Glittered bodies, primal bass notes, organ riffs and rises.

Brian, in his black shirt, moved to his own rhythm surrounded by men like tribal dancers honoring their god. Or willing sacrifice.

Justin shouldered against bodies to get to him. Kept getting pushed aside and back.

The circle raged into flames with only one human face, smiling beautiful and forbidding in the glow. Now there were no bodies to scale. Only flames. And each time Justin reached into that fire to touch the man, he singed and burned and pulled back until he tore through despite the cost.

The fire softened to shades of blue carried on an old melody. Unworldly, licking spires cool as moonlight…Brian still centered in them, serenely open, dark suit and white silk scarf, holding out his hand.

Their fingertips met.

White flashed to black. No sound, then. No touch, then. Only blackness. A far-off whisper to come home. And the distant wail of a siren.

An ambulance siren faded in the distance.

Justin sparked awake and reminded himself he was safe in Brian’s bed. No blue lights. Just thin strips of streetlight through the blinds. He stretched an arm to Brian’s space. Empty. Eyes anxious, he sat up and took larger inventory, saw Brian’s back as a shadow seated at the foot of the bed.

Brian hunched forward with arms braced on his thighs and hands clasped suspended in the space between his knees. He stared into darkness that seemed to match his thoughts.

“Brian? You okay?” Justin rustled from the covers and edged toward him.

Brian raised his head a moment and drooped forward again. Not much of an answer. He was never much for words. Not this kind, anyway.

Justin v’d his knees alongside Brian’s thighs, slid his arms around Brian’s waist and pressed against his back, head turned away, cheek resting on a shoulder. Like a sculpture of lost souls – one thinking the worst, the other expecting it.

“You want me to go?”

“If you stay-” Brian tilted his head to brush Justin’s hair. “-there are no guarantees it’ll be like some fairytale. I hope you know that.”

“Can’t we just take it a day at a time?”

“I thought you wanted something longer term.”

“So did I. But I know better now.” Justin pulled tighter.

Brian slid his hands up Justin’s legs. “god knows I’m no prize.”

“Will you quit it?” Justin raised his head and nipped Brian’s shoulder, which got a flinch from Brian and a crack on the ass for himself. “You’re so much more than you let yourself think, and it pisses me off when you talk like that. Or are you just fishing for sympathy?”

Brian twisted back and trapped Justin in a headlock. “Brat!”

“Watch it! It doesn’t bend that way!” Justin wrenched free and dropped back on his elbows, cock at quarter to noon.

Brian spun upright on one knee, grabbed Justin’s thighs and yanked them up to free folded legs that looked more painful to him than they actually were for Justin. Then he leaned in for a kiss, only to be halted by a stiff-armed hand to his chest.

“Earn it,” Justin challenged.

Brian, rising to meet it, dove in. As they tumbled and wrestled through a game of capture and escape, Brian savored the return of this side of his lusty, fiery lover, so different from the washed-out hesitant little twink confused by the meaning of romance.

Justin held his own against Brian’s pegged meter and tried not to wonder what outcome would have happened had he chosen this tactic instead of a picnic on the floor the night Brian needed to unwind.

They tore up the bed until the sheets were stripped to the mattress, their pseudo-battle ending with a hard fuck that had Justin flattened under Brian’s full panting weight. Brian’s pullout made him gasp. Something that caught Brian’s immediate concern.

“Fuck. I should’ve used more.” Brian rolled aside, tossed the lube at a pillow.

“You weren’t going for blood?”

“Why? Are you on the rag?” Brian removed and squinted at the condom in the dark.

“I’m not a twat!” Justin swung back an open hand that smacked Brian in the ribs.

“Ow! If I wanted a bouncer, I’d’ve picked up…” Brian cringed a silent “shit”, stretched to pitch the condom, rolled onto his back, hand to his sweaty forehead. He peeked at Justin, on his stomach faced away, stiff and still.

Justin curled his arm, slid his hand beside his solemn face. “It’s okay.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I know how you are.”

“So why did you come back?”

“I know how you are.”

Justin felt Brian mold against him, hand easing circles over his back and shoulders.

Brian trailed kisses from the back of Justin’s head to his ear where he stopped and whispered, “Promise me you won’t lie to me.”

