First day.  Third shift.  Temperate black night.  Brown paper bag of needs under his arm, Brian stood in the bright pole light outside the Turner Lumber warehouse, took a deep breath and walked in.  Almost heard Jack laughing – Welcome to a Real Man’s World.

First to notice him, a wiry little Asian guy hiked over with a who-the-hell-are-you scowl. “Yeah?”

Amercanized Asian. “Kinney.  I’m starting tonight,” Brian panned the room.  “Are you the Foreman?”

The Asian’s face relaxed.  “So you’re the token white-collar.”

Brian did a tongue in cheek, “Is there anything else you want to know that hasn’t gotten around yet?”

“Always good to know who you work with,” the Asian eyed Brian’s unflustered smile, figured he was okay. “I’m the token Korean.  Chinc.”

Brian checked a hand that wasn’t offered.  “I thought that was Chinese.”

Chinc shrugged, “You all look alike to me, too. Tank should be in shortly.  Wait in there,” he waved a gloved hand to the break room door, turned and walked away.

Brian opened the door, watched Chinc.  Down the dock past him, three guys nudged, pointed and looked his way then converged on Chinc, the obvious informant.  Great start.  Associated with the enemy – former management.  Brian went inside .

After scouting around, he took Justin’s med bottle from his pocket and shook rat droppings onto the floor around a loaded garbage can.  He washed his hands, opened the fridge and was staring into THAT trash heap for a place to set his lunch when the door opened and a hefty, gym-honed guy walked in.  Decent face, dark and silver hair, eagle tattoo on his bicep – genuine Super Breeder.  “You Kinney?”

“Yeah,” Brian watched him slap a large metal lunchbox on the table, remove a pound of cholesterol to get to a couple skin mags in the bottom.

“Foreman. Tank.  I’ll introduce you to the gang and we’ll get started,” he repacked lunch.  “Know anything about wood?”

“Some.”  No need to elaborate.

Tank opened the fridge, edged his lunchbox on a full shelf, crunched it in with a workboot.  “Gotta make your own space around here,” he snatched Brian’s bag, crammed it against somebody else’s, “Like that.”  He slammed the door, stood and looked Brian over.  "This ain’t no desk job, Slick.”

“I don’t expect it to be,” Brian raised a brow, pulled on heavy gloves and saw Tank’s lips curl into a Boy-Are-We-Gonna-Have-Some-Fun-With-YOU smile.

We’ll see about that, Brian matched.  “You’re the leader.”

Tank’s smile changed.  He liked the sound of that, and Brian got his number immediately, followed him out to the dock.  Two hurdles past – showed he wasn’t an authority threat, and got a new name, uncomplimentary as it sounded.  He was officially in.  Or WAS he?

Tank walked the dock like his name.  “Ladies,” he bellowed, “Got a new one here.”

Ladies?  Brian’s gaydar sank sub-zero as he watched six men flock in front of him and stand in various stages of ease while Tank spoke.

“Slick here-” he shot a look at Brian, “-is gonna grade.” At Brian, “I ain’t rattling names you ain’t gonna remember anyway.” Tank pointed out each man, who nodded on cue, “You met Chinc.  That’s Creet,” beer-bellied simple type, “- Slash,” middle-aged hood, “-Dog,” face only a mother could love, “- Mom -” token Black?

“Chief cook.  Fine dining Monday and Thursday,” Mom grinned with tobacco teeth.

“And Torch,” Tank finished on a snaky thin Southern Boy, the only one who really smiled.

“I used to be Hoopy,” Torch drawled, “But I was doin’ the barbecue pit?  And sorta caught fire,” he blushed.  “Put myself out, though,” he proudly added.  “Been Torch ever since.  Beat the fuck outta Hoopy.”

“We can socialize later,” Tank parked a heavy hand on Brian’s shoulder, grinned  “Got a routine test to see how fast you pick up.”

Brian caught a smidge of amused exchange between the Ladies as Tank guided him to an aisle.  Something was up.

“Let’s see how you handle the White,” Tank pointed to an elephant of a forklift sitting perpendicular in the aisle.  “Climb aboard and I’ll fill you in.”

