short-sleeved blouse tucked into a pair of Bermuda shorts, Daniel insisted, "She's got a big rack. I can tell."

A muscle jumping in his cheek, Wertshafter ordered, "Please leave the room, Mr Elsborg. I'll speak with you privately once this meeting has concluded."

"What? Why should I leave?" Daniel asked, sounding both belligerent and bewildered.

"It appears that the employee I fired from this firm for watching pornography may have been correct when he accused me of treating management differently from other employees," Wertshafter gritted out.

Elsborg flinched, his face paling.

Brian glanced over at Ted, surmising from the glint in his eyes that his friend was pleased by the turn of events.

Elsborg slunk out of the room without saying another word.

"My apologies, gentlemen, Ms Wentworth, for that unseemly display." Hildebert stated flatly. 

Bert had handled that well, Brian mused, nodding respectfully at the other business owner. No one wanted to air dirty laundry in front of guests.

"Let's get back to these advertisements, shall we?" Wertshafter recommended.

Wentworth cleared her throat. "Before we do that, I really would like to express my regrets for my earlier behaviour. I'm having some personal issues, but there's no excuse for taking that out on you."

Brian looked at the woman assessingly; he liked the way she'd apologised, yet not offered excuses. Maybe she wasn't such a bad junior partner for Wertshafter after all. "Apology accepted," he responded simply.

Lisa - Brian suddenly recalled her name - bestowed a blinding smile on him, which softened her face and caused Brian to knock a good ten years off his earlier estimate of her age. "Could there maybe be another panel - a beach scene, with footprints in the sand and two barely visible silhouettes in the distance? Or would that be overkill?"

"Two panels should probably be the maximum for a basic print advertisement," Brian started to explain. "Keep it to just enough to catch and hold the viewer's attention."

Lisa's face fell.

"But while the first panel should stay the same in all the ads," he continued, "there's no reason we can't vary the second panel - maintain interest in what will happen next. Your notion would fit in nicely with that."

Lisa beamed, and Wertshafter nodded approvingly at her.

Brian removed another sketch from his briefcase. "This sketch is rough, but it's an alternative for the second panel."

Hildebert examined the drawing of the man and woman in the bedroom, now obviously a couple and planning their honeymoon in Aruba. "I bet Marge will love the ridiculously romantic aspect of these ads," he speculated. "Heck, she'll probably start planning a trip to Aruba for us."

"Um, as long as you don't have any objection to queer clients," Ted suggested diffidently, "you could print pretty much the same adverts in publications like Out. Just use, you know, two men or two women."

"No objection," Wertshafter firmly declared, Wentworth echoing him.

Over the next hour, the four of them hashed out some of the details, Bert only baulking when it came to the size of the ads to place in Pittsburgh's two major newspapers, the Post-Gazette and the Tribune-Review. "Wouldn't a smaller advert be enough?" he questioned. "A quarter-page ad is a hefty expense."

"Size matters," Brian remarked, straight-faced.

That sent Ted into a coughing fit, while Lisa smirked knowingly. Hildebert just gazed back at him, waiting to hear his reasoning.

"The content of the ad will catch people's attention - make them stop and read - but only if it's large enough, and placed prominently on the page, so that they can see it," Brian elucidated. "If the price of half-page ads wasn't prohibitive, I'd propose that you start with that size and then decrease to quarter-size."

"You don't think that will bring in more clients than we can serve?" Lisa questioned, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Not everyone subscribes to a newspaper, and most of those probably skim it at best," Brian patiently explained. "Since this first campaign relies primarily on print adverts in those two papers, the more exposure there, the better."

After consulting with Lisa, Wertshafter finally declared, "Let's go for it. Run the first ad right before New Year's Day, and then bombard readers with it twice a week through the first week of April. Even if we only get a hundred and fifty new clients by Tax Day, we'll be making a healthy profit."

"Either Ted or I will drop off more sketches for the second panel for you to approve," Brian promised as the meeting adjourned.

"I'm looking forward to it," Bert responded, shaking hands with Brian and then Ted, Lisa following suit. "I can't wait to see what other ideas you come up with for the second panel."

As they exited the conference room, Wertshafter patted Ted on the back. "Has that bladder problem cleared up completely, Theodore? I noticed you didn't have to leave the room once during the meeting."

"Uh, yeah, it's gone," Ted stuttered. "I'm good. Goodbye, uh, Bert."

"Did you want to stop in there for old time's sake?" Brian quipped as they passed the men's room a few seconds later.

"Har de har," the accountant huffed. "I never want to wank in that restroom again. At your bathhouse cum advertising agency, however..."

Brian chuckled. "You can jerk off at your desk, Theodore. Just lock the door first."

"Jerk at work," Ted said dreamily.

Justin finished checking over his answers to the maths questions, glanced at the wall clock, and stifled a sigh. An hour and twenty minutes total was allotted for the mathematics part of the SAT, and only forty minutes had elapsed. Dickhead might have a point, he thought, about sending students back to Ms Hearns' eleventh grade maths class if they couldn't reach the national average on the SAT - the questions really were basic. Justin had worked out the solutions much more slowly than he usually would, concentrating on not making any dumb errors, like filling in the wrong bubble on the answer sheet after figuring out the solution.

It wasn't as if the English sections of the SAT had been difficult either. Justin was stuck twiddling his thumbs after he'd double-checked his answers for those as well. Since he couldn't leave the classroom - it was against the rules except for breaks - he mulled over what he still needed to do for his classes before the end of the week. His revised story for Creative Writing was ready, as was his research paper for American Government. It was really just a matter of sitting through three more days of each of those classes and handing in his essays for both at the end of class on Friday.

He planned to review in advance of the calculus final exam - it would at least be more challenging than the maths problems on the SAT that he'd just solved - and also go over the material for his physics final. Daph and Syd were bummed about having to sit the two toughest exams on the last day of finals week, but they'd perked up a little when he reminded them it gave them more time to study, including one last tutoring session on Wednesday evening at the diner. Justin grinned as the thought about the pop quizzes he'd put together for each subject; the girls would doubtless bitch and moan, but the short tests should convince them they'd do okay on the finals.

Justin wasn't at all worried about the ongoing assessment for his IT class, which would happen tomorrow. In his only other subject, Latin, there wouldn't be an exam or an essay to turn in because Mr Sullivan had tested the students last week. Pleased with their ability to use inflections and translate passages of text, he'd decided to do something different. He informed the class that he'd arranged for an outside speaker to come in and lead a round-table discussion on uses for Latin in the modern world. It was the one class session Justin was genuinely looking forward to this week.

His musings were interrupted when the test coordinator commanded, "Stop. Put your pencils down, and close your booklets." Once the students had complied, she continued, "You may now take a five-minute break, after which you'll write the essay."

His stomach rumbling, Justin rooted around in his rucksack for something to eat. When his search proved fruitless - netting only an old package of Life Savers - he cursed himself for forgetting to grab some of Debbie's cookies for a snack. He popped one of the hard candies into his mouth anyway, sucking on the stale sweet in a desperate attempt to stave off his hunger.

The lad was glad the break was short - he needed something to distract him from the growling of his midsection - the test monitor soon calling the pupils to order and announcing, "You have fifty minutes to read the passage and compose your analysis." She paused briefly before adding, "Open your booklets and start now."

Justin immediately opened the booklet with the directions and read through the passage, groaning internally when he realised it was about frog dissections, and the value of that activity for middle school pupils. He could almost smell the formaldehyde, he thought, scrunching up his nose. The whole process had turned his stomach, and Daphne puked on his new trainers as well as the floor. He'd bet Sydney had loved every moment, though.

Setting aside his disgust for the topic, Justin examined the passage for evidence to support the author's claims, the reasoning they used to develop their arguments, and any stylistic elements that made their reasoning stronger. To make sure he presented his thoughts in a logical manner, he jotted down an outline before he began composing his essay. The blond teenager formed each word carefully, utilising the precise computer writing that was becoming natural for him. 

Although the argument that ‘there was no substitute for hands-on learning' was powerful, Justin noted that it was more ‘what many educators felt' rather than being based on any kind of quantifiable data. If the student dissector is not precise and skilled, Justin commented, they won't see much and would probably do better learning from a book. Learning from a textbook would also avoid unnecessarily traumatising students who weren't prepared for the experience.

Justin countered the author's arguments that dissection helped ‘students learn about the internal structures of animals,' as well as ‘showing students how the tissues and organs are interrelated,' by stating, again, that such knowledge could be acquired by other means, specifically textbooks, videos, and classroom discussion. He opposed the author's closing statement, that ‘a dissection provides one of the most memorable and instructive units in a middle school biology course,' by observing that if the memory was not a positive one, there was likely to be little or no instructive takeaway. Justin's own conclusion was that while dissection could be a valuable tool, it shouldn't be required of middle school students but instead only included as a part of relevant studies at the university level, in fields such as anatomy, biology, and medicine. 

Finished with his analysis, Justin double-checked that he hadn't injected too much of a personal bias. At the last moment, he'd stopped himself from including art among the relevant fields of study because that was only his own opinion, and again, there were other means for learning about the structure of organisms.

The blond teenager was surprised to hear the test supervisor announce, "Stop, lay down your pencils, and close your booklets." just as he completed the once-over of his essay. Justin had been so caught up in marshaling his thoughts and writing them down that this last part of the SAT flew by. He shut his booklets, satisfied with his efforts.

"Sit down!" the test coordinator barked, when a boy in front of Justin started to stand up. "We'll collect your booklets, making sure that you've entered your identifying information correctly in the one with your answers, before you'll be dismissed. We'll proceed from the front of the classroom to the back. After one of us has verified your information, you may leave the classroom, collecting your cell phones as you depart - quietly please, out of consideration for your peers."

There were a few grumbles - pretty much all the students wanted out of the classroom stat - but they quieted down quickly when the supervisor swept a fierce gaze around the room. "I realise you're probably anxious to consult with your friends and compare answers to ‘thorny questions,' but that won't affect the outcome. I recommend you do your best to put the SAT out of your minds, concentrate on your final exams, and wait for your test results, which you should receive in early January." Her features gentling a little, she added, "Keep in mind that if you don't do as well as desired, you can retake the test."

Less than ten minutes later, Justin trotted toward the main entrance to the school, dodging around the freshmen, sophomores, and juniors who were on the way to their one o'clock classes. It was pretty cool to be one of the first students released from the testing room, he mused, glad the seating hadn't been assigned alphabetically, from A-Z. He was used to suffering through roll calls, his name one of the last mentioned, most of the faculty unimaginatively starting with the first letter of the alphabet and rarely reversing the order or beginning in the middle. Daphne almost always had her name called early on and could zone out until the entire roster was read.

He'd like to have a hit of nicotine before Daph joined him in the foyer, where they'd arranged to meet, but he didn't dare smoke in front of the school. If a faculty member caught him, he'd probably get written up for an infraction of the school rules. No way did he want to end the fall semester on a sour note, or start the spring semester with a week of detention, especially since Bauer, the sadistic detention instructor, would likely have recovered from his broken collarbone by then.

"Hey, Justin!" someone yelled as he reached the lobby.

The blond lad spun on his heel to see Origami Girl weaving her way toward him, her small, red dragon fluttering from her backpack. She was carrying another, slightly larger, scarlet dragon on a pole, its wings flexing as heat wafted from the overhead vents. Beside the dragon was yet another origami creature.

"Wow!" Justin exclaimed in pleasure. "Those are brill, OG!"

"OG?" the redhead cocked her head quizzically.

"Uh," Justin flushed, "it's short for Origami Girl."

The paper-folding wizard beamed at him. "It's way better than my real name. I don't mind telling you what it is, though, as long as you promise not to share it with the nosy cheerleader. I want to aggravate her a bit more first."

As if she'd been summoned, Sydney came barrelling toward him, Daphne not far behind her. "Oh, it's you," the blonde stated flatly when she saw Origami Girl standing next to Justin. "The girl with no name."

