Chapter 14 - The Wages of Stalking.

For more than a week, Brian had been unable to escape Justin's almost constant presence. The boy was everywhere. Really. Absolutely everywhere Brian had gone all week, Justin would inevitably pop up at some point, surreptitiously handing his man packages of saltine crackers whenever it was needed.

Every morning when he got up, Brian would note that someone had just recently been in his loft. Most mornings there would be something fresh and tempting ready for his breakfast. There was always freshly made, hot coffee, no matter when he got up. After a few days, he noticed that someone had substituted his regular brand of dark French Roast coffee with something else, but the new blend was, if anything, even tastier than what he normally drank, so Brian didn't protest. He soon discovered the stash of new beans and laughed at the noticeably highlighted claims of 'Organic' prominently displayed on the package labeling. He never even thought to read the fine print on the nutrition label where it clearly stated the coffee was 'decaf'.

If Brian, instead of taking advantage of his ready to eat breakfast, decided to go to the Diner instead, Justin was always working that shift. He also seemed to work every dinner shift when Brian showed up. And one time, when Brian changed his lunch plans on the spur of the moment, Justin was there at the Diner even though it was the middle of the afternoon on a school day. Brian didn't know how the unshakable boy was managing it or how he was keeping up in school when he never seemed to attend.

Brian had glimpsed the blond head sitting in a little cafe in the lobby of the building where he worked. He showed up ensconced in the next barber chair over when Brian went to his stylist's on Thursday. He was always hanging around the gym. Justin had also appeared at the Baths - twice - Woody's several nights in a row, Babylon and even at The Meat Hook once, when Brian went there as a lark just to see if the boy would dare to follow him. Brian just couldn't escape his unwanted bodyguard no matter where he went.

The first time he'd visited Woody's, Brian had thought he'd be good and had accordingly ordered only a light beer. Before he could take even one sip, though, Justin had appeared, as if out of nowhere, wrested the beer out of Brian's unprepared hand and replaced it immediately with a non-alcoholic beer. Brian set that aside, untouched, and signaled to the bartender, ordering a shot of JB this time. The bartender came back a minute later and handed Brian another non-alcoholic beer. Brian set that bottle aside, too, and moved down the bar to where a different bartender was stationed. Unfortunately, that guy also disregarded his order of JB and handed him a third bottle of non-alcoholic beer.

"It won't work," Justin whispered quietly into the frustrated man's ear. "I've got a deal with every single bartender in every bar on Liberty Avenue and a couple of other bars around the city, as well. Your only other option is a soft drink. I'd stick with the non-alcoholic beer if I were you. At least if you cover up the label with your hand while you drink it, nobody will know it isn't real." Then Justin snuck a quick kiss onto Brian's cheek and once more disappeared.

"Fucker!" Brian mumbled and then, with a sigh, took a sip of his non-alcoholic beer.

That was also the night that all the liquor in his loft was replaced with vitamin-water beverages, sodas and fruit juice. He was angry at first. Then he decided to bow to the inevitable and admit to himself how much he respected the tenacious youth who insisted on looking out for him and his baby. He'd even been kind of expecting this. His entire stash of cigarettes had mysterious disappeared the very first night - even the ones he'd kept in non-obvious places like his bedside table, the back of the desk drawer and the little box of knick-knacks he kept in his dresser drawer. It was inevitable that the alcohol would go too, eventually.

The next morning, the first of the books had shown up. Next to his waiting coffee mug, he found a copy of 'What To Expect When You're Expecting'. It was a thick tome-like reference book that detailed, month-by-month, everything that happened during a typical pregnancy. It wasn't geared towards men, but Brian had to admit it was still pretty informative. He spent the next hour munching on a bagel that had been left ready to toast in his toaster, drinking his new, tasty blend of coffee and reading all about the first trimester of pregnancy. When he left for work, he placed the book in his briefcase and, from then on, he carried it around almost everywhere.

The next day, in his mail, he received a copy of 'Male Pregnancy: The Primary Care Provider's Manual'. This one was much drier and far less of an enjoyable read, but it was very detailed and specific to his own case. It scared the shit out of him. Brian took and hid that book in the drawer of his nightstand, underneath his supply of porn magazines, where he wouldn't have to be reminded of it.

