Slow going on the residential street.  Traffic crawled mainly from gawkers awed by sidewalk trash drying in the sun.  A couple of homes had four-inch hoses trailing from low windows and belching murky water over the curbs.  People moved like refugees, some vigorously getting on, others in bewildered haze.

In Mel’s car, Linz rode shotgun with Justin; Mel sat in back beside Jenny and Gus, the kids secure in car seats while Mel gazed out her window and Gus strained toward his.

“Mommy!  Lookit all da brown tuff.  Why dey bring it all ousside?”

“They’re buying new stuff, Honey,” Linz perked despite somber eyes.

Mel breathed, “The other streets looked better.  We must’ve been a low point.”

Justin glanced at Linz.  “Debbie’s only a couple blocks away.  Can we swing by for a minute?  Just to check.”

“That’s a good idea.  If she’s there, maybe seeing the kids’ll cheer her up.  Mel?”  Linz craned back, got Mel’s nod then looked ahead, bit her lip at the sight.  That’ll be us pretty soon.  At least we’re not alone.

On Novotny’s front porch, Debbie stood like a drill sergeant watching Emmett and Michael cart a grimy TV cabinet out the open door.  No TV…just the cabinet. “I’ve been meaning to get rid of that thing for ages.  Now I have an excuse,” she grinned and followed them to the sidewalk.  “Set it there.  RIGHT THERE for fuck’s sake.  I have to get to the Diner to help out, and you have to get the Store open.”

“Ma, the Diner and the Store can wait.”

“Just help me get the big things out.  Well?  Move.  We haven’t got all fucking day.”

“Okay, okay,” Michael grumbled, double-timed back inside with Emmett on his heels.

Debbie clung to a stern façade until she saw them disappear.  Then turned to the cabinet, face writhing.  She wiped a sweatshirt sleeve over mud film low on one side, eyed safety-pin etchings in the veneer.  A little stick figure beside a larger one, crude uneven print – Michel + Mom.  “I could’ve killed him for this,” she grouched as tears streamed down her cheeks.

A car swung to a stop with Linz’s, “Hi, Debbie.  Are you alright?” from its open window.

Debbie quickly brushed an arm across her face, changing it like a tragedy mask.  “Yeah, but I’m really building up a sweat with all this.”  She stepped closer with a cheery, “Hi, Baby!” tap on the rear window as Gus tapped back, “Grammaaaaa!”

Michael bounded down the steps, large full trash bag over a shoulder.  He saw Debbie leaning at the rear car window, Linz up front.  “Hey!  I’ve been trying to call you!” He dropped the bag beside the cabinet.  “Everything okay at your place?”

“No worse then this,” Linz looked up the street then saw Michael’s worry.  “But we’ll manage.”

Justin’s “I’m going over to help,” inspired Gus’s “I’m goin ober t’help, too.”

Debbie, occupied with the kids, glanced at Michael.  “Look at your daughter.  If I wasn’t so filthy, I’d hug her right this minute.  Doesn’t she get more gorgeous every time you see her?” 

“She sure does,” he smiled proudly.  Then to Linz and Mel, “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”  That’s what Fathers do.

Emmett arrived with a panting, “Hi Sweeties!” as he plopped a dirty basket of ruined fabric on the cabinet, noticed Debbie’s gloomy stare.  “Should I, uh, take these back in?”

“No, they’re just old drapes…from Vic’s room.”  Composure waning, she looked from Emmett to Michael, “You boys have everything under control, so I’ll head over to the Diner,” then to the others, “I’ll fill you in with the local gossip later,” and turned to leave.

“Wait.  We can give you a lift,” Linz called.

Deb saw Mel already unfastening Jenny’s car seat.  “Thanks, but I could use the exercise,” she smiled and started walking to keep from breaking down. 

Michael moved to chase, but Emmett grabbed his arm, whispered, “No, let her go.  She needs to leave.”

Michael nodded and turned back.

Feeling the dismal change, Linz called, “We have to get going.  We’ll call you later.”

“Yeah.  We have to get back to work, too.”  Michael watched the car pull away, waved good-bye, looked back to see Debbie just a distant figure walking a labored pace and occasionally glancing at piles of other people’s memories.  His thoughts were clipped by an approaching Old Neighborman’s gripe.

“Goddamn shame, isn’t it?  NONE of us has flood insurance, and it just came out on the news – we’re not one of the counties declared a disaster area.  Can you believe that?  We’re on our own,” he looked around, shook his head.  “We oughtta all get together and make the fucking Mayor come down and LOOK at all this shit.”  Then he walked on to further his campaign.

Emmett studied Michael’s tense dark eyes.  “He just may have a point.”

