Woody’s.  Not much of a crowd with most of the regulars cleaning or dining elsewhere.

Brian, shirtsleeve still rolled, swigged his beer and set the bottle on the pool table edge.  He needed some kind of achievement for the day.  Even if it was nothing more than one-armed pool.  Propping a bridge stick on the table, he bent low, set his cue stick on the bridge – pathetic, using a fucking bridge to break – then really whacked the cue ball.  It hit the triangle with a loud CRACK, scrambling balls off the banks and each other.  He stood up satisfied.  A decent spread, one solid in the corner pocket and none jumped the table.

Michael arrived with,  “Holy shit.  I heard that break clear to the front door.”  He parked his beer beside Brian’s and looked around.  “Where’s Justin?”

“On a cleaning mission.” Brian handed his cue to Michael, “You’re stripes,” put the bridge aside, lifted another cue off the rack and eyed its length for warping.

“You talk to him yet?”

Brian studied Michael’s serious look, saw the cue twisting in his hands.  Where the fuck is THIS going.  “About what?”

“The conference call.”

“I wasn’t in on it.” And I don’t WANT to be.  Brian leaned his cue against the table and took a drink.  “It’s your shot.”

“Brian, I said some shit about taking legal action to stop him from jeopardizing the movie.”

Brian shook his head at the table.  So they didn’t fucking work it out.  He turned a hard eye back to Michael.  “What do you expect ME to do about it?”

“You’re his partner.  You’ll do what you have to do.  I just want you to know I meant what I told him.”

“Over a fucking MOVIE?”

Michael slammed his cue stick on the table.  “It’s NOT just a fucking movie!  It’s my dream coming to life – a gay world for any kid still hiding in shame – it’s validation for the comic.” Michael lowered his voice, stared with unblinking sincerity, “And it’s a future for a guy like me.  This flood really made me think.  I want to be able to take care of my Daughter, my Son, Mom.  And Ben, in case he gets sick. You know what the odds are of something like this ever happening again?  This isn’t just a movie.  It may be all I’ll ever be in life.”

Brian acknowledged with a slow blink.  Sometimes it was easy to forget that Michael had a weight of responsibilities Brian himself probably never would.  That it wasn’t likely Michael would be a major player in business.  Or live more than just comfortably in a middle class world banking that calamity would never hit hard.  But was there another reason for this talk.  “So are you asking me to get involved?  Or stay out of it?”

Justin walked into Woody’s, cased the bar and turned the corner toward the pool area where he saw Michael and Brian standing close.  Quick assessment - heavy skeptical looks, Brian waiting for Michael to talk – guess that’s my cue.  Before Michael could answer, Justin strolled in and sat on the table edge beside Michael, smiled at Brian, “Hey. Thought you were working till seven,” then psuedo-friendly to Michael, “Did you fill him in on all the details about the call?” - you asshole.

Michael matched the genial threat tone with, “I left out the part about you cutting me off every time I started talking.” – you little bitch.

“Did you leave in how you’re the writer and I’m just the for-shit artist?”

Brian dropped his cue on the table for attention, stayed equally amicable.  “I don’t know what the fuck happened, nor do I GIVE a fuck,” which isn’t entirely true, but I’m making a point here. “If you boys want to buy Lamborghinis for a couple of high-priced lawyers so you can play rough while you fuck each other over, then DO it.  But count me out.  And I mean that literally.”

Michael’s face dropped.  This wasn’t why I… “Brian -”

“Who’s Rage based on?” Brian stared at Michael.

“You.”

Then Brian turned to Justin.  “And where did you get his likeness?”

“From YOU,” Justin firmed.  “What does THAT have to do -”

“Did you tell Keller and Fenderman that?”

“Yeah,” Justin shrugged, confused.  “Brett even mentioned using you for Rage.”

“What if I don’t want my story told?”

“What?” Michael almost laughed.  “You helped us launch the comic.”

“Not the movie.”  Brian stepped between the two and talked low in their huddle.  “Assuming you signed a standard contract, you agreed that you had authorization from any real persons, i.e. ME, to use my story and likeness.  I don’t recall signing over any rights to either of you.”

Justin challenged with a sweet, “You’d let Wheaties use your name for free if they’d also put a picture of your dick on the box.  And Connor James doesn’t even look like you.”

Brian blinked back, cheeky grin.  Justin had a way of being beguiling and perplexing at the same time.  FUCK I wish I had two hands.

Michael was more serious.  “You can’t do that.  They’ll use a disclaimer -”

“Oh?” Brian turned to Michael.  “All I have to do is have my attorney fax a letter contesting the use of the character.”  He backed off easy.  “Once they realize I’m a company CEO with a business reputation to defend and enough money to put up a legal fight - which could be a nasty thorn in their side, not to mention burning up the budget before they even make a dime…”

Michael leaned toward Justin, “He wouldn’t do that.  Would he?” saw Justin answer with rolled up steady eyes, and drew back worried.

Brian finished, “You boys decide what you want to do,” turned and walked out.  Fuck this shit.  I’m in no fucking mood to tiptoe around either of you.  And if I have to get caught in the crossfire, it’ll be on MY terms.

“Shit,” Michael mumbled as he watched Brian turn out of sight.  “He’s really pissed.”

“You couldn’t wait to tell him your side, could you?”

“Because I think he’d do anything for you,” Michael answered with an anger-anxiety mix.  “And I just wanted him to know what to expect from me.”  Then Michael walked away, considering what in essence could be a huge, costly gamble.

Justin turned his wrath to the table.  Re-racked the sticks except for one.  Lined up a shot and struck.  Goddamn Michael – twelve, corner pocket, in.  And Brian with HIS legal shit – seven, bank shot, side pocket, in.  Fenderman and his fucking ideas – ten taps two to side pocket, in.  Brett asking me to cut out Michael.  Scratch.

