All the makings of the perfect storm.  Canada collided with Florida smack over Pittsburgh in that rare season foil – a snowstorm in May.  The day of the Shower.

At the Loft, Brian had cleared his desktop and was sliding his disconnected computer keyboard into a desk drawer when he noticed Justin standing in the living room.  Staring.

“Fond memories of our last encounter?” Brian shut the drawer, locked it.

Justin ignored him, “It needs interest,” turned to the tree jungle, lifted the banana-ball bowl and set it in the middle of the rectangular coffee table.  “Better.”

Brian moseyed to the opposite side of the table, picked out one of the wooden bananas and studied it.  “How thoughtful of you.  Complimentary strap-ons.”

“Bri-an,” Justin yanked it from his hand and reconsidered.  “You don’t think THEY’LL think I put this here on -”

“No, they won’t.  They’ll be too busy talking up babies and talking down men.”  Brian took the wood from Justin’s hand and planted it straight up in the center of the bowl.

Justin narrow-eyed,  “Is that supposed to be an abstract representation of interest?”

“No.  It’s a bold statement that I’m horny.”

Justin leaned forward, Brian did the same and they bridged the coffee table to kiss, each touching one hand to the other’s face in near symmetry.

“Party’s not for another hour,” Justin arched his brows.  “My place? Or yours?”

Brian seriously considered it. “You haven’t been over in awhile.  Mine.”

Justin smiled with a slow blink.  “Call it.”  He watched Brian take the bowl off the table, set it on the floor.  “Here?”

“Why NOT?” Brian gathered three giant pillows from beside the chairs and entertainment center, plopped one on the floor at the end of the table, “It’s our last undefiled piece -” lined the others on the tabletop, “- and I’ll be damned if LESBIANS’ll christen it.”

Mr. Romance, Justin shook his head, unzipped and dropped his jeans. 

Before Justin finished spreading his shirt over a pillow, Brian was already stripped and foot-shoving clothing to keep any errant passion off the rug.  Oh for the old days when only the cleaning lady worried about that kind of shit.

“Are you done yet?” Justin breathed out.  “If we get any more clinical, I’m gonna lose my desire.”

Brian sat on the edge of the table, palmed Justin’s hip and guided him to kneel between his own spread knees, “We’ll just tell them it’s super glue,” dropped his gaze further down. “And your desire is dazzling.”

“I have a tough standard to live up to.”

They moved into a kiss with Justin’s hands riding up Brian’s thighs, around his hips to cup his ass as far as the sunken pillow would allow.  If he could, he’d swallow Brian whole.  Or stretch his fingers to touch every part of him at once.  Encase his sizzling energy in a glass ball around them.  And live in his power forever. 

Brian’s hands trailed down the sides of Justin’s chest to his waist before skimming back and crossing so each hand claimed the opposite firm globe.  His long arms would find them again later.  But for now, lips and tongues muffled sighs with their seamless union.  From day one, Justin kissed like a demon.  An angel.  Passion with such range, Brian could spend forever between heaven and hell.

Justin pressed forward, flowing kisses down Brian’s chest until Brian lay back across the pillows, half-closed hazel eyes watching.  Justin ran light kisses through the matte of dark curls, tongue tasting, devouring the swollen veined cock.  Brian’s rising leg loomed like a shadow until Justin felt its weight drape his shoulder and a heel press the small of his back.  Pulling at him.  Letting him know.

Brian watched Justin’s mouth withdraw.  A feeling like rising from a hot tub into a chill.  He reached for the small packet crunched under his head, paused mid-tear to focus on the circling of Justin’s lubed fingertip on his hole.  Then he braced his floored heel against the base of the coffee table, pushed off with one arm and curled up to sheath Justin’s erection.  Felt it twitch from the slow roll of pressure down its length.

Eyes met, lips touched and went, and Brian settled back for a variation of pleasure rarely practiced, but well within his expertise.  With the right incentive.  There had been little need to teach Justin much.  He just…knew.

Justin wrapped one arm around Brian’s leg, centered his dick with the other, wondered if that split-second feeling would ever fade – like driving Dad’s new car for the first time with him beside you.  But it passed quickly as he pushed in.  That little “give” he knew so well, he could almost feel it himself.  Then the stretch.  The pause for synchrony.  And the rest followed like nature.

Brian drew a steady breath, all the while watching Justin.  Was there any art more beautiful…than Justin with his eyes closed, head back, mouth open in ANY manner of fucking.  He felt the surge and pull, felt Justin’s hand grip his cock and wrapped his own hand over Justin’s…letting him set the pace, letting him know it was good.

Justin could feel Brian forcing him out.  Making him work.  Firing the tension. This release would be so worth it.  So worth it.  Heat blushed his neck.  Down his back, across his shoulders and up his face.  And the smolder in his groin pushed him harder.

Brian panted, one knee high, foot on the end of the tabletop, the hung leg nearly creased to his chest, slipping on sweat across Justin’s back.  Pounding rhythm now – one hand anchored to the table edge, the other tight on Justin’s and fighting the urge to take over.  Good as this was, he couldn’t grab Justin’s body.  Kiss or bite or any of what seemed like it should be next.

Through slit eyes, Justin watched Brian’s intense face, could almost see the hot breaths from his open mouth.  A damp sheen accented the ripple of muscles under his skin and made him look like a Greek god in the thrill of victory.  And the feeling.  Gonna explode.  He spread his knees, dropped lower, lunged fiercely.  Have to…HAVE to…

Brian wrenched his hand through Justin’s hair, stringy wet and brushing his chest.  Driving up now…hitting it…hitting it…over and over.   Pull him in.  Hold him in.  He saw Justin strain up with a triplet of sharp cries.  Felt waves crash inside him.  Saw Justin sinking back under the force of his leg and dropped both legs to the floor as Justin’s cock slipped free.  Hooked his arms under Justin’s and yanked. 

But the unexpected caught Justin off guard and off balance.  He jet his arm out to keep from crushing Brian, missed the edge of table and fell flat onto him, thigh pushing and pinning Brian’s cock off center.

The build to climax - a flood dammed until it stressed every vessel and throbbed in his head.  That edge between frustration and euphoria.  Brian was there.  Now with arms tight around Justin, cock grinding between their bodies, the pressure, the friction – the valve blew off and set him flying with a long groan.  Fucking fabulous.  Fucking… “Ahhhhh,” he rasped, eyes closed on his return to earth.  And the sound, the tremble on his chest from Justin’s laughing.  Laughing?  WHAT the FUCK?

Brian opened his eyes to the back of Justin’s head over his arm and looking at the floor.

“Great shot,” Justin chuckled back at him.

Under Justin’s weight, Brian gripped the table, wedged a leg for leverage to slide closer to the edge.  He twisted his head, pulled the pillow aside and saw…the bowl.  With cum dripping down the standing banana.

Brian lost it.  No classic verbal.  Just laughing.  Both of them, Justin’s face in Brian’s chest, Brian’s hand over the hair plastered to his forehead. 

“It’s a record, Brian,” Justin wound down.  “You just came twice in ten seconds.”

“I planned that.”

“You’re so fulla shit,” Justin twisted his head and saw pensive eyes.  He knew that look.  After a fuck session like this.  Always the question never really asked.  Is fucking me that important to you?  “I like to visit once in awhile.  But if I wanted to LIVE there, I wouldn’t be HERE.”  Because even when I’m lost in you, I still miss you in me.

Brian scanned Justin’s eyes for falter.  None.  In the extremes of differences and preferences, it still astounded him that a man like Justin could match him so well.  He clenched Justin’s shoulders to urge him into that delayed kiss.

Justin set his arms alongside Brian’s chest, lifted off the stick of cum and sweat, pulled even with Brian’s head and lowered onto him until mouths met and every possible inch touched.  What separated the tricks and casuals from their reality…this break in time…when the point wasn’t to get off.  Or get somebody off.  Just be.  Justin leaned his head over Brian’s shoulder to listen to him breathe.  Hear the low drum of his heart.

Brian hugged Justin close for the same reasons.  Maybe even thank the God he didn’t quite believe in…for that lamppost years ago.

Three knocks shook the door.

“je-SUS,” Justin groaned.  “It hasn’t even BEEN an hour.”  He backed off Brian, grabbed Brian’s hand to boost him up.  Then he hurried around the coffee table and opened the storage door to stash the bowl.

Brian picked up clothing. “I thought women were inherently late.”

“That’s SOME women.  And Queens like YOU,” Justin shut the door, yelped from a backhand butt-smack meant to register.  He spun in protest, saw Brian heading naked to the door, snatched his tee shirt off the pillow.