“We’re a few blocks with flooded basements, not a washed-out river town.  The only thing he said that makes sense is we’re on our own.  Can you watch the house for about an hour?  I hafta stop by the Store and run a quick errand.”

Michael turned away, leaving Emmett shrugging a quiet, “I can do that” to himself.

Jay-walking across the street, Hunter caught Michael a few steps from Emmett.  “Dude.  Where ‘ya goin’ to?”

“What took you so long?”  Michael stopped.  “You were supposed to meet us an hour ago.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of day and I’m a growing boy, so I need more time than you.”

“Now that you’re energized, go help Emmett.  While it’s still light out?”

Hunter watched Michael troop onward, shook his head and rolled his eyes then joined Emmett at Debbie’s trash pile.  “What’s HIS problem?  So I was a little late.  It’s not like I was out…” he sank to a fragile, “…banging some girl,” before raising a feisty,  “So.  Do anybody hot lately?”

Emmett’s eyes wandered a second.  “I…uh…no one you’d find interesting.”

Hunter gave an emphatic nod, eyed the trash, “Well show me what shit to shovel,” and exhaled his annoyance.

At the Bank, Brian stood and watched the Teller count out fifty-dollar bills.  Casually glanced at the next man stepping up to the position beside him.  “Mikey?”

“Brian!  What’re YOU doing here?” He heard his Lady Teller huff a breath, “Sorry,” shoved a bankbook and paper toward her, “I need to make a transfer,” pointed to the paper and looked at Brian, trying to straighten the bill stack with one hand.  “Here.”  He stepped over, grabbed the stack, fanned it then tapped it straight.  “What’s with all the fifties?”

“I thought I’d try shopping with real cash for once.  So how are things at the house?”

“You mean Mom?  Or Mel and Linz?” Michael handed him the stack, watched him fold it into a pocket, lowered his voice, “Fucking mess.  No insurance, and they don’t qualify for disaster funds.”

Brian’s Teller hollered, “Next!” – a hint for Brian to move along, so he edged to Michael’s spot.

“You just worry about Debbie.  I offered to help the munchers.”

“Yeah?  Well you can HALF help them, ‘cause I can pay my share.” Michael reviewed his receipt and bankbook, gave a satisfied nod to the Teller, “Thank you,” then headed for the door.

Brian kept pace.  “It’s no big deal.  I have -”

“I know what you have.  And I have one, too.”  Michael stopped and faced Brian.  “When I made that commitment, I made a promise to be there for her, and them, and that’s what I plan to do.  There’s no way I’m letting you take all the responsibility.”

“Have it your way,” Brian tipped his head.  “But don’t be surprised if they refuse.”

“Shit. They wouldn’t take it?”

“Not the money.  So I had to do all the dirty work I was hoping to avoid.”

“Like what?”

“Call contractors and guarantee payment, buy what’s needed, then let the workers and equipment show up at the house.  When the Dyke Duo finds out half the cost is nonrefundable…and you know Mel will ask…they’ll hardly turn it all away.”

“Devious as always.” Michael’s wry face morphed to gleeful.  “And it’ll work on my Mom.  Thanks,” Michael held the door for Brian.  “Which way are you headed?”

“Not yours.  I’ll send you half the bill.”

Brian left without turning back; Michael watched him with a little smile until a second, then third “Thank-you” from departing customers reminded him to let go of the door.

Finishing a long day at the Munchers’, Justin hauled a full trash bag past the dining room where Mel, Linz and Gus were setting four places at the table.  “I can’t stay for dinner.  I really have to get going.”

“But Honey, you hardly ate a thing and you did most of the heavy work,” Linz followed him to the door, softened with suspicion.  “Did Brian call back yet?”

“No, but he’s probably really busy like everybody else.  Probably has his cell phone off.”

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Linz tried consoling without sounding like it.

“Yeah.  I’m not worried.”  Much. “Well…call me if you need more help tomorrow.”

She watched Justin lumber to the outside trash pile, toss the heavy bag beside it then take off sprinting through late day shadows despite his fatigue.

At Kinnetik, Justin heard wild music coming through propped open doors.  A party?  He slowed pace to catch his breath, hiked up the stairs, stepped inside and startled a young man and woman making out in a corner of the lobby.  “Excuse me.  Is Brian Kinney here?”

“Yeah.  Conference Room,” Man answered and went back to business.

What the fuck is going on.  Justin eyed the couple, cleared the open glass doors and saw three jocks in a mop race down the hall, their “Go!  Go!  Go!” louder than the music.  He hurried through the hall, saw three unfamiliar girls in rubber gloves and wiping furniture legs, mopping, two more yahoos in a wet rag battle.

Rounding the glass block wall, he slowed and paced toward Brian center-orgy-pit and talking with another young guy.  Between the music and surrounding chatter, neither noticed him.