"You can call me Origami Girl," the redhead offered, smiling blandly at the cheerleader.

Justin chuckled at the standoff. Personally, he didn't think Syd had a chance against OG.

"Wait. What's this?" Daphne asked about the bicoloured German shepherd that sat alertly atop the second pole, its ears pricked.

"Jus asked if I had enough time to make a second origami animal for him," the origami master explained. "It was fun to try something different."

"I can't believe how quickly you made these," Justin enthused as she handed the paper creations to him. "Are you sure I can't pay you?"

"Nope." Origami Girl backed up a step, frowning. "No way."

"Wait," Justin begged, an idea taking shape. "Do you have, like, some kind of business card? I'm planning to give these to my detective friends on Christmas Day, at the diner where I work. I know that when people get a look at these, they're going to want one for themselves."

"That's a great idea, Jus," Daphne broke in, smiling at Origami Girl. "You could make a mint 'cause, like, everyone on Liberty Avenue will be clamouring for your stuff."

The redhead relaxed, smiling again. "Um, I could write down my name and email on something simple, like an origami dove. It wouldn't take me long to whip out a dozen or so of those."

Right then, the school bell tolled once, and OG jumped before darting toward the stairs. "Dammit, I'm gonna be late for class. I'll get the ‘business cards' to you before the end of the week," she threw over her shoulder.

"It's fortuitous," Daphne observed, smirking at Justin, "that Brian's picking you up today, Jus, so you don't have to cart those home on the bus. Especially with more snow coming down."

"You couldn't resist saying ‘fortuitous,' could you?" Justin chuckled. 

Daph shrugged. "Might as well get some kinda use out of the vocabulary on the SAT."

"Betcha didn't know that one, Chris," Sydney taunted the jock, who was standing near them, shoulders slumped as he looked out the glass door.

He turned around, startled. "Fuck off, Syd," he muttered when he saw who'd spoken, giving her the finger for good measure.

Daphne snorted. "Classy."

"That's Chris," Sydney stated dismissively, turning her back to the rather pale-looking teen.

"Good riddance to bad cess," Daphne muttered.

Neither of the girls saw the way Hobbs glared threateningly at Justin, making it clear that he blamed the more slightly built blond boy for all his misfortunes. Justin suppressed a shudder, his chin jutting out as he stared back at the jock. 

"Listen," Sydney said tiredly. "I'm gonna get going, okay? I have a fucking humongous headache, and I need to eat something pronto, or it's just gonna get worse. Brian's still gonna pick you up, right? Or do you want me to give you a lift?"

Giving Chris his back and putting him out of his mind, Justin replied, "I'm sure Brian's on the way. He's probably just stuck behind some idiot who has no clue how to drive in snow."

"Like you, you mean?" Daphne teased.

Justin stuck out his tongue at his bestie.

Sydney giggled and headed out the door. "See you lot in a few."

Brian was indeed stuck behind a Nervous Nellie driver, fuming because he couldn't get around the middle-aged man. "Fucking idiot shouldn't be on the road," he grumbled, grasping the steering wheel more tightly.

Following the meeting with Wertshafter, Brian and Ted had returned to the loft, bringing Cynthia up to speed on the advertising campaign for the accounting firm. The blonde woman suggested, "How about a second panel showing a row on a plane, two adjacent seats empty, with the WC sign lit in the background?"

Ted burst out laughing. "That might be too risqué for a mainstream newspaper - it'd probably look like we're encouraging passengers to join the mile-high club - but it would be perfect for a gay publication, boss."

"Daring is my watchword," Brian noted, chuckling. "We could go with something tamer for the newspapers - maybe the couple exchanging a chaste kiss before they sit down again, with just a hint that they've returned from the loo. The door could be slightly ajar behind them."

As they were wrapping up their discussion, Brian glanced unobtrusively at his watch, thinking he should get underway soon, so that he'd be on time to pick up the blond brat.

Cynthia, however, noticed the way he slid his sleeve back slightly. "Do you have another meeting?" she asked, her brow knitting as she glanced at her calendar. "I don't see anything here."

"I was just thinking I could use another cup of coffee," Brian replied lamely - and illogically.

His secretary turned her head, staring at the half-full carafe resting on the hotplate of the Braun coffee maker.

"Before my next meeting," the adman hastily tacked on, intentionally omitting any indication of whom he'd be meeting with. "In fact," he added, rising from his chair, "if I don't get a move on, I'm going to be late." He'd forgo changing out of his Zegna suit, he decided. It always riled Justin up - in just the right way - when Brian wore a suit.

"Lock up and set the alarm if I'm not back before the end of the day," he instructed as he donned his overcoat and opened the door.

"That's going to be one long meeting," he heard Theodore comment, laughter in his voice.

"Say hi to Justin for me!" Cynthia had shouted after him as he slid the door shut.

A horn blared, jolting Brian back to the present. He watched in disgust as the car in front of him slewed sideways, which had obviously prompted an oncoming driver to honk in warning.

He eased off the gas pedal - he'd been going all of five miles per hour - and waited for the inept driver to correct course. "Thank fuck," he muttered, when the moron finally pulled over to the side of the road, resting his head against the steering wheel, visibly shaken by what he'd doubtlessly describe to his friends as a ‘near miss,' even though he hadn't actually come close to the other car.

Dismissing the mook from his mind, Brian increased his speed slightly. He'd almost reached the front entrance to St James when an ugly, beige Citroën peeled out in front of him, fishtailing on the icy pavement. He caught a flash of a pale face and blond hair as the driver zipped past, fighting for control of their vehicle.

"Christ," Brian grunted as he pulled to a stop. The idiot drivers were out in full force today.

Daphne came dashing down the stairs in front of Justin, beating her bestie to the jeep. The brat was moving more slowly, colourful objects of some kind trailing from the poles in his hands. What the fuck were those? Brian wondered.

"I call shotgun!" Daph yelled, opening the car door and sliding into the seat next to Brian.

"Whatever." Justin shrugged in feigned indifference although the effect was ruined by the irritated glance he shot at the girl. "I didn't want these pieces of art to get damaged. Hold this for a sec." He handed one of the works of art to Daphne which, looking past the girl, Brian now recognised as a dog made out of paper. It was actually readily identifiable as a German shepherd, although why the blond boy was toting it around, Brian didn't know.

There was no need for him to ask, since Justin started babbling as he opened the back door and carefully placed the other paper creation, a bright red something or other, on the back seat behind Brian. "Aren't these fantastic? Origami Girl's so talented. All I did was, like, admire the dragon that's usually attached to her backpack and-"

"Oh, please," Daph snorted. "You basically slobbered all over her till she promised to make you one."

"Did not," Justin denied, taking the dog from his friend and setting it next to the red thingamajig. "Besides, you were the one who said her dragon was ‘really cool.'

"True, but I didn't fawn all over her and then twist her arm so she'd make one - no, two," she amended, "creations for me."

"They aren't for me," Justin protested, getting into the jeep and buckling his seatbelt.

"For your detective friends, then," Daphne countered as Brian pulled away from the curb. "Same difference."

The German shepherd must be meant for Carl, Brian suspected. But what had Justin dared to get for Horvath's taciturn partner? His curiosity piqued, he commented, "The German shepherd isn't bad. What's the other one?" He glanced at the boy in the rearview mirror, only to see him looking back with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"A dragon, of course."

Daphne giggled. "What else could it be?"

Duh, Brian thought, talk about obvious. There wasn't an animal that described the scary detective better than a Chinese dragon. For lack of anything witty to say, the brunet changed the subject, needling, "How'd you get home from the loft Friday night, anyway? Did you call a-"

"What?" Daphne screeched, her head whipping around. "You got back together with Brian and didn't tell me?"

The blond boy quailed at her fierce glare. At least she didn't mention that he'd lost his mobile, so he couldn't call anyone. "Uh-"

"Wait," his bestie started cackling, "you really did get your hair caught in Brian's zipper didn't you?"

Justin frowned at his so-called best friend, hoping Brian wouldn't pick up on what Daphne meant. He did his best to tune out Daph's boisterous laughter, muttering, "I decided to walk. It's not that far from the loft to Debbie's house."

Brian's lips twitched as he looked at Daphne, but there was a hard glint to his eyes when he again locked eyes with the blond in the rearview mirror. "It was the middle of the night, Justin." He emphasised his point by using the boy's entire first name.

Justin shrank back in his seat.

"That's not a safe time to be out alone in any neighbourhood, but especially where I live," Brian continued. "You could've been mugged, or you might have slipped on the ice and hurt yourself. Worse still, Horvath might've been scraping you off the pavement with a knife in the gut or something."

"Uh, there was nobody else out there," Justin tried to excuse himself. "You know, with the way it was snowing."

"But there could've been!" Brian insisted. "Didn't you hear about the twenty-something-year-old that got killed on the other side of the Allegheny river a couple of nights ago?"

"Yeah. Or what if that guy you were worried was stalking you was real?" Daphne chimed in, her face tense as she stared at Justin.

His friends were right, Justin realised. He was lucky nothing bad had happened. "I won't do it again," he promised, blinking hard so he wouldn't cry like some kind of sissy. 

"If you really need to get back to Deb's right away, I'll give you a ride next time," Brian offered, his voice still stern. "Or I'll call a taxi and pay for it. I don't want you pinching pennies, you hear?"

Justin could feel a red tide sweeping up his face to his hairline. His reasoning had been pretty fucking stupid. Ten bucks, or whatever a taxi would have cost, was nothing compared to maybe being hurt or killed. He nodded at Brian, and the topic was, thankfully, dropped.

"Wow," Daphne commented, turning around and looking out the window, "there's, like, nowhere to park."

Chastened by the dressing-down he'd received, Justin was startled to realise they'd reached the Liberty Diner.

"Fucking Theodore," Brian spat, glaring at the dark green sedan that was parked on the corner, right by the entrance to the eatery.

Justin giggled, mock-seriously offering, "We could get out, and you know, make sure we get a good booth, while you look for a place to park on the next block."

"You do that, brat," Brian retorted. "If you can't walk a couple of blocks in the snow, that is."

The blond boy shut his mouth with a snap.

"But since you've got Daphne with you," Brian relented, tapping the brake with his foot and slowing to a stop without the slightest jolt, "I'll let you out here."

"Thank you, Brian!" Daph bounced in her seat, released her seatbelt, and bussed the brunet on the cheek before climbing out of the jeep. "C'mon, Jus," she urged when the boy didn't move.

"Uh, yeah," Justin agreed, unable to come up with a good excuse for remaining in the car. How much Brian cared about his well-being had hit him all of a sudden, and the desire to kiss the living daylights out of the older man was overwhelming in its intensity. He'd have to forgo that for now, he thought a bit forlornly, making sure to hold his backpack in front of him as he scooted out of the backseat.

When he followed Daph into the diner, he noticed Sydney had made it in before them and already used the spare time to chat up a heart-eyed Harry. "I think I did pretty well," she was saying, gesturing elegantly with a manicured hand. "It wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be."

The Asian waiter was hanging on her every word with a dumb look on his face. "I knew you were going to do great," he told the girl, either ignoring or not noticing the sound of the kitchen bell announcing a meal was ready.

Sydney smiled flirtatiously, leaning closer to Harry and drawing a nail down his sternum. "I believe," she whispered huskily, "that the tuna salad is ready."

"Huh?" 

The blonde chuckled, pointing towards the kitchen window, where the cook was banging on the bell angrily and shouting, "Meal up!" 

"Your job is calling, Mr Hale Minh," Syd informed him teasingly.

Justin and Daphne were left gasping for breath, laughing at the way Harry hurried over to the kitchen window as if a pack of hellhounds was chasing after him.

"You, Miss Thompson, are a terrible tease," Daphne pronounced jokingly in a snooty voice. She went to slide into the booth beside the blonde, but Sydney elbowed her aside.

"What's with you?" Daph glanced at the cheerleader in confusion.

