Brian in jeans and blue shirt, cordless phone to his ear, stood like a dark shadow against daylight filtering through the Loft window sheers.

“I’ll hold,” he exhaled, glanced at 9 AM on a digital clock on his bar cart, parted the sheers with his free hand and gazed at busy Tremont.  Something he’d always dreaded, now missed – traffic heading to work.

Past the bedroom, source hidden by the glass doors, a light tap-tap-tap - bang – Bang - BANG that made him wince and glance back before a quick, “Yes, I’ll keep holding” then “Fuck.”  He stared at the phone singing a dial tone.  Fucking disconnected.

Tap-tap-tap.  Bang.  Bang.  BANG.

“What are you doing?” Brian’s yelled across the near-empty Loft.

Justin shouted back, “Painting.”

“With WHAT?”  Brian set the phone aside, trailed around the bedroom to Justin’s work corner.

“Acrylics.”  Kneeling beside a two-by-three foot wooden frame on a white cloth remnant, Justin placed a corrugated metal strip on a corner joint, rested a hammer on it for aim, lightly tap-tap-tapped to get it started then triple-banged it home.

“No wonder most great artists are dead,” Brian rubbed a temple,  “Disgruntled neighbors.”

Drama queen, Justin rolled his eyes, sat back on his legs.  “I’m making a stretcher.  Pre-made ones cost too much.”  Justin lifted a cloth edge and folded it over the frame.  “After I tack all these edges down, I’ll have a framed canvas,” he sunny-smiled up, proud of his frugal genius.

Brian smiled back his approval, noticed a photo standing on the easel and moved to snatch it.  “Is that what you’re painting?”

Justin’s smile drooped and he couldn’t rise on cramped legs fast enough to intercept, so he settled back and watched Brian’s brows knit.  “It’s a freelance job.”

“They’re not paying you enough.”

“I think a hundred dollars is pretty damned good.”

“For a painting of a TWAT?  Ah…I get it.  An anniversary gift from Melbert to Linz.”

Justin struggled to his feet and whipped the photo from Brian’s hand, “Not for them.  It’s for a wall hanging, and I’m abstracting it so only the buyers know what it is.  Don’t you have something to do?” he set the photo back on the easel tray.

Brian reached out and touched Justin’s shoulder in wordless apology.  “Hey.”  He coaxed Justin around, moved close and stared down into his eyes.  “If anyone can make a twat look respectable…it’s you.”

Justin’s smile curled up for a brief moment before hardening at Brian’s double-entendre grin.  “You asshole,” he lightly pushed Brian away, wryed a smile at Brian’s gotcha chuckle.  “Someday you’ll say something astoundingly nice to me and your dick’ll fall off.”  He knelt to finish his work and ignore his heckler.

With silent affection, Brian watched the back of Justin’s shaggy blond head.  Watched his focus as he set another fastener, watched his hand grab the hammer.  Drop it.  Then shake out his hand and rub it with the other.  It drew Brian’s concern and a quick move to the opposite side of the work.  “Need some help with that?”  Brian dropped to one knee.

“I can do it.”

“And I can’t?” Brian snorted, grabbed the hammer, centered the fastener and tapped.  “How’s the hand doing?” he said to the fastener as he banged it in.  Sounded more like casual conversation if he didn’t direct stare.

“Okay.  Tightens up once in awhile, but it goes away.”  Justin reached for another fastener with his left hand, cradled the right in his lap.  “Don’t center it.  I need two in each corner to keep it stable.”

“Yes, SIR,” Brian took the offer, eyes on Justin’s hands before turning back to hammering.  “When’s your next checkup?”

“Don’t need one,” Justin handed Brian another fastener.  “Specialists are just over-priced doctors who count on hypochondriacs to pay off their student loans.”

Brian whacked the fastener in with two hard hits.  He could say, forget the money and GO – and really piss Justin off.  But before he could think of a better way to put it, Justin changed the drift.

“So who were you calling?”

“WaveLight,” Brian mumbled, set another fastener on the last corner.

“You put your application in with…” Justin leaned back, eyes wide, “I thought you said they were a low-rate bunch of fogies with no vision.”

“Every BIG agency has its stars…politics.  WaveLight’s small, their CEO is about to retire, and they’ve gone flat.  Maybe I can change that…” Brian knit his brows, “…if I could just get an inside track on who’s replacing him,” and nailed the metal in two hard whacks that nearly split the wood.