“I’LL get it,” he dressed on his sprint past Brian’s suits-ME shrug, unlocked the door and cracked it open, leaned his clothed half into view.  “Dusty,” he smiled at her and an older lady holding a covered dish.  “Can you give us another twenty minutes?”

“Okay.  We DID get here a little early.  Mom,” Dusty turned to the lady, took the casserole and held it out to Justin.  “Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” he accepted despite his awkward stance.  “I’ll put it in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” Dusty nodded and directed her Mom back to the elevator.

Justin shouldered the door shut and took the dish to the counter.  When he looked up for Brian, the living room was tidy and the bathroom shower running.  Justin whipped off his shirt and smiled a wide one as he hustled to get wet.

On Novotny’s front porch, Debbie in her heavy coat and plastic rain hat juggled a full shopping bag while locking her door, turned and saw “Jennifer!” coming up the walk.

“Hi, Debbie.  I…thought the decorators…”

“No, those assholes cancelled because of a little bit of snow.  But it’s just as well,” Debbie trudged carefully down the steps,  “The girls are throwing a shower for Mel and I’m on my way over.”

“Can I give you a ride?”

Debbie viewed the slushy walks.  “Honey, that’s the best offer I’ve had since…hm…I can’t fucking remember,” she laughed, noted Jennifer’s pale need-a-friend smile.  “Why don’t you come WITH me?”

“Oh.  I…”

“Didn’t bring a gift.  No excuse.  We can always use another pair of helping hands.  Come on,” Debbie pressed, “It’ll be fun.  And it’s at the Loft.  Maybe Justin’ll stop by.”  She watched Jennifer’s face revive.  Thatta girl.  “Hope you didn’t eat yet.”

Zero Hour on the Loft landing, Mel held Gus’s hand as Linz rapped on the front door.  “Are you sure he’s home?  I didn’t see the car.”  Hope not.  I’m not up to a wit war.

“Why would he leave when he knows we’re bringing Gus?”

Mel held a suspect eye on Linz’s cat-canary grin.  “Okay.  What’s going on?”

The door rasped wide open to Dusty’s huge smile.  “Hiiiii.  Come on in. We’re having the official Motherhood induction meeting,” added “Hey, Squirt,” when Gus shouted, “Du-teeeeeee!” ran inside and leeched to her leg.  Then over her shoulder, “We have the Art Critic and the Lawyer.  Now we can conquer the world!”

“Well?” Linz took Mel’s arm, “You heard the Hostess.”

Mixed smile, Mel stiffly edged inside with Linz while Gus helped Dusty shut the door.  A chorus of Debbie’s sprite “Hi, Honey!” to Jennifer’s nodded “Mel,” to Dusty’s Mom’s timid “hello” blended with other familiar Lesbian voices.  Ten women gathered on and around the living room furniture, cups and glasses in vacant spots between gifts piled on the coffee table, more rainbow crepe paper than at a political rally.

“Have a seat,” Linz cheerily pointed out Brian’s recliner, watched Mel slowly settle in.

“Linz,” Mel rolled under her breath through a grit smile.  “The LOFT?  How did -”

“A meeting of blond/e minds, and Emmett,” Linz kissed Mel’s cheek and sat on the chair arm.  “I thought we could share some fun as mothers.”

Yeah.  Fun.  Mel scanned the chatter – two couples on the couch with Jen and Deb standing behind them, Mom in the chair beside her and another couple on foldups, Dusty hawking drink refills and steering Gus away from the gifts.  Mel thank-you’d, yes’d and no’d to questions amidst smiles, laughter, congratulations – no one understood.

On one end of the couch, Long Skirt Lady removed a ring to show Dyke Biker, “We had each one inscribed with -” and it dropped between the cushions.

“I’ll get it,” Biker dug deep, came up with a condom packet, pulled up a cushion corner to a whole stash.  “Lookit THIS.  Must be planning for an Alaskan winter,” she dead-panned and finally found the ring…

…while Pantsuit Gal at the other end of the couch opened the coffee table door. “They’re on sale at Ikea.  Takes up space but doesn’t waste any,” spied and removed the bowl.  “THIS is interesting,” she lifted it out and rotated it.

Mel side-eyed Linz who forced a smile.  “It must be something Justin’s working on.  He’s very creative.”

“Looks like BRIAN’S influence,” Debbie mumbled low, caught Jen’s cold eye and smiled an apology.

“Oh?” Pantsuit’s Gal Pal smiled, took the bowl.  “I like the colors.  This center placement, though.  It looks like he planned to glue something on top here.  Like one of those Hawaiian rock altars?” she scanned faces for agreement nods…

…just as Gus ran to Mel, “Look, Mama!  I find balls!” and dropped a string of large beads on her lap.  Her stare said live snake.

Mom leaned over with a sweet granny smile at Gus.  “How nice. Are those YOUR’S?”

“Nooooooo.  Daddy’s.”  Got Mel’s tense smile, snickers from two women and a befuddled brow from Mom as Gus took off for the bedroom again, Dusty on his trail. 

Linz bolted over and snatched the bowl away before Gal Pal touched the viscid coating on the banana.  “Maybe I’d better just set it aside.  You know how temperamental artists can be about unfinished work,” also whipped a tissue from a box, used it to snatch the beads, whisked to the kitchen and whispered on her dodge past Dusty, “I thought you said they cleaned up.”

“They’re MEN.  It looked clean to THEM.  Oh darn,” Dusty pulled a letter from her pocket, “This was on the counter,” handed it to Linz and went back to the group.

Linz looked at the plain envelope with her name, opened it and read the note, face draining, eyes wide.

Pantsuit continued, “That was a pretty centerpiece. I’m sure it’ll add a lot to this table,” she looked around, “This place could really use…maybe some candles…florals…”

Jennifer smiled low to Debbie, “I think Justin would like that,” but paused in alarm at Biker’s, “Warm and fuzzy?  You KNOW Brian thinks that stuff’s Lezzy and dickless.”

New direction needed fast, Debbie took raucous charge.  “Time to get the gifts on the way so we can get to the food,” she laughed, rounded the couch, grabbed a square package and handed it to Mel.  “Here, Honey.  I’m not sure what it is, but Michael and Ben got this for you.”

Mel’s first genuine smile as she tore off wrapping, opened the box, stared in wonder then lifted out…

“An ice bucket,” she held it up to a silent crowd all nodding with odd smiles and secret shrugs.  “It’s very…practical.”

Debbie quickly lifted a clothing box, read the card, “This is from Angelica,” Biker raised a hand and smiled.  Debbie handed Mel the box, “Be right back,” headed up the stairs to the bathroom and grabbed Brian’s cordless on the way in, just as Linz grabbed her purse and slipped out the Loft door.

Inside the Comic Shop, Michael had his desk phone cord stretched as far as possible.

“Ma.  Ma,” Michael kept low.  “What did you tell me?  The thing you were so glad to have was ice chips, so…in the HOSPITAL?” his eyes narrowed,  “Well you didn’t tell me THAT part.”  He looked back, saw Justin staring.  “Well…maybe they’ll let her bring it with her.  Ma.  I got a customer.  Love you, too.  Bye.”  And he hung up.

“I’m not a customer,” Justin snickered from the counter, loose sheets of a new Rage story in hand.  “You just lied to your Mother.”

“With honest intentions of avoiding a pointless one-hour argument.  Just read,” Michael grated, heard Justin’s pants pocket ring and watched him pull his phone.  “If that’s Brian, tell him extra cream and -” he stopped at Justin’s raised hand and serious expression.

Justin cupped his hand on the receiver.  “Michael?  Can I take this in the storeroom?”

“Yeah,” Michael toned concern, pointed to the doorway behind the counter and watched Justin scurry from view.

In the small room, Justin stood between two racks of boxes and faced the back wall.  “Linz.  Linz…would you let me finish?” he exhaled a long breath and closed his eyes.  “No.  Brian doesn’t know.”  And almost jumped into a rack at Brian’s calm…

“WHAT doesn’t Brian know that he’d better know goddamn quick?” Brian set a coffee on a box and stood cross-armed inside the door as Michael’s head poked in…

“Is somebody hurt?”

“Not yet,” Brian glared, saw Michael get the message and duck out fast.

