Chapter 10 - Swing, Brian, Swing.

The person Kevan thought of as 'the dark, good-smelling one' - or 'Daddy' as he was now coming to be known in the baby's rapidly maturing brain - didn't smell very good at all this morning.

In fact, the Daddy smelled really, really, really bad. Kevan didn't like the bitter, sweaty smell on the Daddy's skin. And when the Daddy bent down to kiss Kevan, his breath stunk worse than the box full of the disgusting wet sticky things his people took off his bottom whenever Kevan cried. Ick!

The bad smells completely threw Kevan off. The dark one was supposed to smell good and warm and milky. He was supposed to hold Kevan in his big arms and do that thing he always did that made Kevan's tummy warm and happy. He was supposed to make the 'Sonnyboy' sound and smile at Kevan. He wasn't supposed to smell like the dirty box, make angry sounds and then grab Kevan roughly.

This was a brand new experience in Kevan's world, and frankly, it wasn't something the baby approved of at all!

Finally, after what seemed like forever in Kevan's concept of time, the Daddy stopped making his angry sounds and sat up. Then the yellow one - who had come to get Kevan when he'd cried to let the people know he was awake and ready for his regular allotment of attention - laid Kevan down in the Daddy's arms. Kevan turned his little head into the Daddy's big warm chest and opened his mouth eagerly, expecting that, like always, the Daddy would do that wonderful thing that made his tummy happy.

However, as soon as Kevan had clamped his mouth closed, anticipating the usual yummy milky stuff, he discovered that the Daddy didn't TASTE right either. The milky stuff was icky. It tasted wrong. It tasted like how the dirty box - and the Daddy's breath today - smelled. Yuck!

Kevan did the most sensible thing he could and immediately spat it all back out onto the Daddy's chest. And he cried so that his people would understand that this icky tasting, bad smelling, gunk was unacceptable. He also hoped that the unhappy sounds he was making would communicate his suggestion that it was probably a good idea for the Daddy to go sit in the big plastic thing full of warm soapy water that the yellow one sometimes employed when Kevan was getting a bit smelly himself.

The stupid person things, though, were, as usual, a bit slow on the uptake. They kept trying to make Kevan turn his head back towards the Daddy and force him to drink the icky gunk. Kevan fought them. He screwed his perfect little bow of a mouth tightly closed. He wrinkled his cute little button nose up at the bad smell. Every time they tried to turn his head towards the Daddy's smelly chest, he turned back away. And he cried as loudly as he could in protest.

I don't know why he won't nurse, Brian!" Justin sniped back for the third time as his very grumpy and totally hungover partner tried futilely to get Kevan to latch on.

"Why is he fighting me? He's got to be fucking hungry. He didn't even get us up in the middle of the night for once," Brian said as he tried once again to reposition the baby into the usually comfortable 'football hold' he used when nursing the baby.

"Kevan was up right on schedule last night, Brian," Justin corrected. "You were just too busy being passed out drunk to notice. I gave him a bottle when it became clear I wouldn't be able to wake you up."

"Shit!" Brian barely caught himself before he could blurt out a lame-assed apology, but feeling bad about not being there for his son all the same. "Well, fuck this. You take him. He's not interested in nursing and I'm not going to sit here fussing with him all morning," Brian growled in frustration and handed the whimpering infant off to his other father.

"Ssshhhhh, Kevan, Sweetie. It's okay, baby. It's okay. We'll figure out what's wrong and fix it, Honey," Justin crooned as he patted and soothed the unhappy baby. "Do you think he's sick? Maybe he's coming down with something. I mean, why else would he refuse to nurse?"

That possibility hadn't occurred to Brian's fuzzy, morning-after mind, but now that Justin had brought it up, Brian was instantly concerned. "He doesn't feel hot, does he," Daddy Brian questioned, laying his hand on Kevan's tiny forehead. "Did you use formula when you fed him last night? Maybe he's having a bad reaction to that?"

"No, I used some expressed milk I keep in the freezer for emergencies," Justin assured. "Maybe I should call my Mom. Or Dr. Dahl?"