Brian sat in the seat, followed Tank’s swift moving hand.

“Over here you got forward, neutral and reverse,” he pointed to the steering column.  “On your right you got three levers.  Lift, tilt and sideshift.  Think you can remember that?”

“I’ll try,” Brian clenched a knee to hold back any lethal one-liner.

“Brake and gas are same as a car.  Key’s on the column.  Give ‘er a half turn to start ‘er up, then take it forward to that wall and back it up to this same spot.  Just remember, if you lose control, you break it up, you CLEAN it up.  Go.”

Brian watched Tank join the spectators, noticed a barrel of wood scraps and two over-flowing trash cans behind him.  Ahead, fork blade marks in the block wall.  Brian turned the key, geared forward, grabbed the steering wheel and did a hard left turn that aimed him up the clear aisle.  Behind him, mouths dropped and Torch smacked Chinc’s arm.

A few yards down the aisle, Brian shifted to neutral.  Hit the brake.  But it dropped to the floor with bare response.  He quick-glanced the emergency pedal and jammed on it.  The White stopped.  He grinned over his shoulder, “Not a bad ride.”  Then he reversed and slowly backed into the original spot with the emergency still on, shut it down.  “I hate to give you bad news on my first day, but the brakes are fucking shot,” he swung down, kept a serious face.

Tank poked Chinc’s shoulder.  “Go tag it,” nodded to Brian impressed, “You pass,” then a general “Okay.  Back to work.  Creet.  C’mere a minute.”  And the party broke up.

Brian watched Chinc wire a bright orange Out Of Service tag to the steering wheel.  The equipment ID and status lines were already penciled in.  “Do you speed write, too?”

Chinc eyed him, knew they were made.  “Some guys panic and fall apart.  Some blow up and take it personal.  You didn’t do either…and you didn’t even get dirty.” He smiled “Welcome to The Pressboard Jungle,” held out his hand and got Brian’s firm return shake.  “How’d you figure it out so fast?”

“I wasn’t about to pick up your trash.”

Chinc saw Creet coming.  “See you around,” he nodded to Brian and left.

Creet stopped.  “Okay, Slick.  You’re with me tonight.  Know anything about separating prime studs from garbage?”

“Some.”  Again, no need to elaborate.

“Before I forget, we got three rules around here.  First, don’t admit to nothin’…second, don’t volunteer for nothin’.”

“My, grade school has taught you well,” just slipped out.

“Thanks,” Creet smiled too sincerely.

Caught Brian off for a moment. “That’s two.  What’s the third rule?”

“Third, don’t believe nothin’ a dock man tells ya,” he chuckled and punched Brian’s shoulder before he turned and walked on.

Brian rubbed his shoulder, moved to catch up.  Real fun bunch.  “What about the rats?”

“WHAT rats?” Creet hard–stared.

“In the Break Room.  I saw some tracks by the trash.  Do you know they carry rabies, maybe Hanta Virus?  I just read an article on that the other day.  All you need to do is breath it, and once it gets into your system there’s no cure.  You bleed inside from everywhere,” Brian shook his head at Creet’s white face, “Fucking horrible way to go.”

“Shit.  Man in Electrical got his nose bit off by one, too,” Creet turned, yelled through the din, “HEY TANK!”

Brian lagged back, giving Creet enough time to elaborate, then watched Tank beckon Torch over, point to the Break Room.  Torch listened with a noticeable wince, nodded and headed for the Room.

By the end of the shift, Brian figured out the pecking order.  And the Break Room wasn’t spotless, but at least tolerable.

In the dark Loft, Justin tossed and turned, felt the empty spot beside him and finally got up.  He used faint streetlight from the windows to find his way to Brian’s office desk, turned on the desk lamp.  He ran a finger down a disc tower beside Brian’s computer, stopped on Brown Athletics.  Pulled that disc.  Checked the bottom, saw WaveLight and pulled it.  Then he walked them to his area, dragged the easel to his computer and switched on the clip light.  He sat on a stool, fired up his system, put WaveLight in the disc tray.  File: Copy Disc.  As: Project 1.  To: C-Drive.  Start.

