Scott turned from the Loft front window back to Justin sipping from a water bottle as he approached.  “I COULD use a quick shower,” with eyes wide and smile turned up a notch.  The Official Turner Invitation.

Wise to it, Justin set the water bottle on his computer desk, crossed his arms and nodded to the bathroom.  “You know where it is.”  The Official Taylor Decline.

Scott blinked a no-fault-in-trying, started unbuttoning his shirt and turned away when Justin turned his back and looked out the window.  Okay. Understood.

In the closed bathroom, the shower ran but Scott wasn’t in it yet.  He stood naked with a notepad and scribbled as his eyes roamed the room.  Then he shoved the pad into a shirt pocket of his folded clothing on the sink counter, looked at the closed door and heaved a sigh before hitting the shower.  Would’ve been so much more fun running his hands over Justin.

Seated at his computer, Justin viewed a graphic of the Lightwave office floor plan, heard the shower stop and glanced up before returning to the screen.  If Scott intended to hang around, their sole discussion would be about business.  That’s all.  Then Scott hiked down the steps to the living room and Justin sneaked a stare.  Shirt open, hand flicking through damp hair, Scott had that wild, sexy look that stirred even the most resistant cock.  But not Brian’s magnetic deep eyes.  Once Scott’s superficial browns turned on him, Justin lost interest.  “Before you go back over -”

Three knocks on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Scott volunteered.  He was halfway there anyway.  With the strong move of an arm, he swept the door open and stared wide.

She was tall, hands in her pockets, long auburn hair damp and tangled beneath her raincoat hood, her modelesque beauty spoiled by long frown lines and the puffy red eyes of a night’s cry.  Her voice was low with guarded anger and hurt.  “You animal.  You disgusting animal.”

Scott swallowed, eyes catching movement as her hand whipped up a small silver pistol.  Aimed at his chest.  Shaking in her hand.  “Shit.”

When muffled voices went silent, Justin leaned back, stared toward the foyer, stood up to investigate when he saw Scott slowly backing into view, arms out from his sides.  Then the gun barrel advancing.  Straight-armed out in a two-hand hold.

Shitshitshitshitshit.  Justin dropped low, scrambled behind his desk, his back to the panel, eyes shut tight.  Mind racing in the slo-mo seconds between panic and reaction – thoughts a mix of hero and folly.  What to do.  Depends on who screams first.  If it’s Scott, he’s shot and the other person is still out there with a loaded gun.  Or if they shoot and miss, it’ll hit the bedroom glass and Brian’ll have a shit fit.  Stay low.  Hide?  And let Scott…

Chest heaving, Justin crushed his eyes shut and yelled, “Hey Scott, could you come over here a minute?”  then pulled his limbs into a tight ball.  Don’t shoot.  Don’t shoot.  Don’t shoot.

Scott almost had her hypnotized with his gaze.  When the lady’s head snapped toward Justin, Scott eased his hands over hers, slowly dislodged the shaking gun and shoved it in his jeans pocket.  She wasn’t going to shoot.  He knew from her eyes.  A lot of pain, but nothing lethal.  Still didn’t discount a possible reflex accident saved by Justin’s distraction.  Now she was shaking and sobbing “I hate you.  I hate you” at the floor.

Justin peeked around the corner of the desk, saw Scott take the crying lady’s arm and guide her to the door.  “Should I call the police?”

Scott mouthed a No and shook his head.  Then disappeared.

Justin heard the door scrape shut.  No more voices.  They were gone.  He wanted to get up and lock the door, but the strain drain left him feeling weak and sick, and all he could do was slide to the floor and breath.

Scott hit the emergency stop on the elevator, suspending him and his zombie-eyed friend between floors.

“Now what’s going on?” he stared, voice low and stern.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she edged out.

“Tell you what?”

“I followed you,” she strengthened, “To work, to those gay places…why didn’t you TELL ME?”  She saw his face stay hard and silent.  “I was supposed to get married.  And the blood test came…” she bit a lip, looked away and back with venom.  “I have HIV.  I’m positive, Scott.”