Justin finished his call, “I’m telling him right now.  Bye,” closed his phone and faced Brian with his chin high.  “I invited your Mom to the Shower so she could meet Gus.”  He watched Brian’s jaw shift sideways, eyes pressing him to go on.  “She seems okay with other women -”

Leaning on the counter, Michael paged through his outline, heard Justin’s “- and I didn’t think she’d cause a problem with a group of strangers.  ALL the Kinneys have this image thing -” winced and dropped his head onto his crossed arms.  Please don’t kill him in my store.

In back, Brian had moved within three feet of Justin, arms still crossed and brows high as Justin firmly continued, “I left Linz a note, and she’s pissed as hell.  But I didn’t want you to think it was a conspiracy.  It’s all my idea and I did it because it had to be done,” Justin tapered, “And I knew how hard it would be for YOU…so…I took care of it.”  He gasped when Brian grabbed his coat lapels in both hands.

Michael bolted up at Justin’s “If you want to take a shot at me, go ahead,” heard a thump and moan.  He dashed to the storeroom, saw Brian pinning Justin against a rack in a hot kiss then turned back to the store, head shaking - I’ll never understand it.

In the storeroom, Brian broke off, relaxed his hold on Justin’s coat.  “She won’t come.”

Dressed fine and sober, Joan stood in the open Loft doorway, stiffly smiled and handed a card to Dusty.  “This is for Mrs. Marcus.  Is Lindsay Peterson here?”

“Yeah.  Come in,” Dusty nodded and headed for the living room without realizing Joan had stopped inside the door.  Dusty heard Linz’s “Where did you get that?  Give it here,” to Gus near Justin’s office.  “Linz?” Dusty walked to her, looked back.  Where’s the lady.

“What?”  Linz took the picture from Gus’s hands.

“There’s a lady at the door looking for you.” Dusty whispered, “I didn’t get her name, but she reminds me of Morticia from the Adams Family.”

Oh god, Linz sprang to a stand.  “I’ll…uh…thank you,” and she surveyed the group, all involved with Mel’s gift opening.  Heart thumping, she stooped down.  “Gus?  Come with Mommy for a minute?  We’re going to see…your Grandma.”

Listening to the laughter and chatter, Joan felt the seconds like hours.  Wondered why she’d come and was turning to leave when she heard Linz’s “Hello, Mrs. Kinney.”

Joan smiled at the familiar blonde. “Lindsay.”  Then her eyes darted to Gus, clinging to Linz’s leg, large eyes rolled up, wary of strangers with harsh faces.  And saw immediately, it was true.  So uplifting, she drank him in like a lost child found.  Gus responded to her pure smile with innocence free of prejudice, suspicion or experience – he smiled back.

Tension fading, Lindsay confirmed, “This is Brian’s son.  Your grandson, Gus.”

In the kitchen, Jennifer opened and shut kitchen cabinets, smiled when she found a Tea canister.  Opened it, pulled out a condom packet, dropped it back inside and shut her eyes. “Should I scream or be grateful.”  Muffled ringing from her purse on the counter.  My cell – she realized, quickly replaced the canister, dug out her phone and answered.

“Hello?  Justin,” she smiled, “I’m at Mel’s shower.  Debbie invited me.  No, but it’s about to wind down.  And we actually ran out of tea.  Do you have any herbal tea?  No, you don’t have to do that,” she leaned back with a warm smile.  “Okay.  Twenty minutes.  I’ll meet you at the door.”  Jennifer shut her phone, held it fondly.  There was nothing Justin wouldn’t do.  For anyone.

In the living room,  Mel opened the next to last gift, head throbbing from held tears, jaw sore from smiling.  Baby wear - stuffed toys - guests crowding closer with their ceaseless rattle – faces whirling from a merry-go-round.  Words crashing like shattering glass.  Can’t TAKE it.  Stop.  Stop.  STOP!

Package flying off her lap, Mel bolted from the chair and ran to the bathroom, leaving startled and concerned guests buzzing “What happened?”- “Is she okay?”- “Did I say something wrong?” confusion over what to do.

Inside, chest heaving, Mel locked the door and slumped against it.  Jammed her eyes shut, knowing she’d damned such good intentions.  But I don’t deserve it.  She rushed to the sink for cold water, saw her haggard face in the mirror and broke into sobs.  

Linz heard “Mel?  Are you okay?”and her head swiveled in agony.  Leave Gus with Joan?  Go to Mel?  She quickly handed the picture to Joan.  “Can you watch him a minute?”  Got Joan’s nod, put on a cover smile as she hurried past the group, “Mel still gets nausea sometimes,” and dashed to the closed bathroom door. 

Debbie masked her worry.  “You all haven’t seen morning sickness before?  Let’s get this place cleaned up a little and look happy for her.  This is a PARTY, for fuck’s sake,” hand quick to her mouth as she looked around for Gus.

Dusty smiled at Deb, then to the group, “C’mon, Ladies. Cals and carbs up and ready,” led the march with an over-shoulder, “Coffee?  Tea anybody?” then to Jennifer, “Can you get the tea lined up?”

“We ran out, but Justin’s picking some up.  He should be here any minute,” Jennifer answered and headed for the kitchen.

In the foyer, Joan stood awkward and lost.  Gus clamped onto the picture in her hand.  “Gim-ME dat,” he insisted and tugged until Joan released it. “Tank-u,” he added proudly because he remembered to say it.  Meaning didn’t matter.

“Oh?” she smiled, amused by tiny, tough and courteous. “Who IS that?” she squatted low on stiff knees and contorted to see over his two-hand hold.

“Dat ME,” he chirped robustly.  “An Daddy.  ME,” he smiled at her.  “Gus,” he released the frame to point and let Joan’s hand save the drop.  “n…n…Daddy,” he touched Brian.

Joan swallowed, skin prickling.  Brian holding a tiny baby.  She hadn’t seen this before, but in a sense she had.  A photo she herself had taken, lost long ago…Jack holding their baby son.  Smiling just that way.  Like a sign from God.  A second chance.  

Outside the bathroom, Linz bit her lip, knocked.  “Mel?  Are you okay?”  She could hear the muffled sobs.  Tried the knob.  “Mel…let me in.”  She strained to see Joan and Gus, but the closed bedroom doors blocked her view.

Standing near the steps, Debbie heard the pleas.  She strode to the coffee table, snatched the last gift and trooped up the stairs to Linz.  “Let me try reasoning with her.”

“Oh thank you.  I have to check on Gus,” Linz quickly disappeared.

Debbie knocked, leaned close and kept her stern voice low.  “I got enough weight to bust this fucking door in.  Either open it right now, or YOU’LL pay Brian to fix it.”  A brief wait then the lock clicked and knob turned.  Debbie stepped inside, saw Mel’s streaked face.  “Oh shit,” she bat the door closed and ran, not noticing it hadn’t shut.

Linz smiled relief when she saw Gus beam “Mommy!” and run toward her, Joan stretching to a stand, holding the picture and following.  Linz scooped Gus up.  “Ready for some cake?”

“ES!” he hugged.

Joan smiled at their Madonna and Child image.  “He’s a bright and handsome boy.”

“I know,” Linz glowed before going serious.  “Sorry I left like that.  Come and join us.”

“Where should I put this?” Joan held out the picture.

“Oh…uh,” she realized her hands were full of Gus, “This way.”  Linz led Joan to the bathroom steps, smiled at the part-open door that hinted Mel was okay.  “Up those stairs to the bedroom.  Left side nightstand.”

“Mommy, can I hab cake now?”

“You go ahead,” Joan smiled regally.  “I’ll be fine.”  She watched Linz nod and leave then climbed the steps to the bedroom, stopped in chill cold at the sight of the bed.  Closed her eyes to block creeping vile thoughts.  And heard voices in the bathroom.    

Mel sat on the closed toilet; Debbie down on knees beside her.

“Feel better?” Debbie watched Mel’s downcast nod.  “Want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Yes there is, because I know that look.  I saw it a lot of times.  For days.”  She picked her package off the floor, set it on Mel’s lap.  “Open it.”  When Mel hesitated, “It’s from me, and I want you to open it.”  Debbie watched Mel work slowly.  “When I was carrying Michael?   I was a scared kid with nothing.  In the beginning, there wasn’t a day went by I didn’t wish he was gone.” Deb saw Mel freeze a look.  Not horror.  Admission.  Made Debbie nod and smile, “Keep opening.”

Mel lifted the box lid, stared at a folded gray crocheted blanket with noticeable mistakes.  She looked at Debbie’s happy-sad eyes, listened to her soft words.

“I made that.  During those days.  Lotta mistakes but I kept going,” she pointed a few out.  “When I knew how much I really DID want him, I worried most…that he would suffer…because of all the times I DIDN’T.  But you know what?” Debbie pulled the blanket from the box, flipped it open across her girth, “He was only more beautiful.”

