Justin trudged up the block from the grocery to Daphne’s, stopped for a breather-moment and hiked his two heavy bags higher before moving on.  The rumble of a slowing car ominously paced him.  Ignore it, he thought, stern-faced.  Only cops cruise before sunset.

He heard the car squeal around a couple curbed vehicles, exhaled and smiled when he saw Brian’s ‘Vette park ahead.

Brian unfolded into view, hollered “You should be aware of your surroundings,” as he stepped to the sidewalk to intercept.

“I heard you,” Justin defended.  “I thought you were one of Stockwell’s marauders -” Justin released a bag into Brian’s grasp, walked with him, “ – and I don’t have my fucking license on me.  What’re you doing here?”

“Your phone is off the hook,” Brian stopped, opened the passenger door, watched Justin maneuver inside.

“Just busy.  I was planning a party.”

“Oh?” Brian crammed his bag beside Justin’s legs, leaned an arm on the car roof.

Justin smiled up, “A few anti-Stockwell friends.  None of ‘em are on the Hot-and-Hunky list.  I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Brian raised a brow and cheeky grin, “And I missed the part where you knocked that second lock off the back room.”

“That’s because my knees were blocking your view, in case you forgot,” Justin crooned sarcastically, and the door slammed shut.

Brian dropped into the driver’s seat, swung an arm over Justin’s shoulders and leaned too close to resist. Justin met his light kiss and backed off.  “So what ARE you doing here?”

“Up for a job?”

“Right HERE?”

“Not THAT kind of job.”  He watched Justin’s eyes dart back in curious interest. “Is Daphne home?”

“Out shopping.  She’ll be gone for hours.  And hours.  Why?”

Brian pulled his arm back, started the car.  “We’ll discuss it at your place.”

“Okay,” Justin nodded, eyed Brian’s serious expression and figured it had to do with more than watching for a hole in traffic.

In Daphne’s mini kitchen, Justin set his bag on the sink counter, rustled out the contents and opened the fridge.  “So what kind of job are we talking about?” he focused on product placement while listening.

“Not an easy one, but if we play it right, we might get lucky.” Brian set his bag on the table, removed his jacket and hung it on a chair so he could comfortably empty the bag.

“Hand me that six-pack,” Justin motioned; Brian reached to the bottom of his bag.  “Sounds like we’re robbing a bank.”

Possibly worse, Brian reconsidered.  He handed Justin the beer, stood on the opposite side of the open door and watched Justin set the pack on the floor, remove cans from the fridge.  “What are you doing?”

“Rotating.  You keep beer in the can too long, it tastes like metal.”

“THAT’s kinky.”

Justin slammed the open door against Brian, made him gasp.  “You are SO weird.”

“You’re rotating beer that won’t even last a week and I’M weird.”

Justin stood up, leaned on crossed arms on the fridge door and practically into Brian’s face.  “I’ll give you my complete, undivided attention if you’ll quit stalling.  Now what are we talking about?”

“The cop who might’ve killed Jason Kemp.  I talked to him.”

Justin’s eyes widened.  “You…jesus, Brian,” he grinned ecstatic, “You nailed him?  God…think what this’ll do to Stockwell.”

“Slow down.  I’m not the Lone Ranger,” Brian looked off.  “I tried taking it to Horvath.  It seems that mere suspicion doesn’t link him to Kemp without hard evidence.”

Justin frowned.  “So…what’d this cop say?”

“Not much more than shit,” he stared directly at Justin.  “Interested in meeting him?”

Justin’s eyes gleamed with Avenger spirit.  “Yeah.  I have this mini recorder I use for class.  I could tape it to -”

“And he’ll willingly share every detail of the grizzly deed with a total stranger,” Brian stopped with a hand on Justin’s shoulder.  “He’s no talker.  But I know his weakness.”

“What’s that?”

Brian rolled his lips in, eyed Justin with a second’s doubt and withdrew his hand.

Justin read the doubt, “I’m more than just a poster boy,” cocked his head back and made up Brian’s mind.

“Finish what you’re doing.  Then we’re checking out a new bar.  But we’ll have to dress special for the occasion.  Where do you keep your clothes?”

“On a rack in Daph’s room,” Justin led Brian from the kitchen and pointed at her open door.  “My dress suit’s in the garment bag,” he turned back to the groceries.

Brian watched Justin’s slim body framed in fridge light – rotated the scene in his mind to remind himself of the risk. Not that kind of special, Sunshine.

Brian flicked on Daphne’s light and blinked at life in a kaleidoscope.  The girl certainly loved color.  Spotting familiar clothing on Justin’s rack, Brian parted hangered tees, shirts and pants - rejected all but one pair of baggy worn denims hiding at the forgotten end.

Justin shut the fridge, heard paper crackling outside the front door, hiked over and opened it to investigate.  “Daph.”

“Oh god, Justin – you scared me!”  She had three UniSEX-logo shopping bags at her feet, purse open for key fishing.  “I thought you went to the store.”

“I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

She snatched up her bags and breezed in.  “I am so totally broke.  The new Spring line’s on sale and I picked up the COOLEST stuff.  Just wait’ll you see -” she gasped and froze when Brian walked out of her bedroom with Justin’s pants draped over his arm.  “Brian,” she recovered with a warm smile, then an embarrassed, “Oh” and a glance at Justin.  “Oh.”

“Hi, Daphne,” Brian high-pitched his teen mimic.

“We weren’t doing anything,” Justin assured in a low voice.  “And if we were, we wouldn’t be doing it in your room.”

“Course not,” she chirped at Justin, set her bags on the futon and swiveled looks from one to the other.  “So are you guys…just hanging out?”