“Whoa.  WAIT a minute,” he flared, shrinking her into a corner.  “We had one thing a MONTH ago, and you’re blaming ME?  Well you’d better hunt up whoever the hell came before me, because I’m negative,” he watched her eyes widen,  “I got tested a couple weeks ago.  And if you don’t believe me, I’ll take you down to the fucking County Health Center and let you read it for yourself.  As for where I go, that’s MY goddamned business.”

Scott started the elevator, pulled her pistol from his pocket and held it grip out.  “I’m not the guy.”

With dream state lethargy, she took and pocketed the gun as the elevator stopped and Scott shoved the doors apart.  Her last look at him was agonized, mouth open but silent before she rushed out.

He watched her go, his face hard, eyes hollow.   

An hour later, Brian shuffled into the Loft, already had his suit jacket, tie and raincoat draped on an arm, shirt unbuttoned.  One thought in mind.  A cool shower with the Art Director.  Until he saw Justin on the floor behind the desk, arm stretched out in the unnatural pose of a fallen crime victim.  “Justin!” he raced over, dropped to his knees and grabbed the arm.  His heart kept pounding despite Justin’s stir and struggle to sit up.

“Shit,” Justin brushed a hand through his hair, propped his back against the desk.

Brian gripped Justin’s arm, touched his cheek then forehead.  “What the fuck happened?”

“I’m okay,” Justin brushed Brian’s hand aside.  “You just missed all the excitement.  Scott stopped in and one of his admirers showed up with a gun.”  He saw Brian’s eyes comb his body.  “Nobody got hurt.”

“That’s why you’re on the floor?”

“I think I passed out,” Justin grumbled, winced and rubbed a tingling leg.  Passed out.  Fuck.

“And he LEFT you here?”  Brian railed.  Have to talk to that asshole.

“Believe me, it was a godsend.”  Justin worked to a stand with Brian’s help, reached back for the water bottle.  “Some woman followed him here, and she wasn’t too happy,” he took a long drink.

“She caught you fucking.  That’ll DO it to a woman.”

Justin smacked the bottle against Brian’s chest, “It wasn’t funny,” turned and limped to the bedroom.  “Remind me not to let him in here again.  I had visions of you coming home and finding both of us splattered all over the Loft.”

Brian trailed, face drawn serious as Justin’s tone.  Whether the incident dredged old wounds or created new ones, flip comments were out.  He watched Justin sit on the edge of the bed, inward-retreat look, water bottle on his lap.  Like the old days after the bashing.  I was no more fucking good THEN than I am now, but I’ll try.

Brian sat beside Justin, set a hand on his thigh.  “Were you scared?”

“Shitless.  And I fucking HATE that feeling.”

“There’s nothing wrong with fear.  The smart thing is using it to separate courage from recklessness.”

“What IS that?” Justin corner-eyed, “Some mantra from your high-volume tricking days?”

“Okay,” Brian scowled, pulled his hand away, “You’re some spineless little fairy who hid himself and prayed for some Greek god to intervene and save him.”

“That’s NOT how it happened,” Justin flared.  “I yelled to get her attention and Scott took the gun away from her.”

Brian raised a brow.  “Good.  I knew you must’ve done SOMEthing.”  And he got up and strolled into the bathroom.

Justin thought a moment, exhaled a long breath and didn’t feel so insignificantly helpless.  Didn’t stop raw anger over Scott’s dragging his problems into the Loft.

In the bathroom, pants off and draped on the sink counter, Brian leaned stiff-armed beside them and looked at his mirror face with its heavy brow and thought lines.  Was I that smart?  Or that reckless?  His musing halted when Justin backed butt snug against the clothing.

“Hey.  I didn’t mean it to sound like that,” Justin met his eyes, fidgeted locked hands low on his outstretched legs.

“You said what was on your mind.”

“So what did you hear?  Because I don’t want you to think I meant you can’t do what you want.  I know you’re careful.”