Brian was serious.  “You’re an independent contractor, which means you have your own insurance.  Understand?”  This fucker’s obviously a business major.

“Do I get anything in writing?”

“Of course.  I can write you a CHECK instead of cash.  Which I WILL report to the IRS.”  Brian watched Guy drop his tail and slink away, right past Justin standing with a coy grin.  “So nice of you to drop by.  Are you here to participate or spectate?”

“What is all this?”  Justin glanced around, sauntered closer to hear the answer over the noise.

Brian also glanced around.  “I got the idea when you couldn’t work this morning.  Using an untapped labor resource.  The Starving College Student.”  He closed the final distance, gazed down at Justin.  “There are at least three major universities here, including out-of-staters with no way to make any spending money this weekend.  I thought I’d give them something more profitable to do than eating live goldfish or hacking secure government systems.”

“A true humanitarian.”

“Don’t insult Professor Bruckner.  HE’S the one mobilizing the Good Samaritans as the new Flood Relief Help Squad.  I’m merely taking advantage of the capitalists and mercenaries.  They seem to have little conception of pristine cleanliness, but they’re adequate and entertaining.  I imagine they’ll go on to become equally distasteful adults.”

“So what do I get for MY invaluable contribution?”

“Dinner at the restaurant of your choice.”

Justin slid his tongue between his lips.  “And how long do I have to wait before it opens?”

Brian glanced around again.  “Not much longer.  They’ve gone from cleaning to clowning.  And the dance contest in the Art Department wound up a few minutes ago.  I’ll do a final check before deciding who deserves a bonus…chase the fuckfest out of the bathrooms and we’ll be ready to go.”

“I can help you make the rounds.”

“I’m counting on it.  Afterwards.”

Brian latched onto Justin’s arm and steered him into the bizarre world of college antics where they were approached by an enthusiastic preppy guy.

“Mr. Kinney?  Do you have any permanent positions available?”

“No.  They’re all taken by HIM,” Brian glanced at Justin, moved them both along and left the hopeful applicant straining to compute.

Home at last.

In the darkened Loft bedroom, Brian was already stretched out on his back and waiting.  Justin straggled in from the shower, set both hands on his lower back and arched into the press with a throaty grunt before smiling down.  “I’m getting used to seeing you in that brace.”  Not the greenish-purple bruising, but I won’t mention that.

“I’m sure it leaves a lot to the imagination,” Brian picked at his chest band, noticed Justin’s snail-paced crawl onto the bed.  “Roll over.”

“Not even a kiss?  I’ll have to play harder to get.”  But I’m too fucking beat.

Justin reached for a condom and lube bottle, handed them back and stretched limply on his stomach, quiet sigh at just the feel of cool soft support.  Brian took and laid the items aside, straddled Justin’s thighs, sat back on his own legs to bear most of his weight.

Head cradled on crossed arms, Justin frowned, “What are you doing?” then shut his eyes.  “Mmm.  That feels good.”

Brian massaged the tautness in Justin’s lower back.  Only one hand, but widespread fingers did a firm job.  “What did you THINK I was doing?”

“Getting into an undesirable position.”

“Like fucking you against a wall or bending you over shit or watching you ride it out?  THOSE undesirable positions?”

Let’s not get pissy.  “Brian -” Justin twisted, “Move off a minute.” When he felt Brian’s knee swing away, Justin rolled onto his back for some face-to-face talk but was immediately straddled again, Brian hanging over him, lips into Justin’s neck with a feathery tickle. “Quit it,” Justin grabbed Brian’s head in both hands to gently push him away while trying not to giggle.

“You wanted a kiss.”  Brian kissed his lips, went back to his neck.

“I DON’T want you falling on your shoulder.”

Brian sat back smiling, stripped the condom packet open with his teeth, sheathed himself, “Look, Ma.  One hand.” Then grabbed and flicked the lube cap, squeezed a line up his cock already at full mast from a mix of lust, need, expectation and challenge.

Justin bent his arms behind his head.  “There’s no talking you out of this, is there?”

Brian circled a thumb and finger around the base of Justin’s hard cock and whisked up like slipping a ring off a finger.  Gave Justin a charge and himself as well.  “Part One, Section A.  Pull your right knee to your chest and put your left leg over my shoulder.”  He rose high on his knees to free Justin’s legs.

Justin hugged one knee tight, draped the other on Brian’s shoulder, felt Brian’s knees and thighs wedging his hips. “If you hurt your OTHER arm, I’m going on strike.”  He gasped from that grand little pinch, initial burn from the stretch.  Extra height of pleasure he always got when Brian took the lead, sprang sensual surprises that felt fresh and new.