While waiting, he paced back to Brian’s desk, straightened the bills, took a seat and rested his hand on the drawer file.  He pulled it open, spied the papers filed under JT-BK Contract, smiled and shut the drawer.  Then he looked at the bills again.

Morning.  Justin lifted his head off crossed arms on his desk, blinked blurry eyes against bright light, felt a hand on his shoulder and Brian’s voice low at his ear.

“Burning the midnight oil?”

“Trying to learn this program,” Justin yawned, struggled to a stand, “How’d it go?” he grabbed and squeezed Brian’s right hand, heard him hiss and pull away.  “What’s wrong?” Justin took Brian’s wrist, saw his bruised palm.  “Oh god.  Brian.”

“It’s the Blue Badge of Honor,” Brian’s left hand took Justin’s and led him to the bedroom.  “Just…no Age Cards.”  He dragged up the stairs, kissed Justin’s forehead, released his hand.  “You look like I feel.  Go stretch out until I get back.”

Justin watched Brian snail by, perch his hands on his hips, arch his back and grunt.  And the decline to share a shower was rare.  “Okay,” he answered, crawled onto the bed to wait.  And wait.  And wait.  All the while, the shower ran.

Justin padded into the bathroom.  “Brian, you’re gonna run out of hot water.”  His eyes widened “Shit!” and he whipped the shower door open when he saw Brian naked and prone on his stomach atop two soggy towels.  He straddled Brian to shut the valves and knelt dripping beside him, touched his shoulder.  “Brian.  Brian.  Are you okay?”

“We need a Jacuzzi,” Brian mumbled, eyes closed.

“Well you scared the fucking shit out of me,” Justin jumped up, snatched a towel, rubbed it through his own hair then slowly worked it over Brian’s body.  “Are you coming to bed?  Or should I throw your pillow in here?”

Brian grunted and winced as he pushed into a seated position.  “Third shift is obviously an acquired taste.”

Justin, kneeling with a towel, scanned him for more damage and stopped on his cock.  “How could you be half dead and still have a hard-on.”

“Your expert towel job…” Brian grinned, “…and wet tee shirt,” he tweaked Justin’s nipple and got an open-mouthed flinch.  Then he touched Justin’s cheek.  “It’s just the first day.  Once I get the job down, things will be easier.  Now if you’ll assist me…”

Justin nodded, stood and offered his arm.

Brian staggered up, leaned on Justin.  “This isn’t exactly what I meant, but we’ll get to the rest later,” Brian pulled his silk robe off a peg, let Justin help him put it on.  “First I need a drink to dull the pain.”

“I’ll get it,” Justin blurted, hurried out the door, down the steps.

Justin gathered the stamped envelopes he remembered leaving on the edge of the bar, turned toward his desk and right into Brian.

“Party invitations?” Brian pulled the letters from his hand, swiveled to the light, perused the creditor addresses then turned a calm eye back.

Justin raised his head.  “I only paid half. From MY checkbook,” Justin walked up to him, took the envelopes back.  “We have a signed contract, remember?” he grinned with renewed justification, strolled back to the bar.  “Do you want scotch or whiskey?” He opened a cabinet, set out both bottles and froze when arms wrapped around him.

Brian whispered in his ear, “Now that I know you’ll understand…I called your Doctor, and you WILL keep the appointment.  Whiskey.”

Justin’s eyes narrowed and he set a glass down hard.  “You lead a charmed life.”

“I have a little help,” Brian ran a hand through Justin’s damp hair and shagged it up.

Two weeks later, Michael and Vic walked into the Diner and slid into the booth beside the one Justin was cleaning.

“Hey, Justin,” Michael smiled.

Justin left his bus pan, wiped his hands and joined them, “What brings YOU guys in tonight?”

Vic started, “Rodney has choir practice-”

“And Ben’s working on a paper,” Michael finished.  “What’s going on with Brian?  He hasn’t been around for at least a couple weeks now.”

“It took him that long to get used to the night shift,” Justin pulled his checkbook, “And when he’s up, he’s working on ads for later.”

“He’ll make it.  It’s what he does best,” Michael nodded.