Brian’s arms relaxed, shoulders loosened.  I might have heard that.  A few years ago.  But I know you better now.  “You don’t want advice I wouldn’t take myself.”

“Something like that.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Justin watched Brian turn and open the shower door and guessed it was a cue to leave.  You want to chill by yourself?  Fine.  At least you got the message.

Brian twisted a look over his shoulder, stopped Justin’s departure with a low, “If you’re not joining me, would you mind hanging that up?” and nodded at his pants.

“Hang your OWN shit up,” Justin grinned and stripped while Brian adjusted the shower.  He stepped inside and under the tepid spray and they stood facing each other with eyes closed, heads tilted back to welcome a drain-off of sweat and tension.

Brian shagged his wet hair, Justin spit a mouthful of water at Brian’s chest then Brian took Justin’s wrists, wrapped them around his neck, circled his arms around Justin’s back and they closed the gap between them, tented their foreheads together so water wouldn’t drown their words.

Something Brian had been planning.  And what better time than now.  “RegionAir wants to meet about a new ad.  We’ve got one day to piece something together and take it to the Windy City.”

“You’re going to Chicago?”

“WE’RE going to Chicago.”

“Can we afford it?”

“We got super discounted tickets.”

“From Miss Brit?  Who can’t wait to get in your pants?”

“From Miss Brit’s manager?  And we’ve never met, but he DID sound -” He cut short when Justin pushed off.  Brian yanked Justin back and reconnected foreheads. “Then we’re taking a little two-day side trip to Denver.”

“What’s in Denver?”

“Nobody we know.”

“Um-hm.  New hunting grounds.”

“Nope.  Just us.”

“Are you serious?”

Brian stepped them out of the spray and dove into a serious kiss.  Justin answered with equal understanding.  Details seemed less important than the fact they were finally going away together.  Just the two of them.

After the kiss became an embrace, Brian rested his head over Justin’s shoulder and stared off.  “I have one more call to make.  Why don’t you decide what you’d like for dinner, and we’ll go out when I get back.”

At Scott’s front porch, Brian idled the Honda beside the parked truck.  Thought about what to say, how to say it.  When he saw Scott open the front door and step out to investigate, Brian killed the engine and left the car, shut the door hard.

“Kinney.” Scott half-smiled.  “You called…I’m here.  Is it for business or pleasure?”

Brian hiked the steps, face tight and humorless, “What the fuck happened at the Loft today?”  He stopped beside the porch railing, one clenched hand hooked on his jeans pocket, the other fisted against his leg as he drilled a stare at Scott standing a couple steps outside his door.

“A little unplanned event.  But it’s over.”

“Do ALL your intimate friends ‘pack’ for house calls?”

“I had her under control.”

“Why was she there in the FIRST place, and why the FUCK did you involve Justin?”

“Hey,” Scott blazed back, “I didn’t invite her, and if your fuck-mate can’t handle -”

Brian lunged forward, thrust his palms into Scott’s shoulders and slammed him against the door.  Scott rammed his hands into Brian’s chest and hurled him back onto the railing where a fast post grab kept him from sailing over.  Brian launched off the post for another hit when Scott stopped him with a raised hand and raw shout.

“You want my blood?  Go ahead and try it!  Just make goddamn sure you got no open cuts.”

Brian froze stunned, saw Scott panting heavy with eyes a glassy mix of thunder and pain.  Nothing he’d ever seen in Scott before.  Or ever expected to see.  Then the words sank in with clarity that drained off anger and left a strange numbness.  “Is it confirmed?”

“Won’t know for a couple more months.”  Scott moved his raised hand to his shoulder, rubbed at the dull soreness.  “I…uh…forget what I said about Justin.  Wasn’t thinking.”  He flexed his shoulder, shuffled past Brian and sat down on the top step, his back against a pillar.

Brian joined Scott on the step, grimaced and rubbed his battered back before leaning on the other pillar.  “He’s not a fuck-mate.  We’re partners.  In more than one sense.”