Before they could debate things further though, the house phone on the bedside table rang and interrupted them. Brian stalked over and picked up the receiver, not even trying to hide the irritation in his tone as he barked "What?" at whoever had the misfortune to call this morning. "Fuck! I totally forgot, Cynthia. Are the boards ready? Good . . . Yeah, just keep them entertained. I'll be there in a half hour." He hung up and turned apologetically towards Justin. "I'm late for a fucking huge presentation. If I don't get there soon, Ryder will have my ass in a sling, and not the fun kind, either."

Justin might have even been angry about Brian leaving him to deal with another baby crisis all on his own if he hadn't looked up and noted the lines of worry on the handsome face. For all his many faults, deep down Brian was a good father and an inherently kind-hearted man. Justin knew he was as concerned about Kevan as Justin was himself. It wouldn't make things any better if he made Brian feel bad about having to go into to work.

"It's okay, Brian. I'm sure it's nothing. We're probably just over-reacting again. You go on and do your advertising genius thing. I'll call you if Kevan or I need you."

"Thank you, Sunshine," Brian gave a little relieved smile and leaned in to kiss both his blond and his son. "I don't mean to bail on you with this, but I've got to get a quick shower and get the hell out of here before the Harrison Motors people get too twitchy," the big guy explained, reaching across the bed to grab the alarm clock and double check the time. "Jeeze! I fucking reek!" Brian whinged as he caught a whiff of his own armpit in the process.

"Come on, little guy. Let's go call Gramma Jenn and see if she's got any suggestions for getting you fed this morning," Justin whispered into baby Kevan's shell-like ear as he left Brian to finish washing the alcohol-infused sweat off his stinky, hungover body.

Two hours and half a dozen aspirin later Brian was shaking hands with the last of the departing Harrison Motors executives when Cynthia approached carrying a stack of pink phone message slips.

"Nice save, Boss," Cynthia congratulated him as she traded the messages for the signed contract Brian held out. "They were so pissed off at you for being late that I wasn't sure you could win them back."

"Nothing the Kinney charm couldn't handle," Brian smirked with well-earned pride. "Anything in this stack that I will actually care about?" he asked and paused right before tossing all the messages into the nearest trashcan.

"Probably not, except for the one from Justin saying that Kevan's fine, he finally took a bottle and all is once again peaceful at Britin's Chapel."

"Yeah, but for how long? I'm sure the next major disaster is already brewing on the horizon. Have I mentioned before that this fatherhood thing is fucking hard shit? I'm glad Sonnyboy's okay though," Brian joked with his longtime assistant and friend.

"Well, I'm glad it's you, not me, Brian," Cynthia goaded him on, all in the name of friendship. "I'm happy just being a doting Auntie for a while longer. Although, if I could be assured I'd get one as adorable as little Kevan, even I might be talked into joining the rest of you 'breeders'."

*hahaha* "I NEVER thought I'd become a 'breeder', that's for fucking sure," Brian laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. "I guess Kevan's worth it though. When he isn't crying, that is. And if he doesn't get over this colic shit soon, you can have him." Brian added, his voice giving away the fact that he wasn't at all serious. "But when he's being sweet and calm, lying in my arms and looking up at me . . . well, I wouldn't change a thing."

Cynthia sighed at the beautiful and sentimental look on her friend's face while he got caught up in memories of his son, reminded once again why she loved this man so much. All the other shit he put her through sometimes was worth it because she knew the real Brian Kinney. He really was just a big old softy, although she'd never admit it to anyone.

"Hey, Brian!" the calm moment of reminiscing was brought to an abrupt halt by the unscheduled arrival of that overgrown puppy dog known as Michael Novotny.

"Mikey! To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?" Brian said with that fake smile he put on whenever dealing with unpleasant clients, charities begging for his money or family members that showed up at his work without invitation.

"I came by to see if you wanted to join me for lunch. I haven't seen you in, like, forever. I figured we could hang out at the Diner and catch up," Michael said with perfect predictability.

Brian briefly wondered if there was any way he could escape, but knew it was hopeless. "Sure, Mikey. Give me just a couple minutes though so I can get Cynthia what she needs to finalize things on our newest account."

Brian led them all back to his office, loosening his tie and taking off his suit jacket as they walked. He tossed the jacket over the back of a chair as they entered and went directly to his big glass-topped desk. Cynthia waited near the office door. Michael however trailed along, dogging Brian's every step, as the busy businessman gathered together several stacks of materials for his assistant.