A couple of days later, as if to lighten the mood, he found a copy of 'My Boys Can Swim! The Official Guy's Guide To Pregnancy', propped up on the back of his toilet. Thankfully, this book was much less scary. He got a couple of good laughs out of this one and found that it dealt realistically, but still humorously, with some of the same fears he was experiencing. This one was funny enough to leave out on the coffee table.

Sometime well into the second week of the super-stalker, Brian was standing at the large window of his loft, enjoying a rare night in, when he noticed a familiar looking car parked on the street below. He dug around in a drawer of his desk for a minute and eventually found the pair of binoculars he knew he'd stashed there. Back at the window, he scrutinized the small subcompact using the binoculars and easily confirmed his suspicions.

Justin's phone rang. He saw from the caller ID that it was Brian. He was slightly worried by the call since Brian had been noticeably cool towards him ever since he started Operation Watch Brian. Actually, even before that Brian Kinney had never called him. He didn't dare NOT answer, though - what if there was a problem?

"Hey, Brian!" Justin finally answered on the fifth ring.

"Are you and Daphne going to sit out there all night?" Brian drawled with evident humor.

"Maybe?" Justin admitted.

"You stupid little twat," Brian chuckled. "Send Daphne home and get your ass up here." Brian hung up.

"We've been found out," Justin informed his stalking buddy. "He told me to send you home and come upstairs.

"Maybe I should stay in case you need backup?"

"Nah. I can handle Brian Kinney. I think I'm wearing him down already. You go on Daph. Hopefully I'll be busy all night." Justin said, jumping out of the car with a manic grin on his radiant face.

At the door, Justin debated for a moment and then opted for pressing the door buzzer. A few seconds later, Brian's voice sounded through the intercom. "You might as well just use your key, Justin."

Brian was waiting for him on the couch when Justin let himself in. The blond walked in timorously, not one hundred percent sure of his reception. Justin cautiously rounded the couch and then stood about five feet away from the subject of his late surveillance, waiting, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet with his face all screwed up in uncertainty.

'Fuck! He's adorable', the thought percolated up through Brian's subconscious without warning. He felt that sweet-sour drawing sensation in his gut that hit him every time he saw the precocious youth. Brian wanted to be angry at the boy for his incessant interference in his life, his present 'situation' included. But he also wanted to envelope him in his arms and smother him with kisses. The latter urge seemed to be winning out the longer Justin stood there bouncing.

"Where'd you get the key?" Brian demanded, trying to sound stern.

"I stole Michael's keys and made copies," Justin admitted truthfully.

"Have you been skipping school?"

"No . . . Well, except for sometimes, gym and art - my last two classes of the day. But I've always been hopeless in gym, so that's no big loss, and I'm pretty much guaranteed an A in art already, so . . ."

Now for the really big question. "Did you tell Daphne?"

"No. I never said a word to her . . . She just . . . She figured it out on her own," Justin affirmed confidently.

"Un huh? But I bet you didn't try too hard to stop her from figuring it out, did you?"

Justin shrugged and again screwed up his adorable little blond face. Brian scrubbed at his own face with his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose in typical Kinney fashion. Then, taking a deep breath, his eyes still closed, he just patted the couch cushion next to him, inviting the boy to sit.

Justin giggled and then bounced down next to Brian, his body just naturally curling into the warmth of the larger man's side. Brian's arm assumed its natural place draped over Justin's shoulders. He let his head tilt to the side, touching against Justin's forehead, and they sat still like that for a long while.

"This doesn't mean anything. I'm still pissed at you," Brian finally added in a hushed voice, but still not moving way from the comforting warm body next to him. "And you're NOT moving in."

"As long as you admit you can't keep me out . . ." Justin maintained stubbornly.

"I could always change the locks, you know," Brian offered.

"I had a plan for that, too," Justin stated quietly. "It wouldn't have kept me out for long."

"Probably not. You've always been a persistent little fucker," Brian conceded affectionately.