"Harry and I might want to, you know, snog a bit," Syd mumbled, her face turning pink. 

Justin didn't think he'd ever seen the brazen girl blush before.

"It'd be way awkward to try and do that across you," Sydney wrapped up her explanation.

"This so isn't fair." Daphne pouted. "You and Justin both have guys - total hotties, too! - and I-"

"You can share me," a silky baritone interjected, right before Brian bussed Daph on the cheek.

Dazed, her mouth hanging open, the petite brunette goggled at the man.

Justin giggled. He knew just how his bestie felt. 

The sound of his laughter didn't rouse Daphne from her trance, his friend making a wordless noise of appreciation as she shuffled a half step closer to Brian.

"That's my foot you're standing on, Chanders!" Sydney yelped.

"Huh?" Daph looked around in bewilderment, shifting a little and accidentally pressing down harder on the arch of Syd's foot in the process.

Justin was laughing so hard that he couldn't find the wherewithal to help. Brian merely seemed amused by the cheerleader's predicament, although he did try to draw Daph closer to himself, and off of the blonde's foot.

Still not fully aware of what was going on, Daphne didn't budge.

"Here, let me," someone intervened, placing their hands around the brunette's waist, before lifting her gently into the air and setting her back down.

Daphne finally came back to herself, her palms now pressed against a handsome, built man's chest. "Uh, wha?" she asked dazedly. 

"Your friend appeared to be in some distress," the professor rumbled, smiling down at Daphne and motioning at Sydney.

"Christ, Chanders, for a wisp of a thing, you weigh a ton," Syd complained, unbuckling her left shoe and rubbing her sore foot.

"Zen Ben to the rescue," Brian muttered, pushing a laughing Justin over with his hip and sliding in next to the blond. He absentmindedly started drawing circles with his fingers at the nape of Justin's neck, while keeping an eye on the others.

Justin hiked an eyebrow at the disgruntled note in his lover's voice, another giggle escaping as he realised that Brian must be a little miffed at having Daphne's fawning adoration redirected to the professor. The blond lad sidled closer, intending to give the brunet something better to think about. Humming in pleasure as Brian's fingers dug into the skin of his neck more firmly, he leaned in, his tongue peeking from between his lips, when Daphne suddenly blurted, "Are you bi? Please be bi."

Ben looked decidedly less Zen as his eyebrows zoomed up to his hairline.

"Jesus, Chanders," Sydney swore, before erupting in laughter. "He's not only playing for a different team," she wheezed, "he's out of your league. Hell, he might even be out of my league."

Brian smirked at Ben's pinkening cheeks, obviously pleased that someone had punctured the professor's composure.

Daphne coloured up, and jerking her hands away from the professor's chest, clapped them over her eyes. "Uh, can we chalk that up to SAT-induced fatigue?" she begged. "I swear my brain's not working properly anymore."

"Sure," Ben agreed easily, quipping, "I'm surprised you can formulate full sentences, actually. The SAT has been known to put students into a week-long coma before."

"We can't get sick," Sydney griped. "It's fin-" 

Her complaint was cut off when the bell over the door jangled, and Debbie bustled inside, shrugging off her coat as she entered the diner. "Sunshine!" the boisterous redhead shouted, immediately aiming for the booth where Justin was sitting.

Although he should have known better, Brian didn't expect her to move with such alacrity and failed to take evasive action in time. He ended up in a stranglehold, his face pressed against one voluminous tit as she enveloped both of them in a hug. "Sunshine!" Debbie shrieked again, bestowing a lipsticky kiss on the blond's cheek, "How'd the SAT go?"

Justin's reply was unintelligible, but it was because he was giggling madly, rather than because he was being asphyxiated.

"You might want to ease up a little, Deb," a dry voice sounded from behind Brian. "You're smothering the person who signs my paychecks."

"Huh? Oh." Debbie chuckled and finally stepped back, patting Brian on the cheek.

As inconspicuously as possible, Brian took a deep breath. He'd just have a little fun winding Ted up, he decided; after all, his friend could've rescued him from Debbie's clutches at least five seconds sooner. "There won't be a first paycheck, Theodore," he feigned irritation, "if you don't understand what ‘end of the day' means. Didn't I leave you and Cynthia in charge at the loft?"

"Uh-"

Brian could almost hear the wheels spinning as his CFO tried to determine whether or not he was serious.

"Give over," the blond breathed out into Brian's ear, before nipping gently at the lobe. "You shouldn't torture Ted like that."

Brian shivered, gooseflesh rising on his skin and his manhood plumping up in his slacks. They'd only just gotten here, and all he wanted to do was drag the brat out of the diner, take him home, and fucking ravish him. It took a monumental effort, but he tore his eyes away from the boy, turning his head and rolling his eyes at Ted. "Loosen up, Theodore. It's not a nine-to-five job. I don't expect you to punch a clock."

"I can't believe I fell for that" - Ted shook his head in disbelief - "especially since I knew the kind of meeting you were heading off to."

Arms akimbo, tapping one shoe against the lino, Debbie brought everyone's attention back where she wanted it. "What about the fucking SAT, Sunshine? How'd it go?"

"It was, like, way easy," Justin answered. "The only slightly challenging part was the essay."

"It may've been way easy for you, Jus," Daphne cavilled, scooting into the booth opposite him when Syd stood up and gestured for her to get in. "But that's just 'cause you're a freak. You spend, like, every minute with your conk in a maths or physics text."

"I don't do that," blond boy protested. "I was thinking about taking a couple of the SAT subject tests, though, since they're supposed to look good on our college applications."

And just like that, the brat cemented his status as a freak, Brian thought, chuckling.

"Oh, come on, Jus." Daph rolled her eyes. "St James only mentioned the subject tests, like, once, way back during freshman orientation."

"‘Freaks' aren't so bad," Ben interposed, smiling at a memory. "I used to get called that - and nerd, and geek."

"Me too," Ted contributed, exiting the booth where he'd been sitting and coming to stand next to his boyfriend, wrapping an arm around the professor's waist. "All those, as well as ‘that fucking weirdo.' Even if I wasn't gay, I would've been the quintessential nerd, with a pen case and calculator clipped to my front pocket."

Ben and Theodore exchanged a sappy smile, the professor leaning down to place a lingering kiss on the shorter man's lips. He then nudged Ted toward the booth behind the one where Brian was sitting, peppering his boyfriend's face with kisses as they sat down.

Christ, Brian thought, unconsciously running his hand through short strands of blond hair, all this lovey-dovey crapola was gonna make him soft.

"Whatever," Sydney stated disinterestedly. "The point is that Perkins then told our parents that we're bound to be shoe-ins to whatever universities we choose as long as we do well on the standard SAT - so there's no need for the subject tests."

"I was gonna-" Justin began, when Debbie cut him off.

"Just who are you?" she demanded, one perfectly plucked red eyebrow rising as she studied the blonde girl.

A blonde eyebrow arched in response as the pom-pom girl looked back at Debbie.

Justin's gaze darted from one woman to the other. ‘Showdown at the Liberty Diner,' he thought, stifling a laugh as the fanciful alteration of Gunfight at the O.K. Corral popped into his head. Would they pull out mascara wands next?

He was rather disappointed when Syd introduced herself politely. "I'm Sydney," she said, "a friend of Justin and Daphne's." She then promptly got herself into Debbie's good books. "That shade of red is stunning. What hairdresser do you go to?"

Her eyes sparkling, Deb fluffed her curls. "It's a wig, but it looks natural, doesn't it?"

"It really suits you." Sydney deftly avoided answering Debbie's question.

"What a suck-up," Daph mouthed at Justin, making both teens giggle.

"Wait a minute. You're that cheerleader Sunshine's tutoring, aren't you?" Debbie queried, recognition dawning. She planted one arse cheek on the banquette next to Brian, crowding him against Justin.

Not displeased by this turn of events, Brian obligingly wrapped his arm more tightly around Justin, plastering the blond boy to his side. He nuzzled the blond's hair, musing that whatever bargain brand shampoo Debbie was buying smelled pretty fucking good on the brat.

"That's me," Sydney acknowledged, flipping her long ponytail back over her shoulder.

Debbie and Daphne spoke at the same time. "I used to be a cheerleader," the redhead divulged, while Daphne, who was looking toward the back of the diner, giggled, "Justin's not the reason Syd's here."

"Huh? Aren't you still tutoring the girls, Sunshine?" Debbie asked. When no response was forthcoming, she glanced to her left, only to discover that Justin and Brian were engaged in a passionate kiss. "You can swap spit later, boys," she huffed.

Brian distantly heard Deb nattering on, but he ignored her in favour of curling his tongue around Justin's again. The boy tasted too fucking good to stop - he couldn't get enough. Mere seconds later, he yelped, inadvertently biting down on the tip of Justin's tongue when a pair of pincers clamped down on his ear, tugging him sideways. "Shit. Sorry," he murmured to the lad, before turning to glare at a cackling Debbie, growling, "What the fuck was that for?"

"She didn't have much choice," Daphne interceded, her eyes fixed on Justin's lips, from which the boy's tongue protruded as he sucked on it soothingly. "You guys were, like, in a world of your own."

Brian quirked an eyebrow at Debbie. "So what?"

"It's rude to ignore your other guests," the redhead chided, shaking her index finger in front of Brian's nose.

Concerned that the sharp, red-painted fingernail might go up a nostril, Brian refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Uh, it's okay," Daph spoke up again. "It's like, you know, free entertainment."

"True," Syd agreed, also looking at Justin. "You never know. I might even get a tip or two. In the meantime, I could do with an aperitif, however."

"I'm not working today," Justin explained. "Debs put me on a light schedule this week because of the SAT and finals."

"That's right." The redheaded waitress nodded vehemently, her red curls flying back and forth.

"I don't care," the blonde shrugged, snapping her fingers playfully. "A glass of Coke, garçon!" she demanded in a faux British accent.

"You know garçon is French, right?" Daph asked with narrowed eyes.

"Duh," Sydney rolled her eyes. "I might be blonde, but I'm not that blonde. I was going for posh."

"What the fuck for?" Debbie wanted to know. "In my experience, posh usually means snooty. Posh customers are a pain in the ass."

The cheerleader shrugged. "It was a joke; it wasn't meant to be taken seriously," she claimed, sounding a little irritated. 

Justin figured she was still nursing her exam-induced headache. That had better be the problem anyway, or she'd get short shrift from Debbie.

Deb squinted at the cheerleader for a moment, before taking Syd at her word. "Harry," she shouted, "get your ass over here. You're the garçon of the day."

The Asian waiter hurried over. Zeroing in on the blonde girl, he lifted one of her hands and pressed a kiss to the palm, before inquiring, "What can I get you, mademoiselle?"

As Syd curled her fingers into a fist around the spot that Harry had kissed, Justin wondered for a moment if she was going to pop him a good one on the kisser. But then she pressed her fist to her chest, bestowing a sappy smile on the Asian boy.

"Christ," Brian muttered in disgust.

"I thought you wanted something to drink," Daphne giggled, poking the other girl in the ribs when the silence continued.

"Huh?" The cheerleader started. "Oh, right. I'll have a Coke, and um, a salad."

"You should eat more than that," Harry remonstrated. "You'll burn it off in no time, you know, jumping-"

"Into the sack?" Debbie finished for him, laughing boisterously. "That was a joke," she mocked when Syd glared at her.

The pom-pom girl laughed. "Touché." 

"Back in the day," Deb confided, "I could eat my weight in food and never gain an ounce." She patted her ample girth, chuckling, "Not any more, though."

"The salad's just a starter," Syd told her boyfriend. "I thought I'd have something healthy - that'll help me get rid of my headache - before I chow down on something deliciously greasy."

Brian mentally shook his head in resignation. He was apparently the only one at the table with healthy eating habits, if only because he didn't want to be compared with the lardy sow that Emmett's aunt had raised from a piglet.