“Promise,” Justin swallowed, raised a tiny smile. “I think your green suit sucks.” Then he grit his teeth for the swat that never came. Instead, Brian’s arm rode along his own to twine fingers against his cheek.

“We’ve got so damn much to work on.”

Justin smiled at the “we” part, went grim again. “Brian, there’s something I-”

The phone rang, startling them.

Brian glanced at his clock, straddled Justin to snap up the receiver. “It’s two in the fucking morning. If you wanna stay alive, stay anonymous.” Then a quick, “Be right there.” Brian sprang to the bed edge and grabbed his pants.

“What?” Justin propped up.

“Get dressed. Make it quick.”

“Why?” Justin rushed to keep up.

The fever pitch was worse at the Novotny house, lit like morning. Plastic grocery bag in one hand, Debbie flew through the kitchen-nightgown, wigless gray hair framing a stark face of dread.

Michael, jeans and tee-shirt beat her to the front door and threw it open. “Upstairs,” he pointed as he led two paramedics dashing after him.

Debbie ran behind them, veered into the bathroom. She palmed a tear as she dumped bottle after bottle of pills into the bag, dropped one rolling under the toilet, “Shit!” and groped to find it through watering eyes.

Brian’s hand snatched it, added it to the bag and eased Debbie up into a hug.

“Shit, Brian, shit,” she leaned into his chest before pulling back to wipe eyes in a mad attempt for a tougher face. “His arm went numb…then chest pains…and…” she bit her bottom lip and sniffled.

“We’ll talk later,” Brian eased her around and they both saw Justin in the doorway.

“Sunshine,” she drew a feeble smile.

“Justin. Help her get ready. I’ll get this,” Brian took the pill bag.

“C’mon, Deb. It’ll be okay,” Justin held her arm and guided her out.

In Vic’s room Ben gripped Michael’s shoulder as they stood aside watching gloved paramedics wrap Vic in a silver reflective blanket.

“I’m okay now,” Vic said with tired embarrassment.

“Seems that way,” answered Med One. He lifted his kit, tapped Med Two’s shoulder. “Going for the chariot. Be right back.”

Med One pushed past Justin and Debbie, who’d recovered enough to glance inside and jab a finger at Vic. “You hang in there or I’ll never speak to you again, you shit,” before she moved on.

Vic just rolled his eyes, stopped them on Brian’s entrance. “You, too?”

“I heard there was a party, and I brought the drugs,” Brian smiled, dropped the bag on the bed and told Med Two, “These are all his meds.”

“Good. We’ll need those.”

Michael mouthed a silent Thank You to Brian then looked at Ben. “I wish he’d called the ambulance before he called me.”

“You have any idea what an ambulance costs?” Vic shot.

“Yeah. Merry Christmas,” Brian sidestepped to let Med One and the Driver assemble the stretcher and move Vic.

With Justin looking past her shoulder, Debbie, dressed and recovered, edged into the room. “How is he?”

“Stable, but we’re taking him in to be sure,” Med One answered, then to Vic, “We’re going for a little ride now, Pops.”

“Pops? POPS?”

“We’ll follow you,” Michael assured.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Vic directed the Meds,“Would you please get me outta here? I’m surrounded by drama queens.”

“Yes, SIR,” Med One chuckled as he and Two wheeled Vic out.

Presby Hospital waiting room echoed with the drifting squeaks, footsteps and low voices of quiet night activity in the corridor.

Debbie noted Michael and Ben seated together…Brian and Justin. The bolt struck.

“How’d YOU two get here so quick?”

Justin glanced at Brian for any cue, quickly dropped his head when he saw Brian’s eyes stay on Debbie.

Brian grabbed Justin’s hand and calmly smiled, “Solves THAT problem.”

“Holy shit,” Debbie grinned.

Michael raised a smug eye at Ben who answered with a resigned headshake.

Justin flickered a smile, gripped Brian’s hand. He had geared to protect Brian’s pride, but this surprise bolstered his own. Brian-and-Justin officially existed again.

Attention turned to a smiling Doctor who entered, scanned the gang and stopped eyes on Debbie.

“I assume you’re the Flaming Foul-mouthed Redhead?”

Debbie beamed like he just called her Marilyn Monroe. “Yeah. How is he?” Vic had to be okay for that line.