“Doesn’t sound like it leaves you much time together,” Vic watched Justin’s face.

“We make time,” Justin assured with a sly smile.

“I can’t believe he’s on a dock,” Michael shook his head, “How’s it working out?  I mean…all those breeders.”

“He doesn’t have much to say about it,” Justin shrugged, “They build up and load supplies for worksites and a couple chain stores.  He says it’s laid back.  Some of the guys take turns sleeping in a spare office.  Some even have their wives and girlfriends over for lunch.”

“Not at the same time I hope,” Vic raised a brow.

Justin chuckled, “He doesn’t get into their personal lives.  And they have no reason to get into his.  Far as I know, he does his part, they do theirs and it’s a job.  So,” Justin took a pencil from his apron, “What can I get you?”

“My Mom for one thing.”

“She’s at the Giant Mart. We ran out of bananas,” Justin eyed Michael and Vic exchanging wide grins,  “Something up?”

“Hunter’s Mom decided to relinquish her parental rights. It’s not a done deal yet but there’s hope,” Michael lit.

Vic leaned back proudly, “Sis went straight to the source, held her exquisite tongue, gave just the facts…and the door opened.”

Justin beamed, “That means…I can’t wait to see her face when she finds out!”  He noticed a Couple beside him eying the bus pan on the neighboring table.  “It’s open,” he told them, moved over and grabbed the pan, passed Michael and Vic with “Be back in a minute,” as he carted his load up the aisle.

Justin didn’t get to see Debbie’s initial reaction.  But he heard the shrill “Oh my fucking god!” all the way back by the noisy kitchen dishwasher. 

On Dock Ten, Brian and Tank stood surrounded by several various-sized pallets of hardwood flooring.

“New job tonight,” Tank arced an arm across the piles.  “Ever load a truck before?”

“Once.”  With a host of Stockwell refugees. Fifteen degrees and too cold for a blowjob.

“Keep it balanced.  Put your heavy pieces up front, and careful when you double stack.  This isn’t cheap stuff.  Even it side to side or if he takes a hard turn, he’ll tip and shut down the Turnpike for hours.  Chinc’ll help you out,” Tank slapped his arm, walked off.

After dumping the mental images of Tank’s words, Brian looked out the open garage door at the unmarked white truck.  He shot a look at the Star truck on the next dock.  At Ozark and Raven parked in the lot.  Northwestern.  His brows knit when he checked his unmarked truck again.  He watched Tank turn up the stairs to the empty offices, jogged to catch up and reached the base of the steps in time to see Tank disappear into one of the offices when Chinc grabbed his arm.

“Whaddya need?”

“That truck on Door Ten,” Brian casually remarked. “I just wondered which Company.”

“Some Independent.  White, I think.  Check his manifest,” Chinc looked aside and back, “And don’t go up there.”

A moment later, Tank’s voice boomed “Get rid of it NOW.  One more time and you’re fucked.  Got it?”

“C’mon,” Chinc led Brian back to the Door Ten. “Slash was supposed to load, but he had a few and Tank had to pull him.  He’s a good man, but he’s having a tough time since his wife left.  You married?”

Brian looked off, “We have an agreement.  But I know the feeling.”

They saw Tank headed their way, Slash leaving with his jacket slung over a shoulder and a bottle-shaped brown bag in hand.

“Slick, I have to hold you for a double,” Tank stood hands on hips. “We’re behind schedule, Slash is off, and you’re the low man.  Sorry, but it’s part of the job,” Tank stared unblinking, then turned and walked away.  “They don’t pay me enough for some of this shit.”

Chinc cased the load. “It won’t all fit.  Leave that off…” he pointed, “And that one…”

“We’ll make it,” Brian pulled a marker from his pocket, studied the pieces and numbered each below its weight mark.

“What’re you doing?”

“A little cut and paste,” Brian stood back, looked it over, changed a number.

A half-hour later, Brian, Chinc and Creet stood looking into the back of a truck evenly stacked to the roof.

Creet shook his head, “That is a thing of beauty.  Wish I had a camera.”

Brian corner-eyed his worshipful stare before Chinc interrupted.