"I'll be right back." Harry smiled at Sydney before turning toward the kitchen pass-through.

"Harry," Debbie swatted him on the behind, "haven't you forgotten something?"

"Like what?" the Asian boy asked.

"Like our orders," Justin remarked, his stomach rumbling in agreement.

Harry scratched at his head. "Uh, I was gonna come back."

"Yeah, right." Justin laughed at the besotted boy. "What do you want, Daph?" he asked his bestie.

"Wow," the brunette teased, "you do know how to be a gentleman, Jus. You usually forget about everyone else when your stomach starts growling."

Justin wanted to refute what Daphne had just said, but he really couldn't, so he settled for shooting a disgruntled look at her.

"I'll have a chocolate milkshake," Daph requested. "I wanna look at the menu before I decide what to eat."

Now that it was his turn, Justin dithered before finally deciding, "Um, why don't you bring out a plate of nachos. A big one, mind, so all of us can share."

"That's two for two on the gentlemanly scale," Sydney jested, bumping fists with Daphne.

Harry jotted everything down on his order pad, before again starting toward the kitchen window.

Brian cleared his throat.

"Oh, right." Harry spun around on his heel. "I forgot you were there."

Everyone else at the table burst out laughing - Brian could even hear Ted and Ben chuckling in the booth behind him - as he stared at the Asian boy in disbelief. How could anyone possibly forget him? "Do you, by some remote chance, remember what an Americano is?" he quipped.

"Uh, yeah," an embarrassed Harry squeaked. "Will that be all?"

"For now." Brian nodded regally in dismissal.

"Yo, garçon!" Ted yelled futilely as Harry trotted toward the kitchen.

Brian smirked at his friend. "Having trouble getting the waitstaff to notice you, Theodore?"

The professor chuckled, seeming unbothered. "The Asian kid hasn't had eyes for anyone except Sydney, ever since she breezed through the door right after us."

"So you and Harry are an item, huh?" Debbie snapped her gum, eyeing the blonde inquisitively.

"Sydney supposedly did come to the diner for the first time because she wanted me to tutor her," Justin teased. "But then, kablam, it was like When Harry Met Sally, er, Sydney, but you know, without all the arguing."

"Yeah, maybe," Syd acknowledged, smiling fondly as she watched Harry bustle around the diner. "That doesn't mean you're off the hook for tutoring me tomorrow night, though, Jus. Honestly," she looked directly at Justin, her expression sincere, "I don't know that I would've fared very well on the maths part of the SAT without you tutoring me in calculus. I was really floundering."

"I would've made it through the SAT," Daphne deliberated, chewing at her lower lip, "but I bet I would've struggled to meet the national benchmark."

Brian noted that although Justin looked kind of embarrassed by the girls' praise, he didn't seem daunted by the pressure of tutoring them and bringing them up to snuff. The kid really was fucking talented, he mused proudly.

Sydney blanched. "And then, along with retaking the SAT, we'd probably have to sit a couple of those dratted subject tests you're so fond of, Taylor."

"I'm not ‘fond' of the subject tests," Justin huffed. "What I was gonna say when we started talking about them-"

"When you started bragging, you mean," Daphne cut in.

Justin scowled at his best friend, but didn't protest the point. "I was going to agree with you," he pronounced with exaggerated patience, "about how the subject tests aren't usually needed. I mean, that's how the school administrators rope our parents into paying the exorbitant tuition."

Sydney chimed in, "I remember how impressed my parents were with Jerkins at freshman orientation, when he stood up and spouted all that stuff about how universities will hold spots for graduates from St James-"

"Because our graduates are overachievers and consistently score in the top seventeen percent nationwide," Daphne finished for her, imitating the pompous headmaster.

"If that's not enough to convince parents to send their kids to St James, they fall back on the ‘alumni card.' Surely, Mr Thompson," Sydney crooned in an oily tone, "you wouldn't want your daughter to go anywhere other than your alma mater."

"Either that, or they're filling one of their ‘minority slots' to show how inclusive they are," Daphne commented wryly.

"Sunshine here would've filled one of those minority quotas nicely," Debbie observed, snapping her gum again.

Brian barked out a laugh. "At a Catholic school? You know better than that."

A sad expression stole over the redhead's countenance. "We sure haven't made much progress-" she began, only to be interrupted by Emmett, who whirled into the diner, shaking snow off his shaggy violet coat as he pranced over to them.

Thank fuck there was no room for the flamboyant queen to scoot in next to him, Brian thought. He did not want any of that horrid purple stuff shedding on his Zegna suit. Bad enough that it had contaminated his Vince Camuto peacoat, which was one of the reasons that coat was now at the dry cleaner.

"Sweeties" - Emmett flapped a hand at the occupants of the two booths - "there are no customers at Torso."

He paused dramatically, and the blond twat obligingly asked, "Why's that, Em?"

"Well," the tall queen shunted Sydney over and squeezed in next to her, "the idiot manager placed a huge order for skimpy beachwear. Then, instead of putting just a few speedos and these teensy leopard-print thongs - which I have to admit are adorable - on the rack out front for, you know, the fags going on vacation to warmer climes, what did he do?"

"Gimme," the three teens and Debbie chorused, hanging on every word. Brian thought he even heard an echo from the two men sitting behind him, but he forbore from turning around to confirm it.

"He had me and his good-for-nothing nephew - that boy has no sense of style - haul all the winter attire out to the warehouse," Emmett gasped, "so he could cram the store full of swimsuits."

"Do you carry bikinis?" Syd inquired, an acquisitive gleam in her blue eyes.

"A few," the southerner replied, "but, honey, they're more for, er, the well-endowed queen, if you take my meaning."

"Oh." The blonde girl visibly deflated.

"Anywho," Emmett resumed his tale, "Norm ignored my advice that he have a look-see at The Weather Channel, or at least a glance outside" - Emmett waved a hand at the window, through which they could see snow falling thickly - "and stocked only beachwear in the store. Needless to say, that's why, except for one bear who wandered in by mistake, there's been no traffic at Torso."

"So you got the afternoon off?" Ted asked from the neighbouring booth.

"You got the afternoon off?" a familiar voice screeched, reiterating Theodore's question. "That's not fair. I had to work the graveyard shift last night and then fill in for Fat Marley this morning."

"At least you'll get your regular salary, Michael," Emmett noted bracingly. "You're not paid by the hour like I am."

"Do you think her name is actually ‘Fat Marley'?" Justin hissed, making his bestie and Syd snicker.

Brian choked back a laugh which, unfortunately, drew Michael's attention.

"Brian!" the short brunet exclaimed, beaming at his best friend. "This is great. You can keep me company till David gets off work."

Let that be soon, Brian silently prayed as Debbie relinquished her seat to her son so she could serve an inrush of hungry queers.

Twenty minutes later, although Brian had his espresso - the Asian kid had promptly delivered their drinks to the booth - there was no sign of the chiropractor. The brunet was fed up with the way his childhood friend was hanging onto his arm on one side, chattering away nonstop, despite Brian's efforts to stem the spate of words. On his other side, the view was much better. The blond boy was leaning over the table, giggling with the girls - Brian included Emmett in that group - sketching caricatures of faculty from St James. Based on input from the southern belle, he'd apparently also done a credible job of immortalising Torso's owner. 

The lad's position at least provided ample opportunity to cop a feel, the brunet stud thought, surreptitiously squeezing one ass cheek. In response, Justin flexed and relaxed his buttocks, making it impossible for Brian to tear his eyes away - not that he wanted to. His visual and tactile feast came to an end, however, when the love-struck lackey returned.

After handing Syd her salad, Harry set another plate down in the middle of the table. "Um, I know you ordered nachos," he told Justin, "but Fahad said you liked these better. He called them ‘baghali' skins, though they just look like ordinary po-"

"Thanks, Hazza-Bear!" the blond interrupted the other waiter, eyeing happily the large plate of potato skins loaded with cheese, bacon, scallions, and sour cream. "I love these."

"Ew, gross!" His nose crinkling in disgust, Michael reared as far back from the table as possible. "There's, like, dead bugs all over those. How can you eat insect corpses?"

Daphne and Justin dissolved in giggling fits, while Brian, who'd just taken a sip of his Americano, snorted, barely avoiding spewing coffee all over the potato skins. Only Mikey would mistake bits of cooked spinach for dead insects. 

"Do you think those are beetle carapaces?" Sydney asked with relish, snatching one of the potatoey goodies and taking a big bite. "I love the way they crunch."

"Right?" Emmett agreed with the blonde. Glancing at Michael, who looked like he was about to upchuck, the southerner helped himself to one of the ‘buggy' skins. "You know, deep-fried crickets are a specialty where I hail from."

Michael gulped loudly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Have you ever fed me grasshoppers?"

The mischievous queen shrugged and winked in a ‘that's for me to know' way.

"That no-good Arab cook!" Michael fumed, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's all his fault. He must not be cleaning up properly and then he, like, kills the evidence and puts it in our food to hide what's happening."

"Dun dun dun," Sydney intoned in a deep, ominous voice while Daphne and Justin drummed their fingers on the table.

"It's not funny!" Michael shouted. "I'm gonna tell Ma to get Terminix in here pronto. Otherwise, all of Liberty Avenue's gonna be invested."

"I wonder if I can buy stock?" the cheerleader mused.

Michael looked at her in bewilderment, not understanding.

His stomach aching and his eyes swimming with suppressed merriment, Justin nudged Brian, gasping, "Lemme out."

Lips pressed firmly together, Brian avoided looking at Justin. The blond was pretty certain Brian was in the same predicament; it wouldn't take much to make him burst out laughing.

"Shove over, Mikey," Brian grunted.

"Why?" Michael demanded belligerently. Then, realising Justin wanted to exit the booth, he scooted off the bench and stepped aside, smiling meanly. "Sure. There'll be lots more room without the lard-ass taking up half the space."

Michael's pathetic, jealousy-induced insult just made Justin want to laugh even more. The moment he was out of the booth, he rushed to the loo, where he collapsed against the wall just inside the door, laughing so hard that he shed a few tears and began hiccuping. One last hiccup escaped as he took slow, deep breaths, before staggering over to the sink and splashing water on his face.

"Invested," he giggled, almost setting himself off again. With a quick glance at the mirror to make sure he was presentable, Justin left the restroom and hurried to rejoin his friends, eager to scarf down a couple more of the potato skins. 

On the way back to the booth, he noticed that Emmett was now sitting at the bar, chatting animatedly with Kiki. The shift change from Debbie to Kiki must've taken place while he was in the loo, the teen realised. He hadn't been in there that long, had he? Glancing at the clock on the wall behind the register, he determined that he'd been gone no more than eight minutes, max.

A couple seconds later, however, he stared at the empty plate on the table in dismay. "What happened to the po- er, baghali skins?" Justin asked the girls.

 "We figured the ‘buggy' skins might, like, upset your stomach," Daphne stated sententiously.

"So we took care of them for you," Sydney completed the explanation.

"No way," the blond boy protested. "Even you two greedy guts couldn't have downed that many skins in such a short time."

"Erm," Ben cleared his throat, "Theodore and I may have helped."

Well, shit, Justin thought, glancing at the two men in the next booth. He could hardly get mad at the friendly professor or Ted. Anyhow, he was pretty sure one of the girls had invited them to ‘help.' He stared at his bestie, waiting for her to fess up.

Before that could happen, Sydney came to the other girl's rescue. "Brian hoovered the last one," she ratted out the brunet.

Justin transferred his gaze to Brian, who looked back at him innocently.

Michael, who was sprawled across half the banquette, his left side plastered against Brian, unwittingly backed up the cheerleader. "I warned you not to eat that, Bri!" he shrilled. "You're probably going to get food poisoning."

Voice tinged with exasperation, Brian reassured his friend, "I'll be fine, Mikey," all but admitting he had eaten the last potato skin. "Now budge over, so the brat can sit back down."