Mel blinked at the open blanket.  At the errors which, somehow in their random abundance on the completed whole, became a unique design.

In the dim light through the frosted glass bedroom doors, Joan stared off, recalling Debbie’s story like it was her own then studied the photo of HER son…so beautiful.  Debbie’s rowdy “Now let’s get you fixed up and out there!” made Joan dart to the nightstand to replace the picture.  As she reached to set it, another picture stabbed her eyes and gnarled her face.  Brian embracing – and KISSING – a young blond man whose hands covered Brian’s in a sensual way.

Hanging onto composure, Joan flung the picture on the bed, marched down the stairs.    Behind her, Debbie and Mel emerged, drawing attention away from Joan as she went straight to the front door just as Jennifer left the kitchen to do the same.

Jennifer saw her, struggled to be cordial. “Mrs. Kinney.  I didn’t know you were here.”

“I’m not staying,” Joan smiled detached dignity, “Nice to see you again.”  And she walked past Jennifer, yanked open the door, stepped out to shut it.

Jennifer stopped its closing with a flat palm.  “I’LL get it.  I’m waiting for my son.”

“Thank you,” Joan nodded and took the stairs rather than stay any longer.

In the Honda parked beside the Giant Mart entrance, Brian sat with his right arm stretched across the seatback, left hand finger-drumming the steering wheel.  He snapped a look when Justin unexpectedly opened the passenger door.

“See?  That didn’t take long,” Justin slid in, plastic bag crackling on his lap as he shut door.

“Do we really have to encourage them to stay longer?” Brian grumbled, guided the car into traffic.

“I know,” Justin leaned back with flippant air.  “It’s so unpleasant finding other ways to spend time with me.”

“We could catch a movie.”

“THAT sounds good.”

“If you don’t mind an armrest in your gut, I could finger-fuck you while you suck me off.”  Silence.  “Has the excitement left you speechless?”

“I’m wondering why I still like you.”

“Because I’m so sweet,” Brian crooned with halo quality.

“Has to be some OTHER reason.”

Brian cocked a brow at Justin’s too-serious expression, reached up and ruffed his hair then grabbed Justin’s hand and placed it on his bulging dick.  “Does THAT jog your memory?”

“Some,” Justin wrinkled his nose, leaned on Brian’s shoulder and gazed at his eyes.

“What?” Brian volleyed looks between traffic and Justin’s coy smile.

“You just let a group of Lesbians use the Loft for a party for MEL, and went out of your way to bring them herbal tea.”  Silence, and Brian’s flat stare straight ahead.  “What?”

“I’m starting to wonder why I still like YOU.”

Justin bussed a kiss as Brian pulled to the curb in front of the Loft.  “Don’t think too hard,” he lightly squeezed Brian’s crotch, “I’ll only be a minute,” bolted from the car and jogged to the front door.

In shadows and unseen from outside, Joan stood in the hall and saw through the glass a scene that raced her heart and torched her mind.  Brian.  The kiss.  The other man.

Justin let himself in.  Eyes still adjusting from snow to dim, he didn’t notice Joan, rushed past her to the stairs, gasped and halted at the bottom step when he heard Joan’s bark.

“You!” she stalked slowly.

Justin swallowed.  She didn’t look drunk.  Just angry.  “Hi, Mrs. Ki-”

“He has a perfect son,” she stopped close, grim smile, “And Lindsay is a perfect mother. He could have had a wonderful Christian life…except for you,” her smile went ugly.  “You’re the one that tempted him into sin.  You are the DEVIL himself!”

Upstairs in the open Loft doorway, Jennifer heard the words echo up the stairway.  Heart thumping, she hurried to the top stair, donned a large smile and shouted, “Justin!” clenched a fist to ease her tension and rumbled down the flights so fast, her appearance drew startled looks.  She brushed her hair aside, smiled wide at Justin, “Hurry and take that up,” she glanced at the bag.

Still thrown by the verbal attack, he side-glanced Joan.

Joan stood quieted by the intrusion.  She glimpsed Brian standing outside the car.  Knew that if she left now, the bile in her throat wouldn’t be enough to block what she wanted to say.  And he would surely bite back.  In full public display.

“The girls are waiting,” Jennifer touched Justin’s shoulder, “And some of them haven’t seen you in awhile.  Go,” she pushed.

Justin started up the steps, looked back.  Joan wasn’t ranting.  Mom was smiling.  To avoid any new friction, he double-timed up the steps.

Jennifer waited until his footsteps faded, edged toward Joan until their hard eyes met.  With low thunder, “Justin is my son, and he is gay.  It does NOT stop him from being beautiful, giving – and a man.  And it will NEVER stop me from loving him.  So save your bitterness for someone who deserves it,” her eyes flashed wide, “I will NOT let you try to destroy my son like you do YOURS.”  She didn’t wait for a response.  Didn’t want to hear it.  Just turned and pounded up the stairs.

Joan watched in shock, lip trembling, eyes glazing from the heated fury of a mother defending her son.  Knowing what he was.  What he chose to do with his life.  Yet in those fractions of time she saw them together, there was a connection.  Joan’s gaze fell.  She was accustomed to Jack’s indifference.  Immune to Brian’s verbal stabs.  But to be vilified by this woman, this mother.  How that tore. 

She heard returning footsteps, voices in the stairwell.  Trapped and too weak for more reproach, she backed into the elevator to rebuild strength.

Justin thudded down the steps, craned a look back.  “I know the way out, Mom.”

“So I can’t see you off if I want?” she smiled.  But her eyes shot discreetly past him.

Justin exhaled relief when he cleared the bottom step and saw the empty hall.  “I guess Brian’s Mom left.  Was she okay?…I mean…I invited her so she could see Gus, but I didn’t expect her to come,” he led Jennifer to the door and stopped.  “I thought if she did, maybe she and Brian would get together again.  Work things out.”

“Sometimes it’s not that simple,” Jennifer touched his arm, “I know how much you care about Brian, but if she won’t accept him, SHE’S the only one who can change that.  I know.  And I thank God every day that I realized that before I lost YOU like they’ve lost each other.”

“Speaking of Brian,” Justin glanced out the window, “I’d better go.  You know how pissed he gets when he has to wait.”

“Justin,” her eyes wandered, returned.  “Is he treating you well?”

“What kind of question is THAT?” he backed off offended.  “Of COURSE he is.”

“I didn’t mean -”

“Just because he doesn’t make a big show out of everything he does-”

“I don’t think he had a very loving home.”

Justin breathed out, eyed her straight,  “I know he didn’t.  That’s what amazes me every day.  That he has so much for a man who came from nothing.”   He touched her arm but didn’t kiss her.  “Don’t worry.  I can take care of myself.  AND Brian.”

She returned his little smile as he zipped out the door and to the waiting car.

Outside, Justin opened the car door to find Brian reclined back, eyes closed.

“Brian?”

“He died years ago.  What the fuck took you so long?” Brian levered his seatback up.

“Didn’t you see your Mom leave?” Justin slid in, shut the door.

“She actually showed up?” Brian raised a brow, started the car.  “I’m sure we’ll hear about it on tonight’s news.  How many did she slay?”

“Just me,” Justin leaned back, purposely fluffed it off.  “She said I was the Devil.”

Brian stared, smile wide, “I KNEW there was something I liked about you.”

Justin side-eyed a grin, saw Brian twist toward him and rolled to meet the pass.  I tried.  It didn’t work.  You were right.

In the hall shadows away from the door, Jennifer watched them embrace and kiss then part before the car pulled into traffic and sped away.  Are you really that happy?  Or do you just THINK you are?

In the darkest corner of the elevator, Joan stood numb and listened to Jennifer patter up the steps.  Torn between structured beliefs and shapeless emotions, she closed her eyes to run scripture through her mind.  Black and white to save her from the gray.  But in the muddle, no words came clear.  And in the end, all that appeared was Gus’s wide-eyed smile, so like his Father’s, and the words…destroying…not loving…lost…and nothing.

Loft Party over, Brian and Justin grabbed towels on their exit from the shower.  Justin wrapped his towel around his waist, stood at the mirror and felt his chin for stubble.  “Isn’t it a little early for Babylon?”

His five-o-clock more visual, Brian was already lathering his jaw.  “I thought we could stop at the Diner, check out Woody’s, get mildly wasted and you’d tell me why you kept the Mom and Gus deal secret.” 