“Mind showing me how you did that?”

“How can they DO that?” Justin pressed the phone to his ear, sat at Brian’s computer and tapped the space bar.  “And how are you gonna go back in tonight with hardly any sleep?” After a pause, Justin smiled and palmed his forehead.  “Yeah, I remember. We fucked all night and you were still brilliant in the morning.”  He heard a knock on the door, looked up, “I hafta go.  Pest Control has been in and out.  Later,” Justin set the cordless down and jumped when Scott, sharp in Boss suddenly appeared in front of him. 

“Justin.”

“jesus, Scott,” Justin ran a hand through his hair, “How…”

“Sorry,” Scott looked back, “I had business in the area, and your door was wide open.”

“Pest Control must’ve left,” Justin muttered on his way to the door.  “If you’re looking for Brian, he has a double shift and won’t be back till five.”

“I hear he’s doing a helluva job.”

“He always does,” Justin shut the door, moved back to Brian’s desk and sat down.  “Wish I could say the same for me,” Justin grabbed a pencil, jotted down the error response on the screen.  “I thought it was MY system, but this disc won’t run on Brian’s either.”  Justin leaned back, pencil tapping random dots onto the paper.

“You got me there.  Wires I know.  Software…” Scott shook his head, looked at his watch.  “It’s only ten-thirty.  How about I take you to lunch and maybe when we get back, you’ll have a clearer head on this.”

“No, I…” Justin looked down at his paper, drew a line between two dots, smiled up, “Actually, that sounds like a decent idea.”

“I’m parked right out front,” Scott smiled, waved Justin ahead of him.

Justin let Scott out, followed and shut the door.  “I haven’t talked to you in awhile,” he took lead and started down the stairs.

I’ll bet there are a few other things you haven’t done in awhile, Scott grinned wide behind him.

By 10:30 AM, Brian saw five day-shifters heading to the Break Room for lunch.  Good enough clock for him.  He set a stud on the pile and removed his gloves.

The Day Foreman approached, Gomer Pyle’s Sarg, but with a quieter style.

“Kinney.  We got a late runner on Three.  Got time to unload him?”

Brian nodded, pulled his gloves back on, met the driver on Door Three and took his manifest.  Brian stopped at the open truck door, looked closely at a heavy pallet of hardwood flooring lit by light filtering through the fiberglass truck roof.

Driver joined him. “There a problem here?”

“I thought I saw some damage.”

“Looks okay to me.”

Not to ME, Brian ran his hand over the number Four he’d written on that same piece last night.  He briefly drilled the Driver’s eyes for a reaction.  Nothing.  Clueless.  “I’ll have you out in a few minutes.”

Driving along the highway with Scott, Justin noticed more and more trees than homes.

Scott nudged, “So the cops pulled you in. Then what?”

“I think I bored you long enough.  Where’s this place again?”  Really getting rural.

“Not far.  Can we swing past my ranch a few minutes?” Scott grimaced, pulled his tie knot loose and unbuttoned his collar, “I need some jeans and a cotton shirt or I’ll be lousy company.”

Justin stalled.  His place?  Then…he DID look uncomfortable.  “Sure.”

“Besides, I built it myself and I like to show it off,” Scott spot-checked Justin.  “Unless you think it’ll be too boring.”

“No, I’d like to see it,” Justin quickly added.  Seemed okay and NOT at the same time.

“Good,” Scott smiled, planning his moves to be Justin’s choice.

Justin stood in the Architectural Digest vault-ceiling’d living room rich in woods and Brianesque furnishings.

“You DID all this?” Justin awed at a wall of glass overlooking scenic landscape.

“Faces north,” Scott pointed at the glass while removing his jacket.  “Keeps the sun from overheating the place.  Come on.  I’ll show you the Loft.”

Scott unbuttoned his shirt, hiked up the open stairway and purposely didn’t look back.

Justin hesitated, opted not to refuse or offend, and followed.  Up the stairs, along a balcony overlooking the living room, through one of several open French doors.  Into a vast bedroom.  When Scott removed his shirt and flung it on the bed with his jacket, Justin diverted to a curtained window-wall.  “That’s really…nice.”