A bit nettled that Brian had nicked the last potato treat, the blond boy smiled insincerely, "That's okay. I'll sit over here."

"Good," Michael pronounced, snuggling closer to the stud. "We need some best friend time, Brian."

When Justin plonked down next to Syd, Brian narrowed his eyes at the boy, his expression promising a later retribution.

The blond lad smiled wider.

"I can't wait to get the SAT results," Daphne sighed, twirling the straw in her milkshake as she returned to the all-consuming topic of the day. "It's worse than waiting for Christmas."

Sydney snorted. "Tell me about it. My future is currently in the hands of a group of frustrated, middle-aged testing officials. I hate my life!"

Brian rolled his eyes at the teenage dramatics, but Justin nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I wish they'd get a move on so we could start sending out applications. The waiting is always the worst."

Daphne slurped at her drink noisily, causing Brian to cringe. "I mean, the results are supposed to come the first week of January," she divulged, "so there should be enough time to apply to colleges."

"‘Supposed to' being the operative phrase," grumbled the cheerleader, stabbing at her salad viciously. "My cousin said that his SAT scores took almost two weeks longer because someone in the room cheated and the evaluators had to investigate. He had to email his college to say his results had been delayed."

Daphne blanched. "That's totally unfair! I don't want my results to be delayed 'cause someone else is too stupid to write their own SAT," the brunette complained. 

Justin worried at his thumbnail, concerned that this could delay their scores. But then he recalled the way the monitors from the Educational Testing Service had prowled around the room and asserted, "That's not gonna happen with our results. You must've noticed how the ETS staff kept an eagle eye on us."

"Like I had time to watch what the monitors were doing," Syd griped. "I was racing the clock, just to get through the shitload of math and English questions."

Tired of the pity party, Brian huffed. "You sound like a bunch of pensioners comparing the severity of their osteoporosis," he needled. "You do realise you can't do anything about it, right? There's no sense complaining."

"But it makes you feel better," Sydney immediately replied, pointing her fork at the brunet. "And for those of us who aren't currently having sex, complaining is the only way to release tension."

"Speaking of which," Brian said with a smirk. "I believe I have something of yours, Sunshine."

Justin threw him a curious look. "Yeah? What is it?"

The brunet picked up his briefcase slowly, eyeing the teenager teasingly. Then, sliding his hand inside, he pulled out a deep blue bundle and tossed it at Justin.

"Wha-" the blond gasped as the soft material hit him in the face before he could catch it. He picked the item up from where it had fallen into his lap and blushed furiously as he recognised the scrap of fabric.

"Are those your underpants?" Sydney asked loudly, reaching to grab the blue material.

Justin quickly pulled the briefs away from her, embarrassed beyond belief at the stares his friend's exclamation garnered. "Um, yeah," he mumbled quietly, while attempting to stuff his briefs into his trouser pocket. "Thanks, Brian," he added grudgingly. He was happy to get the underwear back, but he wished his lover had thought to give it back somewhere private.

Brian rolled his eyes at the attention they were getting. "Don't be embarrassed, Sunshine," he told him, glaring at their audience. "These desperate faggots wish they would get the chance to leave their drawers on my floor."

Daphne giggled, while Michael looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. A few beats later, however, his sour expression vanished. "Guess the burglars left those behind when your loft was burgled, huh," he guffawed. "No self-respecting thief would try and fence cheap, thrift store underwear."

Fuck this, Justin decided. It was time for Michael to get a clue. He wasn't sure how Brian would react, but he nevertheless sat up straight and grinned boldly at his lover. "I expected your cleaning lady to launder them and put my drawers away in your drawers," he sassed.

Brian smiled back at him like a Cheshire cat that had just caught the mouse it was chasing. "You can keep them there," he replied.

Nonplussed, the blond lad stared at Brian. Was that some kind of invitation?

"What the fuck does that mean?" Michael shrilled, clutching Brian's arm.

Brian merely shrugged, smiling enigmatically at Justin.

"I'm glad you replaced those baggy tighty-whities you were wearing on Friday night, Taylor," Sydney teased. "I was embarrassed to admit I knew you."

Before anyone could say anything else, Dr Dave appeared with a cheerful, "Hey there, cootchie coo," as he leaned down to give Michael a wet smooch on the lips.

Ugh, Justin thought. He'd rather have the inquisition about his underwear continue if it meant he wouldn't be subjected to stomach-turning endearments and slobbering displays of affection.

"‘Cootchie coo' sounds like a snatch," Brian snarked. "I didn't know you were into pussy, doc."

"Eww!" everyone except Michael and David groaned.

Dr Dave glared at Brian. "C'mon love nugget," he addressed Michael, hauling his boyfriend off the bench. "Let's sit with the other gentlemen." He ignored Michael's spluttering protests, towing the smaller man over to join Ben and Ted.

Neither Ted nor Ben looked happy with the new seating arrangement, Justin noted with a surge of sympathy. In fact, the only one who seemed pleased was Dr Dave.

"Give me your usual sweet smile, honeybun," David coaxed as they sat down. "Seeing it always puts me in a better mood."

Michael smiled adoringly at the older man.

"Jesus," Sydney muttered, "just shoot me if I ever act like that."

"Deal." Brian smirked, high-fiving the pom-pom girl.

"That's it." David smiled down at Michael, running a thumb over his lover's lower lip. "The Novotny magic at work."

"Hmm," the professor mused. "Don't you mean ‘Novocam' magic?"

"Huh?" David queried.

"Oh! I get it!" Emmett clapped his hands as he sashayed over from the counter. "‘Novo' is the first four letters of your last name, Michael, and ‘cam' is the first three letters of ‘Cameron.'" 

"Okay, so what?" Michael asked, puzzled. 

"It's one of those - what's it called? - ship thingies," Emmett clarified, flapping a hand excitedly. "You know, when a couple belongs together, like Spones for Bones and Spock."

"Spones is fucking hot," Ted commented, "but ‘Novocam' sounds like some kind of a weird drug."

"Novocam - works faster than Novocaine! Nine out of ten dentists recommend," Brian snarked.  

"That's so cool," Michael enthused, clearly getting on board. "David is a doctor, after all, just like McCoy."

Dr Dave gave his boyfriend another sloppy kiss.

Maybe it wasn't so bad that he'd only gotten one of the potato skins, Justin thought, averting his eyes. It felt like even the one he'd eaten was gonna revisit him.

When their lips finally parted with an audible pop, Michael proposed, "You guys should have, like, a contest - make a game of it. Try and come up with other names for us, and David and I will choose the best one. You know, like how I came up with TopAd for Brian's agency."

Daphne snickered.

"Speaking of games," Sydney drawled, "I have a much better one we can play."

"Fuck," Justin groaned, thumping his forehead onto the tabletop. He knew where this was going.

"I love games!" Emmett carrolled, plopping onto the seat next to Brian. He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table, and bestowed a gap-toothed grin on the cheerleader. "What're we playing?"

Goddammit, Brian thought to himself. It should be the blond brat sitting next to him, not Honeycutt. There was no way he could get Emmett to switch places with Justin, though, not without getting an earful of romantic claptrap from the southern belle. He'd just have to suffer in silence instead.

Sydney swallowed the last bite of her salad and started to explain, "It's really simple-"

Right then, a rather frazzled-looking Harry rushed up to their table. "Sorry," he apologised. "I meant to get back here sooner, but it's a madhouse in here today. The two queens over there," he motioned towards the back of the diner with his chin, "almost went at it. I thought they were gonna snatch each other bald."

Emmett twisted his head around. "The one with the spiky pink hair is a piece of work," he divulged. "She used to come into Torso all the time. She'd buy something, wear it a few times, and then return the item, saying she didn't like it, or want it, after all. She must've thought we were dead stupid" - the flamboyant man flapped a hand, chuckling - "she was obviously wearing the garments anyway, hoping we wouldn't cotton on to her trick. After the fifth time she ‘rented for free,' Norm finally banned her from the shop."

"Yeah, the old cow wanted me to comp her meal. Said there was an insect in her Pink Plate Special. Fortunately" - he shot an accusatory glance at Michael in the neighbouring booth - "she's tried that once before, so she didn't get away with it this time."

Justin watched as Michael opened his trap, presumably to spout off about ‘buggy' food. After a quick glance over his shoulder, however, the short brunet shut his mouth without uttering a word. He must've decided that he didn't want to join sides with Ms Pink Spikes. 

"So, what'll everybody have?" Harry asked, pencil poised over his order pad.

When no one else spoke up, Brian grouched, "Another Americano - a double - and I'll have an egg white omelet with some green beans on the side. It's about the only thing that won't arrive swimming in grease."

"Extra butter in the pan will solve that problem, sir," the Vietnamese lad announced with a cheeky grin.

Brian didn't like the joke. "Don't you dare, pipsqueak," he growled. "I want the green beans boiled, not smothered in fat."

"I'll go whole hog, er, cow," Sydney joked. "Bring me a beef burger drowned in chili cheese sauce, and fries. And another Coke to drink."

"I'll have a beef burger too," Daph chimed in. "But I want barbeque sauce on mine, with onion rings on the side. Also a Coke for me."

"Uh," Justin waffled, "both of those burgers sound good. But I think I want mine with-"

"Criminy. Hang on," Harry complained. "I can't write that fast."

"What kind of waiter are you?" Justin teased.

"The kind that expects a big tip," the Asian boy volleyed back as he finished jotting down Daph's order. "Now what is it you want on your burger, Jus?"

Did he really want a meat patty? Justin wondered. Eggs sounded really good too. "Um, give me another minute, 'kay?"

"While Baby makes up his mind, you can take my order," Emmett stepped in. "I'll have a chicken burger with arugula and blue cheese, and a baked potato for the side. Plus a Dr Pepper for my liquid refreshment."

"Don't you want a side of locusts?" Michael quipped from the next table.

"Sure. Dish them up," Em responded agreeably.

"I'm afraid we're fresh out." Harry shook his head sadly. "You'll have to make do with a plain old baked potato."

"Well, okay," the tall queen sighed extravagantly.

Harry looked at Justin again.

"Still deciding," the blond boy mumbled, waving at the four men at the next table. "Get their orders next."

"That chicken burger sounds promising," Ben commented with a friendly smile for the waiter. "I'll have mine with lettuce, tomatoes, and Greek yogurt dressing. Soy milk to drink, please."

"What about a side?" Harry inquired.

"Green beans. You can hold the butter on mine too," the professor noted, his eyes twinkling wickedly.

"Boiled green beans," Harry muttered, scribbling down the order. "No seasoning, no taste."

"That's entirely too healthy for me," Ted chuckled. "Bring me one of the beef burgers with chili cheese sauce, please, with more of those baghali skins on the side. A Dr Pepper to drink."

"Baghali skins?" Dr Dave questioned.

"Dead bugs." Michael shuddered. "Don't get any of those."

"Potato skins with spinach," Ted mouthed at the chiropractor.

"I can ask Fahad to hold the ‘bugs,' Harry offered.

"In that case, bring me a cup of coffee and an order of the skins as well, sans insects," David requested, "to accompany a BLT sandwich with a sunny side up egg. Make sure the yolk isn't runny before you bring it out, or I'll have to send it back."

"Stone hard yolks. Got it." Harry turned to Michael. "And for you?"

"No bugs," Michael stated firmly.

"Is there something you do want?" the Asian inquired after a few seconds passed in silence.

"My usual."

"And that is?" Harry asked with exaggerated patience.

Justin giggled at Michael's normal, obstreperous behavior.

"A large Coke, a double cheeseburger, and a goodly helping of fries," Michael reeled off.

Harry marked it down before shuffling back over to Justin.

"Wait!" Michael cried out. "I want bacon - an extra-large portion - on the burger."

"Supersize the bacon," the Vietnamese boy noted, amending the order and then looking at Justin expectantly.

"I'll have eggs Benedict, yolks only, with extra ham," the blond boy requested politely. "And some asparagus drizzled with more of the hollandaise sauce. Whole milk to drink."