Both foamed, shaving, talking to their reflections, Justin stated between strokes.  “If I asked you, you might have said stay out of it or absolutely not.  Then I would’ve been obligated to respect that.”

“So even though you KNEW I’d say fuck no -”

“I wasn’t sure,” Justin rinsed his blade and flicked drops at Brian.

“- the fact that I didn’t actually SAY no meant I agreed?” Brian rinsed and flicked back.

“It was for your own good,” Justin watched Brian wipe his face, “So you wouldn’t worry during the many…many years you probably would have put it off.”  Justin corner-eyed Brian leaning on the counter with a flat stare.  “Don’t knock the method,” he went back to shaving, “YOU do it all the time.”

Brian blinked, warped a grin.  “I’ll have to watch so you don’t pick up any MORE of my bad habits.”  He turned and walked into the dark bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, lifted his phone, dialed and waited.  “Linz.  Sorry about what?  No.  I just wanted to know how it went.  With Mom.”

Justin stopped inside the bathroom doorway and heard Brian’s quiet voice…was Gus okay…did Joan have anything to say.  You DO care, Justin smiled, you just weren’t ready to do it yourself, or put it on anybody else.  So I did it MY way YOUR way…and somehow it worked.

Calm betrayed by fingers drumming his thigh, Brian finished, “If she wants to see him…that’s up to you and Mel.  I won’t stop her.  He’s in the bathroom.  Yeah, I will.  Bye.”  He hung up with grim thoughts.  The right thing?  Or a worm can. 

In the Church Rectory Office, Joan sat clutching her purse in a chair beside Reverend Tom.  “He looked so much like Brian.  But what chance will he have…exposed to -”

“Joan.  You said he looked happy.  That he’s well cared for.  And that the people around him were friendly and having fun.  Why does that seem wrong to you?”

“Because Brian’s life goes against natural law… God’s law...”

“Joan, for the past two years I’ve seen you get more involved in scripture. Using the Word…or Brian’s son…won’t make Brian someone he’s not…or make him love you.”  He watched her eyes drop, touched her hand.  “That’s what you REALLY want, isn’t it?”

“I told him the truth.  But it’s too late. It meant nothing.  What’s left?  Give up all I believe in?  No.  I won’t do that.”

“Neither will HE…but that doesn’t mean you can’t still love each other,” Tom’s eyes narrowed, “Forcing yourself into his life is not the answer.  You need to get on with your OWN life.  Use your strength and determination for God’s real message of love and forgiveness.  I can give you the names and numbers of people who can show you ways to do that, if you want.”

Joan smiled courtesy more than interest.  “Yes.  I’d appreciate that.” 

While Tom checked his desk file, she opened her purse, took out a pen and address book, opened it and stared at a forgotten item that had fallen into the K’s beside Brian’s name.  Jennifer Taylor’s Century Realty card.

Pen in hand, Jennifer sat at her table covered with real estate mags, legal forms and brochures, and focused troubled eyes on a blank note pad. 

Molly flew through with roller skates laced over her shoulder, pecked a kiss and tossed, “Bye Mom.  I’ll call if we run late.”

“Have fun, and be careful,” Jennifer added, caught Molly’s rolled eyes as she disappeared.  Must’ve learned that from Justin.  Which took Jennifer back to the Loft…

…with Debbie - the last of the after-party cleanup crew.

Scouting for used cups, Jennifer saw a blank canvas in Justin’s paint area and toured the small corner.  His paint box high on a bookshelf…charcoal pencils and brushes beside it.  She noticed the edge of his sketchbook in the narrow space behind the shelf.  Worked it out – I know he won’t mind.  And I can survive pictures of Brian now – lifted the top cover and glowed.  Fig tree branches.  Done in varied gray layers of depth and detail.  Such a gift.

Anxious for more, she turned the page.  Nothing.  Then the next page.  Same.  As were all the other pages…

Blank as the notepad in front of her.

Monday at WaveLight…

Brian walked into Conference A and saw Rheinholdt standing, reviewing a packet of meeting materials like those spread around the table.  “Klaus.”

“Brian.  Will this be brief?  I have a staff meeting in…” he checked his watch, Brian, back to the packet, “…twenty minutes.”

Brian sat on the table for eye level.  “I’m considering an offer from Vangard in Chicago.”  He watched Rheinholdt slap the packet shut and spear a look.  At least I got your attention.  “Taylor is capable of maintaining Lightwave if you team him with your best -”

“No,” Rheinholdt was adamant.  “I won’t put up with ANOTHER personnel problem.  If you’re serious about leaving, Lightwave is done.  You can brief Bernie King on taking over your accounts.” He took a silent moment to recover.  “The idea was good, and you did a superior job.  But it’s too unstable to run as a separate division.”

“What about Justin Taylor?”

“I’ll have to eliminate his position, but he’ll have a place in Graphics under Ruder.”

Brian held a poker face over the stab.  “Wouldn’t that invalidate his contract?”

“The contract is with WaveLight. The same as yours.  I still have authority to end the Lightwave trial and keep or layoff personnel.” Rheinholdt eased,  “Mr. Taylor convinced me has a sincere attitude about working here, and with his talent, and retirements coming in the next two years, he’ll be an important asset.  So he has nothing to worry about.”

Except creative hell.   All the dots instantly connected. Brian made a quick decision and shot high. “You really surprise me, Klaus,” he coolly smiled against Rheinholdt’s keen stare, “You struck me as someone who wanted to move ahead.  But…” he shrugged,  “You won’t take the risks.”

“Hiring YOU was a risk.”  

 “That paid off with three major accounts in one month,” Brian’s eyes narrowed.  “I’M the one taking all the risks because I’m investing my knowledge and energy WITHOUT the security of knowing I’ll have a job in two months.  There’s always a WIFM, Klaus, and I’m not seeing it.”  Brian stood tall.  “You want to know why I think you’re giving up Lightwave?”

Rheinholdt aired hostile defense, “Because it obviously can’t work.”

Because you made this big brave jump to the top of the ladder to BE somebody, and now you’re fucking scared you’ll fall off.  “Because you KNOW you won’t get another agent like me for low-end pay.”

“If this is to get my counter-offer…”

“I agreed to the salary.  But I didn’t sign on to coast along with WaveLight’s ancient tide or work toward a dead end.” Brian raised a brow.  “Now if you want to talk securing Lightwave’s future, increased bonus percentage or incentive off net gain…even that first option to buy - would you rather have a percentage of what I can bring in?  Or what Bernie King will do?”

A knock on the door, slow open and Ruder’s lean inside.  “Mr. Rheinholdt.  Are we ready for the meeting?” He shot a wary look and nod of acknowledgement at Brian.

“In a few minutes,” Rheinholdt hinted with a nod toward the hall, watched Ruder back out and shut the door then turned to Brian.  “This is how you played me with Neville.”

“It’s how I determine my best move.  And you got a bargain in the deal.  If you want to consider keeping it, I have until five to make a decision,” he paced to the door, “This isn’t about power, Klaus.  It’s about staying alive.  Thanks for your time.”

Brian left the room, walked down the hall and stopped beside Justin’s nemesis.  “Mr. Ruder.  Are the Midnight Auto proofs ready yet?”

“Almost.  I’ll review them after the meeting.”

“You know,” Brian glanced around, dropped to a convincing bare whisper, “I wouldn’t keep correcting Taylor’s work if I were you.  Let it go as is.  If it’s that bad, the clients won’t buy it, and he’ll be history soon enough.”  Then he backed off with a smiley, “I think Mr. Rheinholdt’s ready now.”

Brian walked away leaving Ruder seeds for thought, and satisfaction that he wasn’t the ONLY one on to Taylor.

Slowing near the front door, Brian blew a breath.  Not what I planned or expected. Whatever happens next, happens.

By evening, Justin started dinner.  Something to ease anxiety over Brian’s anticipated announcement.  It wasn’t like he was up for going out to celebrate that anyway.  He set a fry pan on the burner and heard the Loft door open.

“Hey,” he called, watched Brian in a loose tie and collar plop his briefcase on his desk and take out the day’s newspaper.  He didn’t look evasive or overjoyed.  It was hard to tell with Brian.

“Hey right back,” Brian shrugged his suit jacket off, draped it over the briefcase and took the paper into the kitchen behind a counter lined with plates of chopped vegetables, sliced raw chicken.  “This certainly looks healthy.  What’re we having?”

“Just a stir fry,” Justin added oil to the pan, eyes combing ingredients. “Got it from my Dad the day I went to see him.  We started it…but didn’t exactly finish -” he swirled the oil, “- so I thought I’d see how it could’ve turned out…if I’d stuck around longer.” 