“Bathroom’s over there if you need it,” Scott nonchalantly pointed, giving him an out.

“Thanks,” Justin took it.  Went through the bathroom doorway, reached for the door, but there was none.  So he pissed slow as possible, giving Scott time to dress, flushed the toilet, washed up, paused in the doorway.  Scott was still naked, holding a pair of jeans in each hand and apparently having trouble deciding.  Fuck.  He WAS like Brian.

Scott knew a line like See-Anything-You-Like wouldn’t work on THIS one.  So he chose his jeans and dressed slowly in imposing profile while glimpsing Justin’s body language through a mirror lamp base.  That’s it, Artist.  Look, and appreciate.

Justin caught himself and stepped back.  Nothing wrong with liking a nice body.  So why did it FEEL wrong. 

Scott’s voice interrupted. “Justin? I’ll be outside on the balcony.”

Unfamiliar with Scott’s house, Justin hurried from the bathroom in time to see him dressed and stepping out a glass sliding door in the window-wall.  Justin slowed, edged to the long balcony railing and stopped five feet down from Scott.  But he quickly lost himself in an incredible view of hills, trees and sky reflecting on a large pond.  “This is…so perfect,” he leaned arms on the rail.

Scott also leaned in the same manner.  “When I saw it, I thought it was an artist’s dream.”

Justin rested his chin on his arms; Scott did the same.  “This time of year, the sun sets right between those trees,” Scott pointed past Justin, ran eyes over his body when Justin looked away.  “It’s always beautiful.  Always different, every time.”

Justin turned toward Scott, one arm on the railing, slid his free hand into his pocket.  Scott turned to Justin, one arm on the railing, free hand hooking his belt as he stared across the pond.  “If you stand out there, it reflects off every window, and you’re surrounded with sunset.”

Justin drank in the mental vision.  The look in Scott’s eyes.  His longish hair wisping in a light breeze.  His full lips moving in words too soft to hear.  “I’m sorry.  What?” Justin moved closer.  Scott looked open, captivating in this place.

“I said,” Scott slowly lowered his chin so that his light brown eyes rolled up and wide and directly into Justin’s, “You seem like someone who really understands a beautiful sunset,” again barely audible, through a melting smile.  “If you’d like to see what I’m talking about, let me know, and I’ll show you.”

Scott was nearly whispering, and Justin had moved so close, he felt his eyes trapped.  His groin heat.  Cock stiffen.

“Would you like that?” Scott whispered, his own cock hard from the charge between bodies in desire.

Justin felt the sizzle.  But he’d felt that before.  When the words, the place, the image were so right.  But the face, the man was not.  And pretending and rationalizing could never replace the most important part for him.  Scott’s riveting gaze lost its power.

“Yeah, I would,” Justin watched Scott’s smile rise, “Can Brian come with me?”

Scott faltered for a mini-fraction, recovered, “He’s seen it before,” and watched Justin sorely blink off the implication, then recover as well.  “You know, when you attach your dick to your heart, you miss out on a lot.”

“No, I think you gain a lot more,” Justin returned.

“Do you really believe that on those nights you’re at the Diner, he isn’t in some back room or at the Baths?” Scott spoke quiet and direct.

“He can do what he wants.  And he hasn’t been to the Baths since the night with you,” Justin calmly answered, saw Scott’s eyes drop for a second then return.  “You saw him.”

“We’re late for lunch,” Scott open-palmed toward the door. “After you.”

Justin held out for more discussion, but Scott’s smile flattened in refusal.  “Thanks for the tour,” Justin took the steps heavy with Scott keeping well behind him.

At the base of the stairs was a built-in glass case Justin hadn’t noticed earlier until a plaque caught his eye.  He stopped and studied the mounted photo.  Award of Excellence – Turner Emergency Team, Scott Turner and Chris Harris.  Harris could have been a Taylor for all the resemblance.

Scott looked over Justin’s shoulder.  “A gift from the Plate Glass Building after we fixed a major outage in time for a Convention.”