"All fat, all the way," Harry remarked, scribbling on his pad.

"Christ, Sunshine, you're asking for a heart attack." Brian stared at the lad in horror.

"There's loads of protein in egg yolks," Justin defended himself. "In the milk too."

"If it's protein you want..." Brian waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Barbecue sauce," Michael blurted out.

Emmett swiveled around to look at his friend. "Sweetie, I don't think that's the protein drink the Big Bad has in mind."

"I meant I want barbecue sauce on my hamburger," Michael elaborated, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Harry flipped back to the previous page on his order pad, amending Michael's order again. "Any other changes? Maybe you want a few dead insects after all. They give the barbecue sauce a special zing."

"Just the regular sauce, and nothing added to the ground beef either," the short brunet insisted, warning, "I'll notice if it doesn't taste right!"

"I'll let Fahad know that," Harry informed Michael. "I'm sure he'll take extra care with your meal."

There was something the Iranian chef had threatened to do with the next hamburger that Michael ordered, but Justin couldn't quite remember what that was. He'd find out soon, he supposed, when Michael threw a tantrum and refused to eat the meat.

Once Harry had vanished into the kitchen, Sydney declared eagerly, "Let's get started."

Justin heaved a sigh, resigning himself to blurting out that Brian was ‘juicy' when it was his turn. For all that he'd racked his brain for other J-words to describe the sexy brunet, he hadn't been able to come up with anything better.

"There are only two simple rules," the blonde girl explained. "First, you have to describe the person I designate in one word. Second, the word has to begin with the first letter of your first name."

The men in the two booths all nodded in understanding.

"I'll go first," said Sydney, poking Justin in the side. "Sassy," she pronounced proudly.

"What?" Justin screeched, his voice rising an octave to his intense embarrassment. "I thought we were describing-"

"Gotcha!" Syd declared with an impish smile, poking him again. "Who's next?" she asked the group at large.

The blond lad squirmed on the banquette. Talk about being in the hot seat - this was even more nerve-wracking than coming up with a J-word for Brian.

"Devoted," Daphne stated firmly. "Jus may be a pain in the arse at times-"

"He can be a pain in mine anytime!" someone at another table called out.

Both Justin and Daphne blushed, the brunette finishing, "-but he's the most devoted friend I could wish for."

"Aw. That's so sweet." Emmett pressed his palms to his chest, before holding up his hands so that his fingers shaped a heart - the tips of his thumbs together and pointing down.

"Delectable," David proclaimed from the next booth.

The blond boy feared his face might go up in flames.

"Enchanting!" Emmett enthusiastically cried out. Then, at Brian's possessive growl, he backtracked, "In a completely platonic way, of course."

Ted chuckled. "Shouldn't you be making a beeping sound when you're backing up like that?"
"Oh, pooh," Em retorted. "Don't be a spoilsport. What's your word for Baby?"

"Titillating." 

"Good one!" the campy queen excitedly applauded.

Ted winked lasciviously and leered at Justin, making the blond teenager laugh. Only a few people to go; maybe he'd make it through this after all.

"Bri?" Emmett waved a hand in front of the brunet's face.

"Breathtaking," Brian decreed, hazel eyes boring directly into blue ones.

Momentarily stunned, Justin couldn't move. Did Brian really just say that? He licked his lips, announcing, "I really wanna kiss you, like right now." 

"Why don't you? C'mere, brat." Brian stood up halfway, leaned over the table, wrapped his hands around Justin's biceps, and hauled the boy toward him.

Justin expected Brian to kiss him forcefully, bruising his lips, but that wasn't what happened. Instead, Brian's mouth whispered across his, once, twice, and then again in the lightest of butterfly kisses. The lad could feel his heart thumping erratically, the blood rushing through his veins.

On the third pass, Brian swiped his tongue across Justin's lower lip, pausing at the midpoint. Justin opened his mouth just wide enough to close his lips around the tip of Brian's tongue, and proceeded to suck gently on it. 

Brian groaned, and slanting his mouth across Justin's, began to kiss him with wild abandon. He let go of one of the boy's arms, sliding his hand over his shoulder and up the column of his neck until he was cradling Justin's skull in the palm of his hand.

Justin clutched at the brunet's dress shirt with his fingers, completely unaware of what he was doing. Savouring the moist heat of Brian's mouth took all of his concentration.

It wasn't until they stopped kissing, lips parting so they could heave in air, that Justin realised everyone was staring at them, including Harry and Kiki, each of whom was carrying an armload of plates heaped high with food. 

"Holy shit," the tranny breathed out in awe, "that's the hottest thing I've ever seen. And believe me, I've been around the block a time or two."

"I didn't know you were gonna tutor me in, like, a whole different law of physics," Sydney jested.

"Wow." Emmett fanned himself with one hand. "You almost made me combust, without removing a single stitch of clothing."

His face turning a rosy hue, Justin mumbled into Brian's neck, "I wish we were alone."

Brian was tempted to whisk the boy away to his loft, but right then, Justin's stomach let out a noisy rumble. "Later," he promised, letting go of the lad, "after you feed the beast."

Justin thudded back down onto the seat, his stomach emitting an even noisier roar.

"You mean that's not Mt Vesuvius going off?" Daphne quipped.

"Wrong continent," Justin countered. "Besides, it's dormant."

"That little display probably started the lava flowing again," Ted punned.

"There's no problem with the lad's ‘flow,'" Brian riposted, his voice a trifle grim. "Not that you'd know anything about it. Right, Theodore?"

"Uh, right. No clue. Zipping," Ted hastened to say, drawing his thumb and forefinger from one side of his mouth to the other.

"What's this ‘game' you all are playing that has the entire diner in an uproar?" Kiki inquired as she parceled out the plates she was carrying.

Syd reviewed the rules for Kiki and Harry's benefit and then asked, "So what's your word for Justin?"

Kiki belted out a laugh. "After that little display? Kissable."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, eyes still wide. "Hot. Horribly, humongously hot."

"Horny," a leather-clad man interposed as he escorted his companion toward the door. "You've made us horny. Thanks for the floor show."

"My turn now," Michael butted in, glaring at Justin. "Juvenile," he said proudly, raising a bushy eyebrow in challenge.

Ted exploded in laughter, and Em snickered, while Sydney stared at the short brunet condescendingly. "Do you not understand the rules?" she inquired.

Brian snorted.

"Dumpling," David addressed his boyfriend, "‘juvenile' is a good word, albeit not particularly descriptive of Justin."

"It fits him perfectly," Michael muttered.

"Regardless," Dr Dave elucidated, "you're meant to choose a word that starts with the first letter of your own name. Like ‘magnificent.'"

Michael huffed and scowled down at the table.

"Brainy," the professor contributed.

Finally, Brian thought, someone who wasn't trying to hit on his blond. Turning his head to nod approvingly at Ben, he paused as he noticed a familiar-looking man at the counter.

"Oh, who's the cutie?" Emmett asked, also espying the newcomer.

The strawberry blond, who was probably waiting for a takeaway order, turned around, leaning on the bar.

"Yoo-hoo!" Em called out, waving at the ginger.

The redhead was clearly startled but nevertheless plastered a genial smile on his face as he walked over to their booth. He eyed their group a little hesitantly, but then recognition dawned in his light blue eyes when he spotted Brian. His smile widening, he held out a hand for the brunet to shake. "It's Brian, right?" he asked. "Nice to see you again."

Crap, what was the guy's name? Brian tried to remember as they shook hands. Following the awkward encounter with the redhead and his marine buddy a week ago, he'd immediately forgotten both their names. He didn't expect to see either man again, and yet, one or the other of them seemed to be popping up everywhere.

"Uh, yeah." He nodded. Christ, he was behaving as awkwardly as the last time they'd met. The guy was going to think Brian was either a total moron or permanently high on drugs.

"C'mon, Bri, introduce me to your friend," Emmett beseeched. "He's yummilicious."

Brian racked his brain for a name so he could make the introduction, but he was coming up empty. He felt like the bloke's name was on the tip of his tongue, teasing at the edges of his memory, but it kept evading him. Thankfully, the strawberry blond bailed him out as he revealed with a pleasant chuckle, "I'm Donald, nice to meet you." He outstretched his hand to shake Emmett's. "I have to say, no one's ever called me ‘yummilicious' before."

"Well, they should," the tall queen insisted, his eyes travelling across the slender man's frame. Then, he introduced himself with a suggestive smile, "Emmett Honeycutt at your service. And let me tell you, I can give you some great service."

"I'd have to object," came a smooth voice from behind Donald. The new arrival wrapped his strong arms around the redhead's waist and rested his chin on the other man's shoulder.

Brian recognised the older man as Donald's marine boyfriend but hoped the bloke wouldn't rely on him for an introduction to the group. Try as he might, the name eluded him, and calling him ‘Mr Fedora' would be especially imbecilic.

"Aw dammit." Emmett visibly deflated. "So Yummilicious is the reason you turned me down at the gym? Just my luck."

Donald, leaning back into the embrace of his partner, looked Emmett up and down critically. "So you are the delightful young man Raymond mentioned?" he asked teasingly. His face was open, tone pleasant, though his hand squeezed his lover's forearm possessively.

Raymond, Brian realised, that was the name. He should probably try and remember that - with his luck, he'll meet the balding marine again.

Raymond chuckled, squeezing the strawberry blond's sides before chastising mildly, "Calm down, Donald; green doesn't suit you." He then turned to Brian with an amused expression on his face. "Seems we meet again," he remarked.

"Yeah," the adman muttered. "It keeps happening."

"Oh!" Emmett squeaked, looking even more interested than before. "You two know each other? You never said, Brian!" he finished accusingly.

"Oh, it was just a passing encounter." Raymond dismissed the matter with a wave of a hand.

"A passing encounter?" the swishy queen mouthed to himself, and his eyes narrowed in speculation as he looked back and forth between the marine and Brian.

While Brian appreciated the nuanced phrasing - he'd rather no one else found out about what had almost happened to him in Babylon's backroom - he could've done without the undoubtedly wild theories that were currently running through Emmett's head. Sure, the old guy was fit and wasn't exactly ugly, but he was definitely way too old for Brian.

Fortunately, Donald rushed to dispel any confusion, though Brian doubted it was for his benefit. "Nothing untoward happened," the redhead assured Emmett. "I was there."

The southerner didn't look at all satisfied with that answer, Brian noted, chuckling to himself. "So," the tall queen sighed. "You don't really know Brian?"

Donald reiterated, "Only in passing."

"Silly me." Emmett fanned the air in front of his flushed face with his napkin. "How about Justin?"

"Justin?" Donald arched an eyebrow.

"That's me," the blond boy identified himself, giving the newcomers a friendly smile as he stood up to shake hands with them.

"Ah, yes," Raymond commented drily, his eyes scanning over Justin's body analytically. "I almost didn't recognise you; I haven't seen you with clothes on before."

Brian growled, unable to stop himself. He was sick of having other men leer at his boy at Babylon. In fact, he silently acknowledged to himself, he might want Justin to quit the dance gig for that reason even more than to keep the lad from burning himself out working too many jobs.

His arms tightening around Donald, Raymond gave Brian a knowing look.

"Just ignore the growly bear," Emmett advised. "He's all bark and no-"

Justin coughed loudly.

Flustered, the tall queen backtracked for a second time that afternoon. "Erm, except for, you know." He fluttered a hand in Justin's direction. "Anywho, you'd be perfect for our little game; we could use an outsider's unbiased perspective."

"What game?" Donald asked.

Sydney stepped in, explaining the rules again.      

Donald looked at Raymond, who shrugged, leaving it up to the ginger as to whether they'd play or not.

Donald glanced at Justin as he mulled it over. "Dazzling," he said, a little hesitantly.

"Baby's definitely dazzling," Emmett concurred, sharing a friendly smile with Justin before turning to Raymond with an expectant look.