“If you mean…would he have had a great pro-homo enlightenment, I doubt it,” Brian got Justin’s stare, “But you could always show him THIS,” he unfolded the paper, held it up.  “He can still be proud of you.”

Justin’s mouth dropped in contained excitement, and he snatched the paper to view his RegionAir half-page add.  Not some poster in a few Liberty Avenue windows.  His work where thousands would see it.  “How…I thought there was a four-week lead time.” 

“I have my connections,” Brian grinned.  “But don’t get too excited.  The magazine run isn’t until next month.”  He noticed wavy heat off the pan, crabbed past Justin and guessed the onion plate.

Justin glanced, “No.  The meat goes in first.”  He dropped the paper, grabbed the chicken and spatula, dumped and stirred, watched it whiten and darken.  “I guess that was supposed to be the GOOD news.”  He cleared his throat.  “So when are you leaving?”

“I’m not,” Brian added the onions, smiled at Justin’s wide eyes.  “Watch what you’re doing.”

Justin quickly refocused on stirring. “Don’t tell me Vangard pulled the offer.”

“No,” Brian lifted the last plate, “Rheinholdt came up with a counter that I couldn’t refuse,” and he cascaded greens into the mix.

“Come on, Brian,” Justin sizzled a cup of broth into the pan. “He’s cheaper than toothpicks.”

“Not when you factor in the cost of roundtrip air fare, gas, time, wear and tear on the car, two rents – not to mention the fucking PHONE bills,” Brian flipped.

Justin wouldn’t buy, nagged by the possibility – “Nothing to do with me?” He shut off the burner, turned and eyed direct.  “Because I told you I’ll be okay.  Don’t give up your chance to be on top again.”

Brian moved close, held Justin’s shoulders and scanned serious eyes.  This is more than just business.  “It had a LOT to do with you.  You had a chance to take the easy way out, but you didn’t.  We started this project, and I’ll…WE’LL make it work.  That’s the chance I want to take,” he landed a brief kiss.  “And I don’t plan to give up fucking the Art Director at the office,” Brian kissed again.  “Did I mention that I’m starving?”

“Then why don’t you get rid of THIS…” Justin tugged on the sagging tie, moved down the counter with Brian behind him, “I’ll find a safe place for THIS…” grabbed the paper…

“We can get dinner out of the way and get down to THIS,” Brian gave Justin’s ass a squeeze, Justin tossed him a wink and split to his paint niche.

Headed past the foyer to grab his jacket, Brian heard banging on the door.  Who the fuck?  Grateful Lesbians?  He detoured over and yanked it open.  

Claire with a scowl to crack mirrors.

“Brian-”

“And the tradition goes on.  I’d invite you in, but I’d rather you just go away.”  He started to shut the door.

Her hand shot against it and pushed back. “Just wait a minute,” she demanded, watched Brian’s head tilt a go-the-fuck-ahead-if-you-must.  “What in the world did you say to Mom?  She talked to Reverend Tom about church groups out of state, and now she’s moving to Florida!”

“So the old meal ticket is going south.”

“That is so cruel.  She’ll be alone down there,” Claire griped.

“Well I have the perfect solution.  Take your minions and go WITH her.  I’ll even drive you to the airport.” Brian leaned on the doorframe, tone dreamy, “We can wave our fond goodbyes…it’ll probably be the only genuine happy family moment we’ll ever share.”

“Aren’t you even gonna TALK to her?”

“And ruin my good fortune?” Brian raised a brow.  “Thanks for the uplifting news.  Time’s up.”  He clanked the door shut in her face and turned to see Justin jaunting back from the far corner.

“Who was at the door?”

“Just a messenger,” Brian wandered behind the kitchen counter; Justin to a stool across from him.  “It seems my dear Mother is moving to Florida,” he opened the fridge, “I’ll have to hunt up Reverend Tom and tell him I owe him the fuck of a lifetime.”

“Hey.  I thought you were saving that for ME.”

“I wasn’t planning on DYING after it,” Brian waved a beer, “Want one?”

Justin shook a no, leaned on crossed arms and watched Brian chug down.  “When’s she leaving?”

“Fuck if I know.”  Fuck if I CARE.

“You’re not even gonna tell her goodbye?”

Brian stared, eyelids blinking on his bland face, “We did that a long time ago, Sunshine.”  And he walked away, beer in hand, headed for the front window to end that conversation.

Justin leaned his head down, cheek on his crossed arms as he watched Brian finish the beer – gray silhouette against day lit sheers – Brian’s habit to shake off a grinding thought.  “I saw her cry, Brian.  After you left.  That day she came to the Loft.” No response.  “If you would only see how much alike you really are.  But I guess that’ll never happen…because you’re both alike in that, too,” Justin razed, left his seat.

Brian snapped a serious look, but Justin felt he’d said enough and went behind the counter to fill two plates. “Do you want it on the table?  Or the counter?”  He saw Brian shrug a whatever instead of wit-quipping filth to the loaded question.  Good.  You ARE thinking about it.

Brian watched Justin set the counter then gazed out the window.  In the fucked-up Kinney family language…did the top layer EVER make sense. 

Brian quickly shut his eyes, turned away – fuck this shit.  He glared at the empty bottle in his hand – what the FUCK are they putting IN beer these days – dropped it into Justin’s office trashcan. 

But before joining Justin already in quiet progress, he questioned how far he’d come as a man…in dealing with Joan.  Why she came to the Loft for a key she knew fucking well she had.  No, for HIS…key.

On the last of a grueling five-day road schedule, Brian idled the car in front of Joan’s house. The barren windows and Keystone Realty For Sale sign brought a satisfied grin – The Amityville Horror is over – followed by an introspective glance down to nowhere in particular.  Because something unresolved magnified a pinpoint’s worth of loss.

Fuck it.  Good riddance.  Brian slammed into gear and drove away for the last time.  One more client to see, and enough follow-up to run into…

Sunday morning.

In the Loft bedroom, Justin’s casual dress looked crisp and neat as he donned his wristwatch then ran downstairs to his desk, grabbed a plastic-bagged package, headed for Brian at his own desk and fanning new sheets to refill his printer.

“Brian, take a break.  You’ve been running in high gear all week.”

“Once we make quota, the division is secure.  Separate from WaveLight.”

“Fif-TEEN thousand cars,” Justin mimicked Gung Ho.  Obviously didn’t impress Brian who slapped the papers onto his lap and cocked his head with a fucking-business-again? grin.  If I THOUGHT it was just about business.  This may not be an all-nighter at the Baths or blitz tour of every gay dive in the city…but it looks like pain management.  “Sure you don’t want to come?”

“Always want to cum.  But not with your Mother and Sister.”

Justin mimed a wry, silent laugh, swung around the desk and gave Brian a longer-than-brief kiss.  “That’s just a preview.”

“Of what?”

“YOUR Mothers Day gift.  You’re the biggest mother I know.”

“Smartass,” Brian pinched light enough to get a mild wince.  “Kiss Mommy for me.”

“Then how will she know you mean it?” Justin arched his brows, didn’t expect an answer.  “Later,” he smiled on his way out.

Brian heard the door shut, looked down at the papers lined on his desk.  The blank white sheets in his hand.  He’d lived most of his life as a calculating man, decisions and actions based on gain-and-loss processing as instant as second nature. But this time, something else happened.

Florida townhouses in pink stucco and aqua trim basked in noon sun on a quiet street lined with palm trees and ferns.

Joan stepped outside her first-floor front door and reached into the mailbox.  Two items.  A Mission World beg letter, and a business envelope laser-printed with her old address.  No return.  Just a Post Office reforwarding sticker.

Too curious to hunt a letter opener, she hurried inside, shut the door and did a ragged strip with her finger.  Removed the white letter and lifted the top trifold.  The image both stopped her heart and coaxed a smile.  A pencil sketch.  Not very perfect.  A daisy-like thing that a child might’ve done.  Not Claire’s boys.  Could it be...  With a private smile, she undid the bottom fold for a signature.

Only three words in red.  In controlled adult print she knew without question.  Just like she would always know his face if she never saw it again.

Brian knew that if he stopped to think, this would never happen.  So he acted quickly with the items on his desk, going with just a burst of feeling he didn’t try to control.  And when he’d gotten down to the final words, he saw just three.  With no expectations, no compromise, no agenda, he wrote them the best way he knew how…

Happy Mothers Day.