Brian pushed in steadily, hand wrapped on Justin’s raised thigh, body hot and hard and eyes thrilled at the sight of Justin’s face.  How his mouth moved, eyes shut, breath sounded, hair looked wisping on the pillow like a soft moving frame.  I missed this.  Need this.  Staked firm and ready, Brian rocked forward, braced on one hand and started long, slow thrusts.  Full plunge in, he saw Justin’s face tense, stopped and whispered, “Put your legs around my waist.”

Justin splayed his legs wide and exhaled the relief of uncramping.  When he saw Brian’s arm reposition, body bridge forward, Justin locked legs above Brian’s hips.  Felt his body lift with Brian’s motion.  Watched Brian’s eyes move so close, Justin shut his own and felt his lips smothered and claimed, steamy breath on his cheek.  Justin trapped Brian’s face in his hands.  Hint of stubble, sweat and warmth.  Almost threw both arms around Brian’s neck but caught himself and quickly locked his right arm under his back.

Brian panted noisy and hard, ache creeping up his taxed right arm and working toward his left.  But they were picking up stride.  Too damn good of a fuck.  And Justin had his eyes shut again, was pulling at his hair and looking fucking HOT and close.  Brian felt his groin boiling so strong it left extremities feeling coolly distant.  Then heat flushed his face.  Neck.  Down his back.  And he drove faster on the blood rush high.

At the peak, a lapse of conscious thought.  Brian stripped his chest band open and jammed his left hand down for the final thrusts.  Pain.  Like a searing shot that blew his rhythm and split his focus and made him dive onto his good shoulder, jetting his load as he pulled out like a popping cork.

Justin, a fraction behind Brian and working his own cock, climaxed as Brian faltered.  Grabbed onto both of Brian’s arms, gave an ecstatic shout.  Then a sharp cry as Brian jerked one arm away, slid from his legs and pulled out so fast, Justin reflex-clenched and felt real pain even as his cock pulsed cum up his chest.  Hearing Brian groan, he twisted and saw Brian holding his shoulder, holding his breath, face in a knot.

“Oh shit.  Fuck.  I’ll get you a Vicodin.”  Justin rolled out quickly, took a step toward the bathroom and realized that a fast, unplanned pullout fucking HURT.

Brian took long breaths as the pain died to a dull ache.  He reattached his dangling chest band and slowly propped himself up.

Drying off with a hand towel, Justin returned carrying a paper water cup and pill in the other hand.  He dropped the towel on the ledge, climbed across the bed and gave Brian the pill, “What happened?” watched him pop it then held out the cup.

“One of our lesser fucks.  But parts of it were memorable.” He downed the water, set the cup on the ledge. 

“Did it break again?”  Justin saw Brian raise his shoulder and flinch.  “Don’t aggravate it.”

“Nothing’s grinding.  Must’ve been a muscle spasm.”  I’m so fucking SICK of this shit.  But it’s not your fault.  And you could’ve stopped me by saying No, but you didn’t.  Brian snapped off the spent condom, dropped it into the paper cup.  “Sorry.  About the hasty exit.”

“You can make it up to me later.” Justin rolled back, and bolted up.  “Ah.”

“What?”

“Found the lube.” Justin pulled it from under his thigh, set it on the nightstand, turned and saw Brian staring.  An odd mix of apology and disappointment.  Justin tried a smiley, “It was great,” saw Brian drop his chin, roll eyes up for the truth.  So Justin added a subdued, “I don’t think we should try that again for awhile,” eyed Brian and waited for an acid bath.  But that didn’t happen.

“Come here,” Brian said low, stretched out his right arm. 

Justin sat beside him, careful to keep his hand on Brian’s thigh; Brian gathered Justin close in a one-armed embrace.  They kissed for several minutes, little more than faces moving into every position they could find.  Then sat awhile with Justin leaning on Brian’s shoulder.  More to feel than any more to say.  Brian pulled his arm away, a signal that their night was done.  And Justin kissed his cheek before they finally moved apart.  Both feeling a little cornered, restrained, trying to make the best of it.

Squirming to get comfortable, Justin saw Brian reach over to his clock.  “You’re setting your alarm?  Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“Half my staff may not show up Monday, I have an account with a formidable product and no target market.  God will surely understand.”

“Shit.”  Justin dropped onto his pillow, wiped a hand over his eyes.  “I hafta get with Michael on Rage.  And we’re not exactly in agreement.  A little MORE than not exactly.”

“It’ll all look different after a good night’s sleep and a better fuck tomorrow.”

In his Vicodin lull, Brian hunkered in, yawned and pulled his covers higher.  Justin fluffed his pillow around his head and shut his eyes. 

But troubles at work and play grew only louder in the silence.

Across the bed from each other, Brian on his back stares at the ceiling; Justin faced away on his side, thinks with eyes open.

Song: “Blue Moon Rising” by Gomez

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