The older man tilted his head in consideration. "Refulgent," he pronounced a second later.

"Show-off." Donald elbowed the older man in the side, leaning back into him a little more.

Michael hee-hawed in glee.

The little twat was beaming, so Mikey mustn't have any idea what the word meant.

"Um, what's that mean?" Daphne asked, her brow furrowed in perplexity. "I've never heard it before."

"Ditto," Sydney chimed in.

Raymond chuckled. "Well, don't you all look lost," he commented, amused.

"Erm, I know it," Justin admitted shyly. "And thank you."

Daphne looked at her best friend, expression surprised. "Really?"

"Uh, yeah, it's based on the word fulgere," the blond shared. "Latin for ‘to shine.'"

The marine tipped his head at Justin, eyes shining with interest. He actually seemed a little impressed, Brian thought a little proudly.

Emmett tittered, "You go, Baby. There's a brain in that hot little bod." 

"Don't encourage him," Daphne tittered. "Jus has already got a big head."

Justin grinned at his bestie. "I'm not sure how you know that, but thanks."

Everyone, even Michael, busted up laughing.

Daph reddened from embarrassment, covering her face with one hand.

"You walked right into that one, Chanders," Sydney crowed.

The petite brunette mumbled something indecipherable.

"Um, anyway," Justin resumed his explanation, "refulgent means something like ‘shining brightly' or ‘radiant.'" Glancing at his southern friend, he enthused, "It would actually be perfect for you, Em, with the way your flame burns bright."

"Why thank you, Baby." The tall queen flashed a gap-toothed smile at Justin.

Well done, Sunshine, Brian thought. If Emmett hadn't already been devoted to the brat, that would have won him over.

"Okay." The blonde cheerleader grinned at everyone. "Now that we've warmed up, it's Brian's turn."

When Brian glared at Sydney, she just batted her eyelashes at him. The minx had set him up, the adman realised, begrudgingly admiring her chutzpah.

The bell in the kitchen window dinged right then. "Sandwiches to go!" Fahad shouted, placing a takeout container on the sill.

"Those must be for me," Donald said, disentangling himself from his partner's embrace. "I got one with caviar for you," he told him with a smile. 

The marine pecked the strawberry blond's cheek. "Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom," he quoted.

That was sickeningly sweet, Brian thought as he watched Donald roll his eyes fondly, but it might work well in a gardening advert. He'd have to check who'd spouted the drivel before he used it, probably some damned poet or other.

"You blokes mind waiting a sec?" Kiki asked. "Just let Harry and me contribute our ‘names' for Brian, and then one of us will get that for you."

"Oh, no worries; I can just grab it myself," Donald offered. "Raymond and I need to get going anyway."

Kiki shrugged. "Help yourself."

Donald's long legs quickly carried him over to the kitchen pass-through, where he snagged the takeaway container before heading for the door.

But," Emmett protested, "what about the game? I want to hear your words for Brian."

"Perhaps another time," Raymond replied, touching the brim of his hat and striding over to the exit to join his younger lover. "We do have other places to be."

"They're not the only ones," an irate customer yelled. "Can we get some service over here?"    

"D‘u má," Harry blurted before rushing off to serve the hangry individual.

"Did that start with an ‘h'?" Emmett asked, looking bewildered.

"It's some kind of Vietnamese curse word," Kiki responded. "Harry uses it occasionally, but he won't tell me what it means."

Curious as to whether the blond brat knew the meaning, Brian glanced across the table and caught him carefully sounding out the two-syllable word. Brian would wager that, if Justin wasn't able to winkle a translation out of the Asian boy, he'd look it up at the first opportunity.

"Well," Emmett prompted Kiki, "what's your word for Brian?"

"Kinky," the tranny said with a sassy grin, wiggling her hips as she swished over to join Harry, who was overwhelmed with three tables of customers all trying to place their orders at once.

"Kinky Kinney," Daph got out between giggles, sending the other two teens into hysterics.

Em turned a speculative gaze on Brian. "Did you ever-"

"No."

"You didn't let me finish," the tall queen squawked.

His laughter tapering off, Justin decided to come to his southern friend's rescue. He'd have to reveal his choice soon in any case, so it might as well be now. "Juicy," he stated, his voice cracking mid-word.

Startled, Brian thought ‘juicy' sounded more like a word for Justin. He was more amused than offended, however, especially since the brat sounded - and looked - like he'd just reached puberty, the flush blooming across his cheekbones adding to the impression of extreme youth.

Ted and Ben coughed, clearly disguising their own amusement. Emmett sniggered, and then immediately choked down his laughter when he saw how mortified Justin looked. "Sorry, Baby," he whispered.

"Jus!" Daphne squeaked, giggling.

Justin cringed at the way the word had escaped him. Why the fuck was it so much more embarrassing to say it in front of Brian than the girls? They'd certainly razzed him plenty the day before, and now he'd given them more fodder.

"Taylor, you have to be describing yourself - or at least one particular part of your anatomy," Sydney teased shamelessly. "You know, juicy like a ripe peach."

"Exactly!" Emmett concurred, glancing first at Justin and then at Brian. "You're certainly more well-endowed-"

Brian glared at the impudent queen.

"-than, er, that is..." The gossip queen's voice withered and then trailed off as he realised what he'd just said.

"It has nothing to do with my, erm, equipment," the blond lad refuted, his face now a blazing red. "Juicy means exciting, enticing, interesting," he babbled, "as well as having strong sexual appeal and appearance." He deliberately left out the meanings that Michael might take offence to - succulent, moist, lucrative, rewarding, gratifying. He didn't want to be accused, again, of being after Brian's money.

Christ. The lad was constantly surprising him, Brian thought in amazement.

"Geesh, now my word for Brian - sexy - sounds boring," Sydney carped.

"You should've looked up ‘juicy,'" Justin joked, "like I told you to. Then you could've come up with a less pedestrian S-word."

"With the way you were complaining yesterday about a lack of J-words," the cheerleader retorted, "I never suspected ‘juicy' could possibly be so damned, er-"

"Juicy?" Daphne supplied, giggling at Sydney's outraged expression.

"Maybe you should have chosen Junoesque," Ted interjected.

Everyone except Justin and Ben looked at the accountant uncomprehendingly.

"Hmm," Ben mused, "I suppose Brian is-"

Justin hastened to cut off the professor. "What was the word you came with for Brian, Daph? It was a good one." 

He wouldn't normally be so rude, but no way did Justin want Ben to relate anything about Juno. Daphne would almost certainly make another wisecrack about ‘The Face of God,' embarrassing Justin even more. If Brian hadn't overheard her remark the week before, when Justin was tutoring the girls, he certainly would this time. Sheesh. Talk about giving someone a swollen head - Justin was sure he'd never hear the end of it. 

Fortunately, the mild-mannered professor appeared more puzzled than upset by Justin's interruption.

"Designer." Daphne grinned at Brian.

Brian chuckled and preened, adjusting the collar of his Zegna jacket. Even so, the way Justin relaxed didn't escape his notice, just as he hadn't missed the way the lad interrupted Ben. He'd have to look up ‘Junoesque' later to determine what set the brat off.

"How about you, Professor Ben?" the cheerleader asked, moving the game along.

"Byzantine," Ben stated decisively.

Brian smirked, guessing the professor was referring to their second ‘meeting,' over lunch with Theodore at Carnegie Mellon.

All the others - except, perhaps, Ted - looked puzzled by the professor's choice, but Michael didn't give anyone the opportunity to quiz Ben about it. "My best friend!" he uttered triumphantly. 

Syd made a loud noise that sounded remarkably like a goose honking. "Two strikes," she then declared, slapping one palm down on the table. "You're out."

"What? Why? It starts with an ‘M' and describes Brian perfectly!"

"You must've misheard the rules," Ted commented drily. "What Sydney explained a time or two is that you're limited to one word that starts with the first letter of your name."

"I should at least get another chance," Michael insisted, "since there are three strikes in baseball."

"Honeybun, that's not the game we're playing," David commented in a soothing voice. "Why don't I take my turn, and you'll know how to proceed the next time we play. Okay?"

Michael nodded grudgingly.

What would Dr Dave come up with? Brian wondered. They were getting along fairly well since he'd engineered the good doctor's reunion with Michael at the bash for Mikey's thirtieth birthday, but-

"Determined." David put an end to his speculations, giving Brian a polite nod.

Brian nodded back. Yep, they'd definitely reached an understanding. Thank fuck for that, he thought, his gaze landing on Mikey, who'd just taken another bite out his cheeseburger, most of it already having been consumed.

Michael frowned at the remainder of his beef patty before shouting, "Hey, you," when Harry halted at a neighbouring booth and began distributing plates of food.

The Asian waiter ignored Michael, turning to head back to the kitchen.

"Hey, you!" Michael repeated, his volume increasing as he outstretched a hand and tugged on Harry's apron.

"Oh, were you speaking to me?" Harry inquired blandly.

"Duh. I tried to flag you down twice."

"My name isn't ‘hey you,'" the Asian boy explained in a long-suffering tone. "If you can't remember my name, a polite ‘waiter' will get my attention."

Paying no heed to what Harry had just said, Michael kvetched, "Well, now that I do have your attention, I want to know what's wrong with this hamburger. The meat is, like, totally flavourless."

Harry shrugged. "You said you didn't want anything added, so Fahad left out his usual spice mixture."

Justin started giggling, finally recalling how Fahad had mixed some of his ash-e reshteh soup in with the ground beef last week - and how he planned to withhold the secret ingredient the next time Michael ordered a burger. He'd have to tell the Iranian chef that his ploy had worked.

"I only meant I didn't want any bugs!" Michael protested loudly. "My cheeseburger is tasteless!"

"It can't have been all that bad," Harry pointed out with a cheeky smile. "You only have one bite left."

Giggling at her boyfriend's antics, the pom-pom girl suggested, "Let's finish up the game. Who's left anyway? Em, did you take a turn?"

Emmett's glance at Brian was almost shy as he murmured, "Erotic."

Huh. That wasn't a selection Brian would've expected Emmett to make. It was quite flattering, though - he might even have to forgive the nelly bottom for his earlier faux pas, not that he'd actually tell the man he was off the hook.

"Another one that's got ‘sexy' beat by a mile," Sydney muttered, clearly vexed.

"I'm always sexy," Brian assured the blonde, "so you can't go wrong calling me that."

"Just like you'll always be young and beautiful," Michael chimed in, beaming at his best friend.

"Until you hit thirty anyway," Ted snarked. "Then it's all downhill."

Thank fuck ‘thirty' wasn't a word Theodore could apply to him - at least not yet, Brian thought, wincing.

"Oh, we must've skipped right over you," Sydney exclaimed.

Ted raised his eyes ceilingward. "I get that a lot."

"Not true," the professor claimed, leaning in to brush his lips against Theodore's. "I see you, babe."

"Hey, you two," the cheerleader remonstrated. "Before you get all lovey-dovey, we need Ted's word for Brian. Make it good," she told the accountant. "You have the last word."

Chuckling, Ted looked between Brian and Justin. "Territorial."

"I know how you can work off those calories," Brian rasped into Justin's ear, tugging the boy to his side as they headed to his jeep later that night.

"Yeah?" Justin asked, his pulse speeding up. "You wanna stop off at Ript?"

The brunet chuckled. "We could entertain any fags who aren't at the clubs, but it'd mostly be roid heads with puny dicks. Or," Brian proposed, swiping his tongue along the curve of Justin's ear, "I could host a private workout at the loft - just you and me, Jus."

Justin didn't think he could find the willpower to resist the seductive older man. He'd been wanting more ever since Brian called him breathtaking, his eyes betraying his sincerity. It wasn't even the sex he craved - although he definitely wanted more of that - it was the yearning he'd seen in Brian's hazel eyes, mirroring Justin's own longing. He hesitated, unsure if he should give in before Brian recognised the depth of his own feelings.

But then his lover husked, "We can do whatever you want, Jus."