Justin inhaled the Brian-ness of the man next to him. He knew it was probably just his imagination, but he thought that, maybe, Brian actually smelled even better to him than before. The scents of tobacco and whiskey were gone, and Brian had changed his aftershave, but the essence of Brian was still there and it was incredibly potent. By the second breath, Justin was as hard as a steel spike. Somehow he was drawn even more irresistibly to this desirable, delicious man, now that he knew what the sexy exterior was hiding.

"Oh, Brian," Justin panted, the longing in his voice unmistakable.

Before he consciously knew he was doing it, Justin felt his hand creeping under the hem of Brian shirt, caressing the still flat belly. That was HIS. He thought he could even sense a spark of some part of him still there. He wanted back in that place desperately.

"There's nothing to feel, Justin," Brian whispered. "If all those books of yours are correct, I shouldn't 'show' before the fourth or fifth month."

Brian didn't remove Justin's hand though. The warm touch felt good. The sensation of the lightly stroking fingers seemed to penetrate deep into his core. Brian wanted Justin to be touching him. Justin's simple presence, his nearness, made Brian feel a sense of elation he'd rarely experienced outside of sex. He knew it was probably just the weird hormones coursing through his fucked up body, but Justin being there made him feel incredibly happy. He wasn't sure he really liked it. Brian wasn't used to feeling like this . . . Feeling purely happy.

"Brian." Justin's hand was already moving lower. He slid his fingers inside the waistband of Brian's loose-fitting jeans. He was drawing little erotic shapes with his fingertips against Brian's skin. The need kept pulling his hand lower and lower, past the warm, stiff treasure that he usually aimed for. Past the comforting, solid weight of Brian's balls. All the way down to that tight knot of muscles that was the entrance to all of Brian's secret places.

Brian whimpered slightly when the first finger penetrated. But instead of fighting the sensation, he quickly shifted and unzipped himself so that Justin's hand had freer access. He could feel his muscles relaxing, more quickly than ever before, to let his lover inside where he belonged. This was right. It was so right. He needed Justin. He needed this man inside him right away.

Justin gently eased Brian's upper body sideways, lying him along the length of the couch. Brian complied without more than a whimper at the movement. With his free hand, Justin peeled off Brian's pants and then lowered his own. Somehow he managed it all without ever relinquishing his connection to Brian's inner spaces. Justin's hand, his fingers, moved of their own accord, prodding, massaging, teasing the muscles till they relaxed, all focused on getting inside, back to that place he knew he belonged.

Before either man knew it, Justin was poised with his raw dick dripping at Brian's open entrance. He only just barely remembered to fish between the couch cushions for the condom he knew was waiting there. He hated that it was needed. But that was a discussion for another time. He made quick work of situating the thin latex covering and then . . . Justin slid home into Brian's welcoming depths where he'd always belonged.

Was there really a spark of fire that touched them both when Justin's dick ended its initial thrust and they both lay momentarily still, reveling in the completeness? Both men, if asked, might have sworn to it later. This wasn't anything they could ever control or even imagine. They were so connected. They felt each other's hearts beating - through their skin, through their deep connection, through their very beings.

Their climaxes hit almost instantaneously. There was no build up. No time for long languorous stroking. It was electric. It was lightning. It was fire. Justin exploded deep in Brian's core at the same time that Brian erupted, spilling white hot cum between their sweat-plastered bodies. Wave after wave. Spurting, draining, exhausting their pent-up passions until they collapsed together in ecstasy.

It seemed to take forever before either man could breathe right or form a coherent thought. It was even longer before either managed a thought about moving or speaking. If it hadn't been for the crick in Brian's neck from where his head was mashed at an uncomfortable angle against the arm rest, they might never have moved from that spot. But when Brian started to squirm, trying to straighten his spine, Justin finally remembered he had to move.

Later, when they were all rearranged, comfortably entwined together, Brian started to chuckle silently.

"You're fucking addictive, Justin," Brian teased. "Your dick should come with a warning label on it that says, 'May Be Habit Forming!'"

They both broke out into riotous peals of laughter that fed right into their next round of lovemaking.