Mission World and a torn envelope dropped to the floor unnoticed as Joan held the paper in both hands.  Trembling unconsciously, she set the tip of her finger over Day, covering half the word then slid her finger aside so she could feel the closure of its completion once more.  No signature.  But in a sense, there was.  And the understanding of its meaning was sealed with a single tear that fell onto a space between the words.

…I forgive you.

Four days later, Brian stopped home early, opened the Loft door.

Instead of Hey, he saw a pen fly across the room, Justin groan and slouch back in his desk chair, hands rubbing his face.  On missile alert, Brian eased over to investigate.

“DaVinci’s theory of flight?”

“Fucking drive locked up again,” Justin straightened with a loud allergy sniffle and one more attack on Control-Alt-Delete.  “I’ll GET it.  Just…give me a chance to think.” 

Brian raised a brow.  No Queen worse than Justin at war with a machine.  Or Justin working to the break point.  Trickle-down from a sales blitz minus a full art staff.  What the fuck was I thinking. “Shut it down.  We’re taking the rest of the day off.”

“Can’t,” Justin rebooted, eyes on the monitor.  “I’m already behind on Renaissance.”

“We can finish it later. Did you take your allergy pill?”

“I will.”

“Now.”

Justin hissed a breath and stood up. “Don’t touch anything.” Saw Brian lock his hands behind his neck like a captured POW, a sight that made him chuckle, unwind. “I’m back.  Ignore that other guy,” he slid his arms through the spaces around Brian’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.

Brian settled his arms around Justin’s waist. “We were supposed to be working out of our home.  Not living in our office.  What’s your opinion of asking Mikey to rent us the space over the Comic Shop?”

“That dingy attic he was gonna make into an apartment until he found out how much it would cost to run plumbing?  Perfect!”

Brian took Justin’s hand and led him up the bedroom steps. “Take your pill, I’ll get dressed and we’ll check it out.”

Justin nodded, was in and out of the bathroom before Brian had his suit hung.  “Did my software come in yet?”

“I didn’t check the mail,” Brian grabbed jeans off a hangar.

“I’ll get it.”  And he ran down the steps.

Brian donned a dark tee, headed for the living room couch for a few minutes with a newspaper, and shouted toward the closing Loft door.  “Just open them and throw them on the DUE pile.”

“Such a negative attitude,” Justin stripped four letters open, unfolded the first and read, redigested out loud for Brian’s final say.  “Do you wanna replace any windows?”  “No!” Trashola.  Next… “Want free Pirates tickets?” “How much?”  Round file.  Next… “I’ll just throw this one on the pile.”

Browsing the financial section, Brian heard Justin’s voice pale and close beside him.

“Brian?”  Justin held out a handwritten file card, “Does this mean anything to you?” He watched Brian take and read it like it was a Dear John.  “It’s from Pensacola, Florida.  No return address.”

“Well,” Brian shrugged, rested the card on his thigh, eyes glassy, “It’s…certainly original.  In more ways than one.”

Justin sat beside him, spread his hand on Brian’s arm.  “A recipe for Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cake?”

“I guess she got my Mothers Day Card,” Brian cleared his throat.

“You DID that?” Justin smiled, rubbed Brian’s arm.  But let it fade when Brian didn’t match.

“For some holy vision reason, she thought this was my favorite.  Maybe because I ate it once.  Whatever.” He lifted the card, dull smile, “So this is probably the last piece of me she had.  What a perfect FuckYou to end our long, unconventional relationship.”

“I don’t think so,” Justin said low with a little smile.  In his other hand was the envelope and he laid it in Brian’s lap.

Brian looked down and read the familiar print…addressed to Justin Taylor. 

After a couple breaths to ease the ache in his throat, Brian looked at Justin long enough to almost make him worry.  “When did you take up Kinney?  It’s the fucking toughest language there is.  Even WE don’t get it half the time.”

“I love a challenge,” Justin wrinkled a grin.  “As long as we’re a challenge to each other, we’ll never have a dull moment.”

Brian set the card and envelope on the coffee table and closed onto Justin until Justin was flattened back under Brian’s groping hands and kisses.  Getting well into it.  Brian unbuttoned his jeans.   Pulled Justin’s zipper down.  Then the business phone rang.

“It’s still office hours,” Justin reminded.

Brian rolled his eyes shut, exhaled a breath and grudgingly lifted off.  “Hold that pose.”

Smiling, Justin reached for the file card during Brian’s inaudible conversation, read it over.  God, this looks gross.  I could try it.  Or let Emmett try it.  Justin set the card back just as Brian returned hot and ready.  “New client?”

“Your Mom,” Brian covered Justin again.  “I asked if she wanted to talk to you, but she said she’d call you later.”  Brian pushed up Justin’s shirt and went for a nipple.

“What did she want?”

“Business.  I’ll meet with her later,” he kissed a trail south, v’d Justin’s briefs down to keep going.

“Probably about your Mom’s house.  It’s on the multi-list.”

Brian stopped, raised his head, “Can we not talk about your Mother right now?”

Justin pushed Brian’s head aside, got both his arms pinned above his head.

Jennifer arranged the throw pillows on her living room couch.  Moved the floral arrangement on the coffee table an inch.  Then back.  Redid the pillows.  The door buzzed.  She stared motionless, shut her eyes.  Another buzz.  A breath for courage, and she finally opened the door.  To Brian.

“Thank you for coming,” she stepped aside and let him pass.

“You said it was important,” he turned to face her, raised a brow and cocked his head in a Well?  What?

Irked by his flippant look, Jennifer forwent inane tact.  He obviously didn’t want it, and she needed credibility in his eyes.  For her son.  Firm but calm, she kept eyes on his.  “I won’t beat around the bush, Brian.  I don’t like what’s happening to Justin.”

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“He’s not interested in his friends…spends all his time with…you…” she faltered, “Not that I have anything against YOU.”

“He’s a man, Mrs. Taylor.  What he wants -”

“- is based on all he knows at twenty,” her voice strengthened.  “Everything else about being a man he has to learn.  He’s NOT close to his father -”

“And whose fault is THAT?”

“That’s not the point,” she shook her head, eyes still locked on his.

“Then fill me in.”

“The point is…I think he’s learning from YOU.”  She watched Brian’s eyes scan hers.  Was he surprised?  Indifferent?  Silent and unreadable as stone. “I know about you… some of what you value…some of what you don’t…”

Brian took a step closer.  “So does HE.  And it doesn’t affect his -”

“That’s where you’re wrong.  It DOES,” Jennifer’s eyes flashed, recovered with a tinge of pain.  “Because he admires you…and he loves you.”  She watched Brian’s eyes dart away then return.  “All I know…is that he was a beautiful, warm, emotional person – who for some reason has suddenly decided that those qualities are childish.  It’s hurting him as an artist…and I’m sure…” she glanced away as if talking to herself, “…that it’s hurting him inside, although I don’t think he wants to realize it.”

“Justin is smart enough to take care of his own needs.”

“Based on what standard?”

“Mrs. Taylor,” Brian looked off.  Let him go already. “I don’t see Justin doing…or being…anything other than what he chooses for himself.”

“What looks okay for YOU may not be okay for HIM.”  She saw Brian’s face harden defensively and stepped closer to trap his eyes.  She didn’t want to fight.  Only share her heart and hope he would listen.  “When you first saw my son, you saw that open, sensitive part of him.  I know you did.  It’s not immature…or Lezzy…or dickless – however you want to rationalize it.  It’s the toughest, most important part of being a man.  If you care about him as much as you think you do, you won’t let him bury that part.  It would be your loss.  But worse yet…his.”

Brian breathed out annoyed, tensed at the sight of the flowery Mothers Day cards on her mantle and looked back, ““What are you saying, Mrs. Taylor?  That I should make him go to poetry readings or Bach concerts?”

“Don’t make him.  LET him,” Jennifer softened her voice, eyes reaching.  “Let him know…it’s okay.”

“I never stopped him from doing what he wants.”

“Sometimes doing nothing at all is the worst kind of disapproval.”

His eyes raked hers, jaw twitched.  Don’t lay your baseless worry on me.  “Is that all?”

Jennifer looked off, tilted her head with a guess-so nod.

“Then it’s been nice chatting,” Brian raised a brow, a smile, turned and headed for the door.  Until her faint call stopped him.

“Brian,” she met his twist-back stare with honest wide eyes, “When was the last time you saw Justin paint?  I don’t mean for work…just for the sheer joy of it.”

“I’m not always home when he is.  Maybe you should ask HIM.”

Brian left her standing silent, saw himself out.