Justin flinched at the sight and sound of Brian’s unleashed frustration.  His hand stopped Brian’s mid-reach for a fastener then he leaned into Brian’s view.  “You will. You can do anything you want.”  He said it with a soft smile, briefly closed his eyes to accept Brian’s quick kiss.  “Ready for a break?”

“Depends on what kind,” Brian raised a brow.

“Just give me a few minutes,” Justin wrinkled his nose, worked to a stand and brushed the back of his hand against Brian’s cheek before climbing the steps to the bedroom.  If no other success story every graced his life, he knew how to get Brian up.  His claim to a lifetime achievement beyond anyone else’s reach.

Justin opened the bathroom linen closet, stared at the last two bath towels and snatched one out.  He glanced at the hamper and exhaled a breath at the sight of its lid propped up by overflow laundry.  Then he turned to the sink, set the towel aside, ran water and opened a drawer for an empty plastic bottle.  No problem filling it with his right hand, but he had to switch hands to attach the long nozzle.

Brian had just tossed his tee on the bed and undid his second jeans button when the phone rang.  He skipped down steps to the bar cart, answered with one hand while working buttons with the other.  “Brian Kinney.”  He froze movement.  “Mikey?  Where the fuck ARE you?”

Pittsburgh’s Allegheny County Police Station hummed with enough activity to complicate Michael’s call.  With Horvath playing peacemaker between Ben and Hunter’s fuming Mother, Rita, Michael had to press one hand to his free ear to continue.

“I’m at the Police Station.  No, I’m not under arrest.   Yeah, it’s parked outside.  Goddammit, Brian – high test,” Michael swiveled around and saw Debbie – “Oh shit” - decked in vibrant color, hot for action with Vic trailing as damage control.  “I’ll call you back.”  He pocketed his cell.  “Mom.  I didn’t expect you to come down.”

Debbie perched a hand on her hip, got in Michael’s face and kept a low tone.  “What the hell is going on?” she glanced at Horvath, Rita, and Ben edging away from them.

“Hunter’s mother tried to take him back, so I took him to Youth Services,” Michael glanced at approaching Ben, got a dim smile.

Rita’s angry voice grabbed attention.  “Those two fags kidnapped my son and I’M wanted for questioning?”

“Mrs. Montgomery,” Horvath calmly answered, “Your son has made some pretty serious accusations -”

“Oh, that kid and his stories,” she switched to giggly sweet, “You can’t believe half of what kids say.”  Then back to Mrs. Hyde.  “And if he DID spout some wild lies, I’m sure those two put him up to it.”  She glared from Ben to Michael.

Debbie’s eyes narrowed, she took a step toward Rita but Vic shot “No, Sis” grabbed one arm and Michael the other “Mom.”

Horvath smiled non-threatening. “That’s why we need to talk, Mrs. Montgomery.  Your Advocate from Family Crisis is here to help you.  Now would you PLEASE step into my office?” He aimed a palm-up hand at his door. 

She tossed a smile of recognition to a quaint Lady at Horvath’s desk, finally accepted his courtesy.  But not before a searing look back.  “What about THEM?  Shouldn’t they be in jail?”

“I’m sure they’ll be properly dealt with,” Horvath nodded at them as he guided Rita into his office and shut the door.

Debbie watched with a mix of pity and anger.  “With a mouth like that, hard to believe she’s a mother.”  She wide-eyed Vic’s steady stare, turned to Michael and lightly slapped his cheek.  “You did the right thing, Sweetheart.”

“It was Hunter’s idea.  His decision,” Michael stared down.  “He HATES the system.  But he said we couldn’t run forever, and it was the only way.”

“We’ll get him out,” Ben slid his arm around Michael’s shoulder.

“Damn right we will,” Debbie nodded with conviction, primped her wig.  “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.  It’s my day off and I got work to do,” she led the parade, her expression tense with thoughts in motion.

Towel draping from an arm and half covering his naked body, Justin stepped from the bathroom and expected Brian to be ready for action, but the bed was empty.

“Brian?” Justin scanned around until he heard Brian’s “Yeah.  Later” coming from the painting niche.  He stepped to the doorway and looked down at Brian, shirtless and barefoot, sitting cross-legged beside the unfinished stretcher.  In one hand, the phone.  In the other, some photos.  “WaveLight call back?”

“Mikey,” Brian looked up with strange resignation.  “The good news is, he’s not in jail.  And he’s bringing the car back.”

“That IS good news.  Are you snooping through my stuff?”

“Who’s Grumpy and Goofy?” Brian flashed a picture of a homely couple Justin’s way.

Justin shrugged, “It’s for a portrait.  Fifty bucks.  I TOLD you I was freelancing.” He took two steps down, sat back on the top step.