Justin saw their matching reflection in the glass door, felt Scott’s hand barely touch his shoulder and moved away.  “Was he your boyfriend?”

“We worked together.  He died in…an accident,” Scott shook it off, “But that was a long time ago.”

Justin glanced at the photo, back to Scott, “I’ll never be Chris.”

“No, you’re much more.  I knew by your touch.”

Justin exhaled and faced Scott.  “I’m not gonna blow you.  And I won’t let you fuck me.”

“So why are you here?”  Scott gave up, “To convince me of my moral obligations?”

“Your obligations are up to YOU,” Justin stated seriously.  “I came to discuss a deal.”

2 PM Justin looked through the Loft window and watched Scott’s truck pull away.  Then he took in the emptiness of a day without Brian in the shower, or in bed, or at his computer.  Missing him.  Needing him to erase the encounter with Scott. 

With only a short time left before he himself had to leave for work, Justin went to the kitchen and fixed a turkey on wheat bread with lettuce, tomato, no mayo, two oranges, a small bottled water.  Packed them in a brown bag and set it in the fridge, wrote I-made-your-lunch on a post note, lifted it to the fridge door, and smiled with melancholy irony at the same, exactly worded note already there.

Later, Brian toured the empty, darkening Loft with the dull ache of a piece missing from his day.  He checked his email for any online application responses.  None.  So he showered in silence, set his alarm to grab a few winks and settled into the most comfortable spot…Justin’s side of the bed.

11 PM, his workday over, Justin dragged into the Loft and to the fridge for a drink.  He opened the door, “Shit,” pulled the lunch bag out and set it on the counter. 

Daphne stood in her doorway, pajamas and curlers.  Justin stayed in the hall.

“You’re sure you don’t need it tonight?” he asked.

“Like this is my coolest Clubbing look.  Any other dumb questions?”

“Is the owner’s card in the glove compartment?”

“Where ELSE would it be?  Now GO.  And have a good time,” she yawned.

“Thanks, Daph,” Justin twirled her car key ring on his finger and left.

In the Break Room, Brian sat with a muscle mag and viewed a bizarro world:

- Mom at the range, lit cigarette dangling while he flipped big greasy burgers, fat home fries, then stirred chunks of bacon in a vat of beans;  “Marine Salad’s just about done.  Grab your plates.”

- Slash tacking up a new center-fold; “EVERYTHING’s Marine Salad,” laughed at Mom’s smiley fuck-finger salute and “When you Honeys puttin’ up a BLACK woman?”

- Creet watching Dog read; “That the new one?” “Garden Issue,” Dog flashed a page.  “That is beautiful.  Hey.  Save me that page when you’re done.”

- Tank fingering his shirt front and bitching to Torch; “Fucking button’s falling off.  We got any wire left?”  “Naw, but we got that sewin’ kit for real bad cuts,” Torch went to a First Aid box on the wall. 

Chinc appeared in the open doorway.  “Ozark’s coming in on Five,” and to Brian, “Slick, somebody here to see you,” then he disappeared.

Justin watched Chinc rejoin a tiny Asian woman in a nurse uniform, smiled wide when he saw Brian coming his way, Tank and Slash donning gloves and closing behind him.

Brian met Justin with a mix of surprise and excitement.  “What’re you doing here?”

“You forgot this?” Justin lifted the bag.

Brian swiveled back, yelled, “Tank.  I’m going out for a few minutes.”

“Don’t get lost, Slick” Tank tapped his wristwatch, saw Brian say a few low words to Justin.  Past them, Chinc spoke low to his smiling mate.  Tank paused then. Something too similar in the closeness.  The looks.  He shook it off when Brian turned to leave and Justin followed.  Had a truck to unload before Marine Salad got cold.

“Slick?” Justin chuckled as he followed Brian down the outer steps.

“I’ll give you fair warning.  It ranks with the Age Card.”

Justin silenced and nodded. 

They threaded parked trucks and cars to the last row where front lot lighting faded to near none and semi-trailers blocked view of the warehouse.  Brian opened the Vette trunk, pulled a folded blanket and flared it open into the bed of a neighboring pickup.

Justin quickly looked around.  “What are you doing?”