A frisson of excitement coursed through the blond teen's body. Sure, they frequently mixed things up, sometimes Brian topping and sometimes Justin. Still, he couldn't remember ever receiving a carte-blanche invitation before. "What's the occasion?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Making it through the SAT."

"But I don't even know how I did yet," Justin quibbled. "I won't get the results for, like, weeks." Why didn't he just shut up? the lad wondered as they reached the jeep. Brian was practically offering himself to him on a platter, and he was prattling on, acting like it was no big deal. It was only when Brian shrugged and gave him a sweet smile that he relaxed, realising that his behaviour was exactly what would put the older man at ease.

"You've as good as got it in the bag," Brian claimed, pressing the remote to unlock the doors. "It's just a matter of guessing how close to perfect your scores in math and English will come. We can celebrate now, and again when you get your results."

"What about after I finish my finals on Friday?" Justin asked, getting into the car and buckling his seatbelt. He glanced coyly at Brian through thick, blond eyelashes.

"Don't you have a shift at the diner, and then your go-go boy gig at Babylon?"

"Oh, right." The teenager was disappointed, but then he perked up, just barely resisting the urge to crow about Brian knowing his schedule. That was a huge improvement over a couple of weeks ago, when the brunet couldn't be bothered to check whether Justin was working before trying to seduce him. Brian Kinney might not know it yet, he thought triumphantly, but he wanted a heck of a lot more from Justin than just a fuck.

"You can always come over after you finish up at Babylon," Brian offered nonchalantly. "I'll even give you a lift. You'll have to make your own way back to Debbie's house in the morning, though. No way am I gonna get up at stupid o'clock on Saturday morning and drive you home just so you and Debbie can go into a baking frenzy. Fucking carbs," he concluded.

The blond boy did a mental happy dance. Not only did Brian know his work schedule, he even recalled an offhand remark Justin had made about getting up early on Saturday morning to bake cookies with Deb. That clenched it; Brian was so gonna get lucky tonight.

"Where to?" Brian asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"The loft," Justin answered, acting as if there had never been any doubt. There probably hadn't been, he thought a bit ruefully.

"You've got" - Brian glanced at the clock on the dashboard - "roughly nine minutes."

"Huh?"

"To plan out a scenario," the brunet explained, eyes on the road. "Normally you'd only have five minutes, but I have to drive slower than usual in this fucking snow."

Justin squirmed in his seat, fantasies playing rapid-fire through his brain. One second he had Brian leaning over the back of the couch, his legs spread wide as Justin pushed in slowly. In the next moment, Brian was spread-eagled on the bed, tugging at the designer ties that bound his wrists to the headboard, while the blond licked a wet stripe along his straining manhood and inserted a finger between his ass cheeks.

Should he ask Brian to rim him? That would be way hotter than his BOB-facilitated fantasy last night. Or maybe he should rim Brian. It was hardly a secret that the brunet was a total slut for a good rimming. After that, he could segue to one of the visions floating through his mind.

Incredibly aroused by the time Brian parked the jeep, Justin still hadn't decided what he wanted to do. He'd have to wing it, he decided as he and Brian traversed the block between the parking spot and the old warehouse building. He made sure to rub up against the brunet as they walked; there might be layers of clothing between them, but that didn't matter. He could tell from Brian's sharp inhalations that he was utterly turned on.

"You little shit," Brian huffed, unlocking the door to his building and pushing Justin ahead of him to the elevator. "You're gonna pay for that."

Justin giggled. "My choice, remember?"

"Not until we're in the loft," Brian countered, smirking as he stepped into the lift. He drew the boy toward himself, sliding the grate shut, but purposely didn't press the button for the top floor.

For a fleeting second, the teenager thought about protesting, but then he came to his senses. He cooperatively tilted his head back, giving Brian better access, moaning softly as the brunet feathered kisses along his neck and jaw.

When Brian took possession of his mouth, Justin braced his hands on his lover's shoulders and carded his fingers through the brunet's hair, pulling the man even closer as the kiss deepened.

Christ, but the boy's taste was addictive, Brian thought, groaning into Justin's mouth and tangling their tongues together. He didn't actually want to fuck the kid in the elevator, he had to remind himself, stabbing blindly at the button for the top floor. He just wanted to work the boy up to a fever pitch so that he wouldn't be able to hold back, and wouldn't torment Brian forever before letting him come.

When the rickety, old elevator finished creaking its way upward, jerking to a halt on his floor, Brian reluctantly tore his lips away from Justin's.

"Wha? Don't stop," the dazed blond mumbled, chasing after Brian's mouth with his own.

"I thought you were eager to get into the loft."

Justin could feel his face burning. He'd almost believed the earth was moving under his feet, like in that old Carole King song his mother used to play all the time. It had actually been the elevator - this time, anyhow.

Brian quirked an eyebrow at him but fortunately didn't press for details. 

"Uh, yeah," Justin belatedly got out. "The loft. Good."

The brunet chuckled as he opened the grate, towed Justin out into the hall, and closed the grille behind them. He quickly unlocked and opened the door, escorted the blond inside the loft, and went to turn off the alarm. It was only as he keyed in the code that he realised the boy had gone rigid at his side.

"I'm almost positive I set the alarm," Justin whispered, staring fixedly at the innocuous green light which indicated the alarm wasn't active. He turned moist, blue eyes on Brian, imploring the older man to believe him.

Brian still might not have a clue how the burglars had accessed the loft, but he was more than halfway convinced that Justin hadn't actually been irresponsible. Looking into those swimming pools of blue, he thought maybe he needed to take a leap of faith and simply take the lad at his word. "I believe you," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Brian confirmed. "Now, can we skip the lezzie crap and get on to the main event?"

Justin gave a watery laugh and nodded, before instructing him, "Take your clothes off."

How could a simple request to disrobe - something he'd done countless times in front of numberless men - make him harder than a rock? Brian wondered, hurriedly shucking his overcoat and toeing off his shoes. He didn't slow down much in getting rid of his suit, carelessly tossing the designer clothing toward the sofa. Then, wearing nothing except a wicked grin and his cowrie shell bracelet, he held out his arms, putting himself on display for his lover.

Catapulted back to their first night together, Justin stared at the brunet with as much fascination as he had then. It was kinda like a cobra with a mongoose, he suddenly thought... and it was the mongoose who, in the end, came out on top. He almost stumbled forward a couple of steps and into Brian's arms, just like he had on that fateful day, but then he stopped himself. 

Adding his jacket and shoes to the pile of Brian's clothes, he told the brunet, "On the bed, face down." his voice breaking for a second time that day. Crap, it was like he was stuck in a permanent adolescence, the mortified boy thought.

Brian chuckled but didn't say anything, merely shrugging gracefully and strolling up the steps to the bedroom area.

Justin almost trod on Brian's heels as he followed close behind his lover, watching avidly as the man lay flat in the centre of the bed, propping his head up on a pillow and folding his arms around the fluffy object. Practically salivating at the delicious view, Justin clambered up onto the bed and knelt astride Brian.

The brunet's skin pebbled with goosebumps as the fabric of Justin's slacks brushed against the sensitive skin at the base of his spine. "Aren't you gonna undress?" he asked, tilting his head to look at the blond through slitted eyes.

"Nuh-uh," Justin demurred. "I'm gonna keep my uniform on. I know the schoolboy look gets you all hot and bothered."

The little shit knew him too well, Brian mused, closing his eyes and waiting to see what Justin would do next.

He was surprised when the lad began kneading his shoulders and upper arms, digging at knots that Brian hadn't realised were there. This seemed like a strange thing for the kid to want, but who was he to argue? the brunet asked himself, gradually going boneless as Justin worked his way down his body, until he reached his feet.

When Justin was certain that Brian was completely relaxed - he grinned at the purring noise the man was making - he scooted up his lover's body again, until his clothed buttocks rested lightly against the brunet's naked ones. He leaned forward so that he was almost prone atop Brian, and placing the tip of his tongue against the bony protrusion at the top of his spine, he slowly licked his way down to the sacrum, shuffling backward on his knees.

"Fuck," Brian groaned, nearly levitating off the bed. "Don't stop."

Justin grinned against Brian's skin, nipping lightly at the sensitive flesh, before making his way toward the tightly furled opening between Brian's cheeks. He massaged the brunet's arse, gently pulling the firm globes apart so he could run his tongue around the edge of Brian's hole - again, and again, and again.

"Christ, Jus. More," Brian panted.

"Get your arse up in the air then," the blond ordered, lightly swatting one of Brian's cheeks, "and spread your legs."

It took the brunet a minute to comply - his limbs felt like wet noodles after that massage - but he finally managed to prop himself up so that he was leaning on his forearms and kneeling with his legs akimbo.

Justin licked his lips before burying his nose in Brian's crack and inhaling deeply. Fuck, no one else could ever possibly smell this good, he was certain. Taking another deep breath, he began flicking at Brian's hole with his tongue - brief, teasing touches that soon drove the brunet wild.

"Nngh," he moaned. "More, dammit. You promised."

After slowly licking a broad path from Brian's hole to his testicles, Justin lifted his head, inquiring archly, "Better?"

"Do that again," the brunet begged.

Justin readily complied, before lightly sucking on one of Brian's balls and then the other.

Brian groaned a long, drawn-out, "Fuuuck."

The blond boy reached down with one hand, and cupping Brian's spit-slicked testicles in his fingers, began rolling them gently to and fro. At the same time, he dipped his tongue into Brian's hole.

With a wordless whine, Brian bucked up against Justin's face.

Justin attacked Brian's opening in earnest - licking, nipping, and probing with his tongue. 

Brian was a writhing mass of need beneath him.

The blond halted his attack for a few beats, sucking his index finger into his mouth so he could get it good and wet. Next, he slowly fed it into Brian's hole, until the tip brushed against his prostate. Then he pulled the finger out before inserting it again, soon establishing a rhythmical motion. In and out. In and out.

"Jus, I," Brian pled, rocking back against the blond, his flesh hungrily clenching around the boy's finger, "I can't hold out."

Justin let Brian's sac slip from his fingers and reached around to grasp his lover's erection in his fist. He began sliding his hand back and forth, matching the strokes to the speed of his finger in Brian's ass.

"Christ!" Brian screamed, one stream of viscous liquid after another spurting out of him, until he finally collapsed, spent.

Something was nagging at the brunet, but he didn't figure out what it was for several long beats. When it dawned on him what it was, he craned his head around to look at Justin, his eyes travelling down the slender, still-clothed body until he reached the tented material at the boy's crotch. He wasn't sure he had the energy to back up his offer, but he nevertheless asked, "You want me to blow you?"

"Nah, I'm good."

Brian raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"I mean it," Justin insisted. "This is exactly what I wanted - to take care of you."

Brian blinked at the teen in surprise.

"Well, and to make you come undone," Justin admitted with an impish grin.

The brunet smiled wryly. He could accept that; he liked doing the same thing to Justin. "Don't you at least want me to jerk you off?" 

Justin shook his head, moving out of the way so that Brian could roll over. "I know it's weird, but I'm okay for now. Even though I didn't come, I got off on you getting off."

The brunet propped himself up against the headboard, and patted the spot next to him.

The blond teenager accepted the invitation, settling in next to Brian.

Lighting up a cigarette, Brian suggested, "How about staying the night and providing me with my favourite protein drink in the morning? I'll drive you over to Deb's house in the morning so you can grab a clean shirt and whatever, and then I'll drop you off at St James."

Justin eyed his lover consideringly. He didn't think he could refuse, not with Brian looking at him so hopefully. Besides, now that Brian believed him about the burglary, a major obstacle to building a relationship with the brunet had been removed. He still planned to pay back every penny, but he felt less anxious about the situation.

"I'd like it if you stayed," Brian said, rolling his lips in as he gazed at Justin.

"Okay," the blond agreed, accepting the cigarette from Brian and taking a puff. "I'm all yours."