Brian shuffled and displayed a photo of a black dog, raised a questioning brow.

“Seventy-five.  Animal lovers are a pushover.”

“Then you should post your card at Meathook,” Brian twitched a smile, set the photos aside, turned serious.  “Are you planning on wearing yourself out?”

“Not by myself,” Justin flashed a coy smile, stood up, sauntered down the steps and nudged Brian’s shoulder with his foot.  Forget that I’m working and you’re not.  Right now.  “Then at YOUR age…” Justin kicked his shoulder harder.  Might as well make it a win-win endeavor.

Brian flinched, jumped to his feet and rifled off his jeans so his half-mast cock swung free.  “You little fuck…I’m on to you.”

“Like you’ll EVER be on to me,” Justin shot through a laugh, turned and dashed up the steps with Brian hot behind him, sprang onto the bed and dropped the towel on the fly.

After a couple laps around and across the mattress, Brian caught Justin around the waist at the foot of the bed and threw both their sweaty bodies onto the cool sheets.

“Fuck about my age, hunh?”  Brian snapped to his knees, sat back on his legs and rolled Justin belly down against his thighs, hard cock dropping between his splayed knees, ass up.  Brian wrapped an arm around Justin’s waist and used his free hand to lay a loud smack low and center.

Justin gasped through a smile, chest down with arms bent out.  He felt the heat and sting charge through him.  Another smack, same spot.  Another.  He grunted and gripped the sheets and didn’t think about his hand.  Or work, or anything else but the sensation.

Brian glanced at Justin’s closed eyes, clenched hands, back to the rosy blush rising on Justin’s ass, spaced a couple more smacks and heard a stifled “ow”.  One more would do it.  He wasn’t out to punish or hurt.  Only intensify the fuck.  He could feel Justin’s cock spearing and sliming his leg, his own cock trapped between their bodies and gorged to explosion.  WHACK.

Justin kept his eyes closed, wet his lips, felt the sting and heat from the swats.  Felt Brian’s arm retreat, damp thighs slide from under him.  The shift of Brian’s weight on the mattress.  Then the rip of a condom packet.

Brian straddled Justin’s thighs, gripped Justin’s hips and urged him up just enough to position a towel-covered pillow under him, then gently pressed against the small of his back to signal him down.  He hesitated to marvel at Justin’s milky back, serene trust…slid his hands down the sweat sheen to Justin’s shoulders before he even realized he was doing it.  Then braced his arms alongside Justin’s chest and leaned down to kiss his cheek while positioning his knees between Justin’s spreading legs.

Justin twisted his head to catch the kiss on his lips.  He moaned softly when a finger lubed him, louder as Brian’s rigid cock eased through, waited, drove hard in, lifting him to his knees.  He arched his back to meet and grip thrusts so deep, the friction of Brian’s skin against his heated ass sent waves of pleasure-pain straight to his cock.  Then a new sensation of Brian’s hand working him.  Matching his thrusts.

At their hot, wicked pace, they knew they wouldn’t last long.  But sometimes short range  high-intensity elevated release beyond the best marathon.  This is for us, Justin thought and moaned in loud, short bursts as he came.  Brian threw his head back with staccato grunts and one long groan before he collapsed onto Justin with just enough strength left to kiss his heaving shoulder.  This is for us.

On his side under a sheet, Brian thought he felt the light tap of fingers on his shoulder, a puff of air that sounded like “Hey” on his face.

Justin, already dressed and on his side facing Brian, smiled brightly when the hazel eyes finally opened.  “Hey.”

“What time is it?” Brian rasped.

“Two.  I guess we wore each other out.”

Brian flexed his hand and stared at it.  “I guess so.”

“Just don’t make a habit of that,” Justin noted the hand with a glance.

“You know what happens when you throw the Age card.”

“So you ARE on to me,” Justin stared off in a light blush.

“More than you know.”

Justin planted a quick kiss on Brian’s lips,  “I have to get over to the Diner.  Want me to bring you back anything?”  He flinched when Brian’s hand squeezed his crotch.  “Besides that.”

Brian did a slow blink, shook his head no.

“One last thing,” Justin leaned close, brushed a kiss against Brian’s cheek and seductively whispered near his ear, “It’s your turn to do the laundry.”  He rolled off the bed, “Later,” and headed out leaving Brian in dark thought. 

From Top Exec to fucking cleaning lady.  Fuck.  

Brian stands in the bathroom doorway.

Song: “Help Me” by Junior Wells’ Chicago Blues Band

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