Sitting in his car, hands on the wheel, Brian lost a moment to thought.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Justin paint.  Probably doing it in private?  Brian turned the ignition, geared into first and drove up the quiet suburban street.  Replayed the last time Justin even talked about painting…

They were dressed and side-by-side in bed.  Justin mentioned cutting a deal with Scott to voice-dub the Lightwave proposal.  Brian felt his hair sizzle. 

“Care to share?”

“For a painting.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Brian crossed one arm behind his head, grinned at the ceiling like it was covered with nudes.

“The sunset over the pond,” Justin eyed Brian, amused by the implication.  “Strictly G-Rated.  I figured I could set my stuff up in that grassy area behind the house.”

The ceiling went blank.  And with as much I-could-give-a-shit as possible, “You went out to Scott’s?”

Justin aired the facts as no big deal.  “He stopped by to see you, but you were working that double.  So we went to lunch.  He wanted to show it off.”

“No shit.”  Showing it off is his specialty.  “I suppose he showed you his basement, too.”

“I didn’t know he had a basement.  But I guess I didn’t stay long after we went upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” Brian’s eyes didn’t blink.  That fucking prick.  Only prime hot-for-slaughter ever saw the loftier part of the ranch.  But the worst part was Justin’s soft response, eyes off somewhere and a little too dreamy.

“Yeah.  He has this amazing view from the balcony.  And he…it looked so perfect.  He said it was an artist’s dream.”

Brian felt his lungs freeze.  HE…looked so perfect?  Surface slip of words?  Or deeper thoughts?  And he’d never known Scott to give a FUCK about art.  Then again, it would be an original painting of HIS place by a talent whose future might someday make it worth thousands.  Didn’t stop concern when he saw Justin look down in more guilt than dream.  Dead giveaway.  That fucker psyched you.  Almost got to you.

“He asked me if I wanted to see the sunset from his place, and I said I DID,” Justin turned a resolved eye on Brian, “But only if YOU came with me.”

Small relief.  “I’ll bet THAT went over well.”

“I know what he was doing,” Justin firmed then smiled off, “Well…not right away.  But I figured it out pretty quick.”  Back to business, “I told him I’d do the painting…as long as he had somebody else over to keep him entertained.  If I go over, and he’s alone, the deal’s off.”

“Do you WANT to do it?”

“Yeah,” Justin answered soulfully, “Because I’ve never done it before…in a place that perfect.”

So that’s the first thing that came to mind when WaveLight called with a job offer and they wanted to celebrate.  A first time in a perfect place.  Brian didn’t care to curse simplicity with analysis then.  But now he wondered - was the choice weighted more for Justin?  Or against Scott?   And if Scott hadn’t triggered the idea, would he himself have ever thought of it.  Or that it would mean so much to Justin.  The sore truth was no. 

Brian had never asked about the painting.  And Justin didn’t talk about it.  That was the last time he could remember…Justin’s doing a painting.

Brian realized he’d made it home mostly on automatic pilot.  Slowed before his building, then sped past it.

Liberty Avenue after dark.  Closing shops, low clouds lit by streetlights, car lights and the neon signs of bars and dance clubs. 

Brian walked along under the curse of an analytic mind working on a rational explanation for emotion.  As if cracking its code could reveal the on and off switch for effecting the right image.  A Catch-22.  Shutting down reason to let it happen leaves no system to recognize and analyze…but keeping systems on alert sabotages the necessary spontaneity – a shit word in itself because it defies planning.  Complex thinking…what humans gained over animals.  Aren’t we fucking lucky.

Brian felt his shoulder belted hard.  In the flash before sense kicked in, his eye glimpsed a…thing…that triggered a…what…that said, Ah!  A man’s “Sorry” and lope away put the world back in order.  Some asshole rushing out of a store about knocked me over.  But something he was holding… 

At the Loft and seated at his computer, Justin repositioned a graphic onscreen, swiveled toward a spread of open magazines and lifted one to study its composition.  He looked up when he heard the door scrape open, shut.

“Hey,” he smiled briefly at Brian, retrieved another magazine, startled when a large spike-petal’d flower in bright orange and blue plopped onto the page.  “What’s THIS?” he lifted it, twisted a look back at Brian standing at arm’s length

“It’s called a Bird of Paradise,” Brian watched Justin’s eyes.  “Fuck if I know why.  It doesn’t even LOOK like a bird,” he smiled low.  Tell me I have to really look.

“Mm,” Justin nodded, “You find it on the sidewalk?”

Brian slowly exhaled, “No, I bought it.”

“You…” Justin touched it with the tips of his fingers, withdrew and looked up, eyes crinkling.  “What for?”

Brian’s eyes drifted.  Why?  Why.  Because it reminded me of someone.  “Because I thought it was unique…and brilliant.  What do YOU think?”

“I think you’ve been working too hard,” Justin side-eyed a grin, found himself looking at the flower.  Lightly riding his fingertip up the stem, pod, right into the soft life of its color.  Such color.

Brian saw that short moment.  When a kind of invisible glow warmed Justin’s expression.  Why had he never really noticed it before.  Or when it had disappeared.  He could see it now.  Then it was gone again.

Justin handed the flower back.  “I’m just about done with Microburst -”

“Good,” Brian nodded as he accepted.  Not happening.  Not yet.

“- but I need you to look it over.  Sometimes when you work with something long enough you lose perspective,” Justin viewed his screen. “I wanna be sure I’m still on track.”

No, but we’ll work on it.  “I have a couple of things to do first.  Starting with…” Brian gripped Justin’s shoulders, nosed Justin’s cheek to turn his head then kissed him.  Despite everything, that feeling never changed.  That charge of pleasure in the simplest greeting whenever their lips touched.  “I’ll be right back.”

In the kitchen, Brian took a knife and cut the stem on an angle.  So the bloom would last.

Justin looked at his screen.  Did a slow twist to Brian in the kitchen…putting a flower in water?   BRIAN?  Justin shook it off.  He must be working on a floral campaign of some kind.  Music started.  Very low, smooth jazz.  Justin blinked at his screen, shook it off again.  Brian sometimes put mood music on to relax or stimulate an idea.  Then a light thunk on his desk, and there was the flower in a tumbler of water.  And Brian’s hands lifting his wrists from the keyboard.  “What are you doing?” Justin looked up with amusement, gave into the pull and rose from his chair.

Brian held Justin close, their arms naturally surrounding each other.  “Dancing.”

Justin squinted into Brian’s eyes.  “You took something, didn’t you?  Come on.  What was it?”

“Just move with me,” Brian tried to keep focus.  Fuck.  This was awkward as all shit.

Justin pressed against Brian with an easy sway that egged them both cockhard and heating.  Something else.  Brian wasn’t saying anything.  Just looking at him.  And it felt exciting in a deeper more complete way.  Suddenly, Brian’s arm tightened around his waist, a log hit the back of his knees and he was craned into the air.  “What the fuck are you doing!” Justin reflex-wrapped his arms around Brian’s neck to keep from dropping.

“Can’t I do something just because it feels good?”

“Yeah, but this is a little out of your definition,” Justin swallowed, looked down at the floor.  Brian was definitely losing it.

“I’M enjoying it.  How does it feel to YOU?”

Justin studied Brian’s unwavering gaze.  He wasn’t high…he was…what.  Holding him up.  Not fucking.  Or talking about fucking – though that was a sure bet before too long.  But for now…how DID it feel. “Good,” Justin whispered.  Really…good.

Brian saw the glow come back.  Always there when they were close, but with new intensity.  They kissed softly, more urgent, the pull of Justin’s weight hardly noticeable.

It seemed like a decade ago…Brian saw himself return to a cold empty Loft where the only traces of Justin were a dropped sock, and a drawing…Rage holding JT.  At the time, it seemed like Justin’s bold message that he was leaving them behind.  And Brian had crushed it in response – not as much as I will.  But could it just as well have been a sad goodbye…a resignation to a belief that Brian would never understand or accept a part of Justin that was so different from himself.

Apathy was not acceptance…the one need Justin couldn’t fill alone.

Brian pulled back to stare into Justin’s eyes and reassure him, reassure himself.  You’ve carried ME all this time.  Without even seeing what it cost you.  I’m not good at this.  Never was…never wanted to be.  But not because I can’t.  I won’t do this a lot…or always be on cue…or grand…or perfect…

but as long as you’re willing to hold on tight…

I won’t let you fall.

Song: “Speak In Sympathy (Deeper Mix)” by Solar Stone ft. Elizabeth

(A New Year here – new Season 4 to come – Thanks for running with me on this.  Hope it helped fill the wait.  London)

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