The Doctor sat beside Debbie and spoke mainly to her, drifting his eyes once in awhile to include the others. “We can’t find anything abnormal for his situation…but we’re holding him tonight just in case. It doesn’t appear to be a drug reaction. More like a pronounced anxiety incident.”

“What do you mean? Like an anxiety attack?”

“You might want to just talk to him. See if he’s worried or stressed about something that might’ve happened recently. Other than that, he’s in good shape.”

“Can I see him?”

“For a few minutes,” the Doctor addressed the others, “But the rest of you might want to wait until visiting hours tomorrow?”

Nods around the room satisfied the Doctor, who stood up. “I’ll take you back,” he told Debbie.

She rose, primped her wig. “Thanks. All of you. You all got jobs. Now go home and get some rest,” she eyed Michael, “You, too. I’m staying here awhile.”

Michael went to Debbie and hugged her. “Call me when you’re ready. I love you.”

She nodded, left Michael’s arms and followed the Doctor out the door.

Brian was up, out and three lengths ahead with Justin closing. Michael and Ben kept pace.

“You’d think he lived here,” Michael watched Brian stride through the halls.

Brian overheard, but didn’t respond. Familiarity with Presby wasn’t his fondest achievement. He felt Justin snatch his hand.

“I’m glad Vic’s okay…but I’m with you on getting out of here. I hate the sounds and smells of this place. I guess you’d have to have been here to understand.”

Brian just kept walking. Right past a nurse setting a chart on a door. She looked up in time to see a split-second profile of the man who’d spent many night hours with her during Justin’s recovery. Eager to say hi, she stepped back so quickly, Michael bumped her shoulder.

“Sorry,” Michael smiled as he passed.

By then, all she could see were Michael and Ben dashing into the open elevator.

At the loft…

Brian studied his computer screen in the light of a desk lamp. Justin, wrapped in a sheet, floated from the darkness, stopped at the desk.

“Are you coming to bed?”

“I’ll only have to get up in a couple hours anyway,” Brian stood, stretched, leaned across the desk and kissed Justin’s cheek. “Now YOU get some sleep while I work on selling a DNA sequencer.” He sat down again, clicked a new image onto his screen, took a moment to watch Justin retire to the bedroom

Justin settled back into bed, ran his hand over Brian’s pillow, stared in muddled thought. Since leaving home, he’d always been with someone – Brian, Linz and Mel, Debbie, Emmett, Ethan – never really on his own. Twice he’d been caught floundering to survive when things didn’t work out. He wanted a self-support system this time. But how would Brian take it?

At Ben’s apartment…

Ben shuffled in the bed covers, eyes staring in thought as he listened to computer keyboard clicks that finally drew him to the living room.

“Come to bed, Michael.”

Michael stared intently at his screen, the only light source. “This isn’t working.”

“That’s because it’s been a rough night and you’re tired. So give it a rest.”

“I’m staying up in case Mom calls,” he glanced at his Astro phone, back at his computer. “Besides that, orders aren’t up to where I hoped…I have like umpteen sales calls to do…make sure I get Vic home…”

“You’re spreading yourself too thin,” Ben rubbed Michael’s shoulder. “Let Debbie handle Vic, give me half your calls-”

“This is MY responsibility,” Michael swiveled around, “And I can handle it.”

“Okay,” Ben raised both hands, turned away.

Michael’s face changed to soft regret. He was tired. But he also took a big risk with the comic shop. A make or break personal risk, as if its very success defined him as a man of value. Like Brian. Or Ben. Then there were concerns of the heart, like Vic, battling for higher priority. Somewhere was a balance point.

At Ted’s apartment…

Ted sat with his back against the headboard, eyes wide open. Beside him, Emmett rustled in dreamy sleep before resettling…and snoring like a shop vac.

Ted grabbed a remote control from the nightstand, flicked on a small stereo, upped the volume on a classical station and glanced at Emmett for a wake-up reaction. None. If anything, Emmett’s snores went louder.

Ted rolled his eyes shut to focus on the melody, cringed each time Emmett punctuated an upbeat with his own instrumental.

Brian plays computer keys; Michael pecks keys; Emmett snores.

Song: “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik” (Little Night Music) by W A Mozart

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