"Here you go, Cynthia. Make sure 'Legal' gets the info for the copyrights immediately. We need those filed by the end of the day," Brian directed with authority. "I think the art department already has everything they need, but you'll have to keep on them or you and I both know they'll slack off and botch everything. And let me know as soon as Accounting has those publication costs."

Brian turned around, his hands full of files and his mind busy with the details of the account. Which is likely why he didn't immediately register the odd looks on both his friends' faces. It wasn't until he tried to hand off the files to an unresponsive Cynthia that he realized there was some problem. Between his Assistant's look of uncomfortable embarrassment and Michael's look of incredulous horror, Brian quickly keyed into the possibility that something was dreadfully wrong.

"What the fuck's wrong with you two?" Brian asked, not sure he even wanted to know the answer to his question.

"You . . . You . . . Your shirt," Michael finally stammered out, pointing an accusatory finger at the front of Brian's crisply starched white dress shirt.

Brian looked down and instantly noted, to his extreme mortification, two big wet spots on the material starting right below both of his nipples. And, even as they all stood there staring, he felt a new jolt of wetness against his skin and saw to his abject horror that the moist spots were growing, the dampness in the fabric now extending further down his front, dribbling on one side almost to the waistband of his slacks.

"Oh, fuck me," Brian mumbled under his breath.

Cynthia managed to pull herself together faster than anyone else. She strode over and took all the files out of Brian's hands without comment then walked away with a businesslike air as if she'd seen nothing out of the ordinary. "I'll get right on this for you, Brian," she stated as she pulled the door closed behind her.

"B-B-B-Brian? Why is your shirt all wet? What IS that?" Michael, unfortunately, was neither as considerate nor as tactful as Cynthia and proceeded to make a huge deal out of his best friend's condition.

"It's nothing, Michael," Brian cut off his friend, trying to stay ahead of the complete queen-out he knew was coming.

However, the more Brian tried to control his body, the more his tits leaked. His shirt was now totally drenched. If he didn't do something soon, the mess would leak down far enough to stain his slacks too. 'What a fucking nightmare,' he thought as he pulled off the already ruined shirt and tossed it to the floor next to his desk.

"What the fuck is going on, Brian!" Michael screeched, gaping at Brian's now bare chest. "Why-why-why are your tits leaking? Are you . . . Are you okay? Should we get a doctor?"

"Would you PLEASE calm the fuck down, Michael," Brian yelled at the panicky little man who was just making things worse with his constant whining. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine."

Then, as if on cue, a full-fledged and very obvious spray of milky white liquid spurted out of Brian's left tit right in front of Michael's disbelieving eyes.

"But-but-but-but-but," Michael continued even though he didn't have the words necessary to express the true horror of what he'd begun to suspect.

Brian meanwhile sat down in the big leather office chair behind his desk and pulled over a large black leather bag that had been resting inconspicuously on the floor near one of the large file cabinets. While trying to ignore Michael's ongoing stammering and staring, Brian unpacked the bag, setting out various pieces of plastic tubing and two small bottles on the desktop. After a little fiddling around with all the apparatus, he flicked a switch turning on a hushed motor and then leaned back in the chair. To Michael's utter incredulity, Brian proceeded to hold up the two bottles, now fitted with suction cup lids, to his nipples. Within seconds, Brian had relaxed into the big comfortable chair and spurts of thick whitish liquid were streaming out of his tits and into the plastic bottles.

"Ahhhhhh. Fuck, that feels so much better," Brian blew out a big breath of air and felt all the tension flow out of his body. He knew that his secret was out and there wasn't any reason to lie, so he quickly decided to try the 'shock and awe' tactic in order to quell Michael. "I missed Kevan's feeding last night and for some reason he was too fussy this morning to nurse, so my tits feel like they're ready to burst. I probably should have pumped earlier, but I was too busy in meetings all morning. Could you grab me a clean shirt out of the closet over there, Michael? I hope the cleaners can get the fucking breast milk out of that one - it's Hugo Boss and cost me $200."

Mutely, Michael went to the closet as directed, returning with a dry shirt. Brian indicated with a wave that he could drape it over the back of a nearby chair. Then, looking down at the almost full collecting bottles, Brian frowned.