“You made that clear,” Scott gripped his shoulder.  “And since I’m a reasonable man, I won’t sweep off my porch with your damn carcass.”  When Brian didn’t snark back, Scott stared a dagger.  “You know what you can do with your fucking pity.”

“Fuck you, Scott.  You don’t have results, but you’re that sure?”

“Maybe YOU can go through life wearing a raincoat in the shower, but not me,” Scott glared, “Not me.”

“You KNOW goddamned well what’s OUT there.”

Scott steamed up, “I was ALWAYS careful!  Always careful with the boys.”  Then he looked off, voice fading like a wave sliding back to sea, “Fucking Broad…fucking Broad…fucking broad.”

Brian swallowed hard, toned down.  “It’s not a given.  And even if it is, there’s a lot you can do to fight it.  Mikey’s partner Ben can tell you all about that.”

“What’s he do for a living?”

“He’s a college professor.”

“A fucking school teacher,” Scott snorted.  “I’m out in the rain, down in tunnels, get cut, stung, shocked and jabbed, and I STILL fucking love everything about what I do.  I give that up, I might as well put a gun to my head.”

“Then why even worry about it?”  Brian snapped.  “If you’re gonna do whatever you want ANYWAY.”

Scott stood up, looked across the yard at stands of oak and maple, rich summer green still glistening with rain from southbound thunderheads against a luminous blue sky.  “In two months, it’ll be a helluva view.  Always is in fall.” He looked down at Brian, voice open and simple, “You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“Meaning what?”

“Having someone,” Scott looked out again.  “Of all the family, fucks and friends I have…there’s only one I could even come CLOSE to trusting.  A bad-ass trick I picked up a few years ago,” he shook his head as if at some bizarre joke, “A fucking trick.”  Then he gazed down at Brian with serious, steady eyes.  “I want you to buy my ranch.”

Brian’s mind blanked, he gasped a breath through a shocked smile and stared at the steps before slowly working to a stand.  Fucking WHAT?  “Buy your ranch?” he almost laughed, “I can offer you a hundred bucks and a used Honda,” saw grave eyes and turned solemn.  “I can’t afford it.  This must be worth -”

“I know what it’s worth,” Scott scanned the porch, doors, surroundings.  “It took ten years of work, money.  Put everything I had into it.  And I’ll be goddamned if I have to lose it on somebody else’s terms.  So keep the Honda.  This whole place is yours for a hundred bucks in love and trust…on one condition.”

“What?”

“If I test negative twice in the next four months, you sell it back to me for a thousand.”

“If…” Brian breathed out, “If you don’t?”

“There’s a five year look-back period on inheritance tax.  I’ll last that long just to keep the fucking State from getting part of it.  And you get to keep it all.”

“What about Dave?  Or the rest of your family?”

“You think if they knew I fucked men, they wouldn’t leave me to rot in some hellhole?  One thing I know for fact.  I could fuck women and still be a man on Liberty Avenue.  But I can’t fuck men and still be one in Boone County.  They’re not getting my ranch.”  Scott held out his hand, eyes tense, “Do we have a deal?”

Brian’s lips thinned.  If I take it, you fucking well know I’ll end up taking you with it.  If I don’t, it’s another victory and a small fortune for the homophobes.  “Deal,” Brian clasped Scott’s hand, saw life return.  “And just for the record?  That bad-ass stud picked YOU up.”

“Whatever you wanna believe,” Scott regained his brazen smile, gripped Brian’s hand then let go.  “Keep your datebook clear tomorrow.  I already have my attorney drawing  up the papers.  Now get the fuck outta here.”

Brian watched Scott turn and go inside without a backward glance.  Knew what it was like to risk losing everything, to lose so much.  With one exception.  A young, one-time trick he picked up a few years ago.

Scott leans against his porch post, stares out at his ranch; Brian, deep in thought, focuses only on the long driveway.

Song: “I Need You” by Dave Gahan

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