Brian eyed Justin.  “Actually, we’re on our way to the Loft.”

“Uh, yeah,” Justin swiped his coat off the futon then joined Brian moving toward the door.

“But it’s always a pleasure to see you,” Brian smiled at Daphne, got her dreamy wide return.  “Later.”

“Have fun,” she wrinkled her nose to Justin’s silently mouthed “Bye” as he followed Brian out and shut the door.

Walking down the hall, Justin grabbed the frayed cuff of the jeans dangling from Brian’s arm.  “THESE?  I haven’t worn these in years.  They’re -”

“Perfect,” Brian finished.  “But I’ll have to loan you a shirt, if I can find one that’ll fit.”

Justin turned to the stairs, huffed “What’s wrong with my shirts?” stared at Brian’s dark one and squinted.  “Where’s your leather?”

“Fuck,” Brian winced, handed him the jeans, “Wait here” and strode back down the hall.

Justin watched him rap on Daphne’s door then disappear inside.

Daphne handed over Brian’s jacket.

“I was just about to run after you,” she watched him put it on.  “You always wear the hottest stuff.”

Brian noticed a pile of tagged items on the futon.  “Looks like YOU do, too.”

“Oh!  I need your opinion,” she flitted to the pile and rummaged.  “We’re having a gang over tomorrow, and there’s this guy?  Oh well…you know…and I wanted something different.”  She whipped out a black item and displayed it.  “It looked good at the time…I mean…I got it a little larger…but…do you think this looks too trashy?”

Brian arched a brow at the tee.  “The truth?”  Narrow straps.  Low cut.  REALLY low.

During the short drive to the Loft, Brian answered Justin’s questions.

“On a scale of loser bars?  It ranks about minus ten.”

“Ah.  Nobody hit on you,” Justin smirked, backed down when Brian corner-eyed him.  “So tell me about his weakness.”

“Naïve, desperate, untraceable chicken.”

“Cheap little hustlers,” Justin fingered the jeans in his lap, mulled the drift with a tint of insult.  “So you naturally thought of me.”

“I know I can trust you,” Brian glanced at Justin, got a more enthused smile.  “All we need is a DNA sample.”

“Hair?”

“He’s practically bald, but -”

“Don’t even suggest it.”

“Spit…skin…”

“Used glass?”

Brian shook his head.  “I’m no expert, but alcohol might fuck the sample.”

“Cigarette butt,” Justin offered, saw Brian’s brow and smile rise.  Justin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back smiling as well.  “Good, ‘cause my last choice was raking my fingernails over his back or letting him slobber down my neck.”

Brian chuckled at the thought.   To mask his revulsion to it.

Brian poured himself a short one to dull the rising edge, side-glanced Justin at the full-length mirror.  Slipping the jeans up his legs and hips.  Pulling the tee down his milky, developed torso.  Turning, adjusting, posing…getting into the role.  Brian emptied his glass in one gulp.  “We’ll have to move it if we want to get there before HE does.”

Justin ran his fingers through his hair to muss it up a bit, then traced along the neckline.  “This is one of YOURS?  Sure shows a lot of skin.”

“Bought it from a friend,” Brian moved closer and stopped, amazed that the power of suggestion could be just as arousing as full revelation.  “That definitely works.”

“I can see that,” Justin grinned at Brian’s bulging cock, perched a hand on his hip and tilted his head.  Then he grunted, swung his hand down and shook his head.  “I don’t know the first thing about hustling.”  He looked up, caught Brian’s direct stare and recalled their first meeting.  “That was different.  It was YOU.”

“So pretend I’m the old pervert.”

“THAT’s easy.”

“I’m keeping score, smartass.”

“What’s a point worth?”

“Blowjobs you owe me.  You’re up to twenty-nine,” Brian softened, moved in front of Justin.

Justin smiled, but the temporary diversion wore off.  “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“You’ll do great,” Brian set his hands on Justin’s shoulders, slowly backed him against the support beam.  “This guy isn’t looking for an old pro.  He’s into control.  He wants something sweet.  Someone who looks hot.”

Justin felt Brian’s breath burning his face, his eyes searing his skin.  The effect jarred his cock, made his skin prickle and heat, made him feel sexy and confident.  “He told you all that?”

Brian broke his eyes away, dropped a hand to Justin’s hip, placed the other on the beam above Justin’s head and braced against a stiff arm.  “I have a good idea what he wants…but not how he operates.”  Brian touched his forehead to Justin’s, closed his eyes.  “If we blow this, he’s a cop.  He won’t fall for it again.  Worse…if something goes wrong, we’re on our own.”

Justin caressed Brian’s cheek to open his eyes.  “I may not be the world’s greatest hustler…but I can take care of myself.”

“I know what you can do when you set your mind to it,” Brian leaned back.  “But don’t get caught up in the heroics.  If he tries to take you anywhere…even if it’s just a fucking dark corner in the room…give up and leave.”

“I’ll always keep you in sight.”

They leaned into a spontaneous, deep kiss.  It dulled the tension, but fueled other needs that had smoldered beneath the planning and prepping.  Brian slid his tongue from Justin’s mouth, down his cheek to burrow and feast on his neck, stopping only to whisper, “You.  Look.  So.  Fucking.  Hot.”

Justin panted between light kisses to the hair near Brian’s ear.  “Mmmm.  We have some time yet.  How would you like to plow my smooth, tight ass?”

Brian leaned back, smiled with a low graveled tone, “How much do you want?”

“Everything you’ve got.”

Song: “The One I Run To (Tony Thomas Mix)” by Miro