"Jeeze! I WAS full. I guess that's what I get for not nursing Kevan on schedule. Oh well. I didn't bring any more clean bottles with me today, though. Damn! Well, at least that's relieved some of the pressure. Hopefully it's enough that I won't drench another shirt - at least for the rest of today." Brian disconnected the machine and efficiently packed all of the parts away, stowing the two little bottles in his office mini-fridge under the wet bar, and pulled on his clean shirt. "Now, Mikey, ready for that lunch you promised me?"

Michael got up and shuffled towards the door where Brian was waiting for him. "Brian?"

"Yesssss?"

"You've got tits? And they work?"

"Yep. They kinda go along with the whole pregnancy thing, Mikey."

Michael stood unmoving for several more seconds, apparently trying to wrap his reeling brain around this new concept. "That's REALLY freaky, Brian," he finally said with a quiet and sort-of-sad note of acceptance.

"Yeah. Tell me about it, Mikey!"

‘MMMMMMmmmmmm. I’m hooked on a feelling . . . I’m high on belivin’ . . . that you’re in LOVE with me . . . . Oooga chacka, Oooga Oooga Ooooga chacka . . .’

When Brian came through the door just before five o’clock he practically scared the pants off of Justin. Not only was he home early, but the normally taciturn and image conscious man was singing away at the top of his lungs. Singing a LOVE SONG nonetheless. A cheesy, old love song. He was even sort of dancing along to the melody he was humming whenever he came up to a part of the song where he didn’t know the lyrics.

Justin briefly considered that maybe his partner had been kidnapped by aliens and replaced by an honest to goodness pod person.

‘MMMMMMmmmmmm. When you hold me, in your arms so tight,’ Brian swept into the Greatroom where Justin had been sitting on the couch reading a textbook for class. The dancing queen swirled by the seated man, grabbing Justin’s wrist and pulling him up into an embrace as he passed and proceeded to dance the disbelieving blond across the vast open expanses of open hardwood floor. ‘You let me know, Everything’s all right . . . And, IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-yiiiiii-yiiiii-yiiii . . . I’m hooked on a feeling . . .’

With a nervous chuckle, Justin decided to play along. Brian twirled the two of them around in circles to the music only he could hear in his mind, spun Justin under his arm and then ended by dipping his partner so far back that Justin’s hair trailed against the floorboards for a moment before Brian pulled him up and straight into a big sloppy kiss.

'MMMMMMmmmmmm . . . Lips as sweet as candy . . . His taste is on my mind . . . Boy you got me thirsty, for another cup of wine . . . gotta bug from you boy . . . but I don’t need no cure . . . I’ll just stay your victim . . . if I can, for sure! . . .’

Brian finished his big number by spinning Justin so hard that the younger man twirled right away, finally stopping himself after about five meters, and standing there in stunned amazement as Brian Kinney ran and then slid on his knees across the floor, coming to a stop in a pleading pose on his knees at Justin’s feet.

“Hey there, Sunshine! Glad to see me?” Brian asked with a sexy waggle of his brows as Justin stared down at him.

“Whoever you are,” Justin smiled down on his kneeling suitor and shook his head in sheer amazement, “you can stay as long as Brian doesn’t find out we’re having an affair.”

“Ha ha! Come on, Sunshine. After an entrance like that don’t I deserve more than a lame, lukewarm joke? How about you take me to bed and ravish me for hours instead?” Brian quipped with a pleading look, cupping his obviously swollen crotch in demonstration just in case Justin didn’t get the hint about what, exactly, he was proposing.

Justin looked over to the coffee table where he’d amassed a large pile of information - mostly printouts off of various medical web sites - as a result of his research last night and this morning, all discussing postpartum hormone level changes and mood swings. He’d planned to confront Brian with his findings as soon as the man came home. He would do anything, even beg, until his partner agreed to go to the doctor and get some help. Justin really didn’t want to see Brian crying in the nursery again. But . . . Well, the other side of the ‘down’ mood swing was the ‘up’ swing and it was pretty obvious that Brian was feeling ‘up’ right now in more ways than one.

When a mischievously grinning Brian began to unzip Justin’s jeans, the young blond rapidly decided that any discussions about doctors and other less pleasurable topics could probably wait.

Blue Swede - 'Hooked on A Feeling' - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bo-qweh7nbQ

!!!!!!!KDTK!!!!!!!!