Brian stepped on the rear bumper, swung his long legs over the tailgate, stood in the bed and offered a hand.  “Ever hear of a tailgate party?  The bed’s made, and now that the tail’s here…” Brian’s hand beckoned again.

Justin handed his bag up, then climbed aboard.  “Are you sure some breeder with a deer rifle won’t take offense?”

“It’s not deer season,” Brian dropped to a crossed legged seat, pulled Justin down beside him and into a deep kiss hidden behind the cab.  “Lunch was never this exciting at Vangard.”

“This is about as exciting as it’ll get, too,” Justin unfolded the bag, took out a sandwich and passed it over, eyes still roaming.  “I’m not fucking out here.  Where you work.”

“No sense of adventure?” Brian took a bite.

“No SENSE?” Justin countered, set a bottle of water between them, “I didn’t come out here to get you into trouble.  I just wanted to see how things were going.”

“Well…” Brian finished another bite, shrugged, “They’re fashion impaired, but they cook, sew, read Good Housekeeping and talk about fucking as much as sports…so in some respects, they’re better queers than I am,” he gave a cheeky grin, drank some water.

Justin stretched on his back, arms supporting his head, knees up.  “So they’re not so bad after all,” he smiled and scanned the sky.  “I can’t believe you can see so many stars from here.”

Brian watched Justin’s face, bright even in the dark.  He re-bagged his lunch remains and reclined beside Justin with enough body contact to start a rise, opted to check out the point of Justin’s interest.  “There ARE a lot of stars.” 

Justin side-glanced a grin at Brian’s late-in-life discovery.  Then felt Brian’s hand creeping up his leg.  “No…I TOLD you.”  He clasped Brian’s hand and trapped it on his chest.

Brian turned his head to Justin’s.  “You expect me to go back with a hard-on?”

“Think about your mother.”

Little fucker, Brian groaned.  “There’s always later.  So how was YOUR day?”

“I went through some old drawings.  REALLY old.  From gradeschool.  Made me think back to one of my high school teachers showing me a drawing I did in first grade.  We were supposed to draw a man.”

“And you’ve been ‘drawing’ men ever since,” Brian smiled, got Justin’s huffy nudge.

“I didn’t think it looked that great, but she really raved about it.  Told me that the norm for six-year-olds was a little round-headed stick figure.  My man had a U-shaped face, dark hair, big oval eyes…hands with fingers,” Justin blushed at his own self-promotion.

“A detailed eye for men already…and at such a tender age.”

Justin pushed Brian hard enough to roll him onto his back.  “It wasn’t about sex,” he chuckled, settled back and stared at the stars.  “I remember always wanting to be an artist.”  He smiled in that security, until he heard Brian’s voice, small and soft.

“I don’t ever remember wanting to be an ad exec.”

Justin’s brows knit in surprise and he turned to see Brian gazing at the stars.  Silence passed until he ventured in a whisper, “Then why did you do it?”

“I had a little talent.  An opportunity came, so I took it.  Good money.  And I was good at it.  So I learned to hold onto it…gave me purpose,” his eyes dropped to some distant point, “That’s happened twice in my life now,” his eyes cornered briefly on Justin, then off again.

Justin caught it.  Made him smile, move over Brian in a brief kiss and more urgent reality.  “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work?”

“Fuck.  Just when I thought I had you worn down enough for dessert,” Brian pushed himself up. He stepped over the tailgate, climbed down while Justin gathered up blanket and trash.  Brian pitched the blanket into his trunk, the bag in the front seat, spun back to help Justin down and couldn’t pass on a better kiss. 

Six trucks away, Slash crouched low in his front seat, scowled at their shadowy union.  Fags.  Goddammed FAGS!  He straightened up, grabbed his door handle to protest then realized he had a fifth of Rock and Rye in his other hand.  Face twisting with the fact that outing them might out himself, he hunkered low again, watched them part and waited for an all clear. 

Slash watches Brian return to the dock, Justin get into Daphne’s car and drive off.  The untouched booze lands on the truck floor as the door slams shut.  Hard.

Song: “Snake” by Tim Reynolds

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