A smoky voice came low and close.  “You know, it might help if you chalked the cue.”

Justin gazed at the little blue cube in a large, smooth hand.  Followed up a shirtsleeved arm to a handsome face with intense dark eyes and come-on smile.  “Thanks,” he smiled back and took the chalk.

“So.  Ready to play?”

Justin considered the bold offer.  For a pleasant moment, his shit mood sidelined in the presence of a stranger who obviously found him attractive.  Now what to do about it.

Outside, Brian crossed Liberty, paced toward the Diner and took a quick look over his shoulder.  No Michael.  No Justin.  Enjoy each other’s company at my expense for all it’s fucking worth.  Being at the top of the shit list isn’t new to me.

He slowed near the Diner, considered the Chinese Palace across the street and headed there instead.  A young man ahead of him went in, looked back before letting the door shut then held it open.

“Hi, Brian.”

“Todd.  How’s it going?”

“Fiiine.  You coming to Babylon later?  It’s Family Night.”

FAMILY Night?  Brian quirked a look back at Todd trailing him in.

Answering the unspoken question, Todd smiled, “Yeah.  They’re letting in non-members ‘cause a lot of ‘em helped with cleanup.  Sorta like one big gay family celebration.  Lotta new guys’ll probably be there.”

“How generous of Babylon management.  Hosting potential new paying members.” Still…a diversion from a rotten day, fresh meat and maybe a little heat to counter the expected cold night ahead.

A little Asian Lady interrupted with, “You want eat HERE?  Or go out?”

Didn’t take Brian long to decide.

Leaving Woody’s, Justin skipped down the stairs to the walk and turned when Stranger called from the landing, “I’ll be at Babylon later if you change your mind.”

If I need my dick sucked, it’ll be for fun, not therapy.  “I’ll think about it.”  Justin watched Stranger go inside, started walking back to Mel and Linz’s.  To give himself time to digest what happened and plan a strategy for the aftermath.  If nothing else, at least it was fucking out in the open.

Ben was skewering chicken when he heard the front door.  He grabbed a towel and wiped his hands as he stepped out to see Michael pacing slow, face long.  “You’re back early.  Thought you and Brian were meeting at Woody’s.”

“We did.  I have to call Fenderman.”

“Now?”

Michael checked his wristwatch.  “It’s still early on the West Coast.”

Ben watched Michael stop at the phone and stare at it.  “Is there a problem?”

Aside from alienating my best friend and shafting his partner?  Michael shook his head, “I don’t know,” and diverted to the open laptop computer on a small desk.  “Are you using that?”

Ben paused, waiting for Michael to spill.  But when he didn’t, “No.  Go ahead.  I’ll be in the kitchen…if you need me for anything.”  He stalled a moment longer before returning to his Thai barbecue, knew that if Michael really wanted to talk, little stopped him.

Michael sat at the desk and woke the sleeping screen.  Reading his email would buy him a little more think time before placing that call.

At the Loft…

Brian, white tee shirt and shower-damp hair, sat at his desk and paged through a magazine.  Babylon’s sexual magic worked only if he wanted to shelve the past and move on.  But he found it impossible to trivialize and discard concerns involving Justin.  So he came home.  To wait.  For whatever the fuck reason.

Not expecting Brian to be home, Justin entered the Loft, locked the door and hauled his laundry duffel to the bedroom stairs.  He casually glanced back then startled when he saw Brian staring at him.  FUCK – why does he do that.  Sit there and not say anything.  Recovering, he climbed the steps.  “Thought you’d be out trolling the depths.”

“It was my turn to cook.”  Too much time between walking in and noticing I’m here.  Little dig about the Baths.  I feel a chill.

Justin dropped his bag, leaned on the doorframe and toed his shoes off right there.  “You made dinner?”

“Chinese.  It’s in the fridge.”  Brian watched Justin whip off his socks, drop them beside his shoes and kick the pile aside.  Hostile neatness.  Getting colder. 

Justin thumped down the steps and to the kitchen.  I can’t believe Michael did that.  Yeah, I can.  “You’ll have to show me how you make those little white cartons.”

Barbed humor, but doesn’t seem aimed at ME.  Fuck.  Something went wrong.  Okay.  Let’s go for it.  Brian left his chair, stopped at the end of the counter.  He watched Justin remove and sniff a carton, toss it back into the fridge and grab a beer.  “So did you and Mikey talk it out?”

“What for?  You heard what I’m up against.”

“He has a point.”

Justin thumped the beer down, tossed the twist cap into the sink, shook his head and tromped past the counter to face Brian.  “You wanted to stay out of it…I respected that.  HE comes running to you and now he has a POINT?  WHAT point?  He wants to give away what control we have.”

“They already BOUGHT your story.  Why should Brett need either of you?”

“I know exactly why.  Because we’re the best ones to defend our vision against shit like Fenderman’s.” Justin stared steady.  “Because Brett’s a gay director who understands the comic and believes in it.  Why we wrote it, what we want to say, and how it should be said in a movie.  What it means to be gay.  That we can be proud of it.  That Rage can be as important as Spiderman, or X-Men, or any other hero protecting people’s rights.”

“Is Brett that true to your vision?  Or only as long as somebody else pays for it?”

Justin fumed, “Is THAT what Michael told you?”

“That’s what I told me.”

“Well, you’re wrong.  We’re not just making a movie.  We’re making a statement.  Setting a precedent.  I’ll work for just living expenses, if that helps it get done right. But Michael can’t see through an asshole like Fenderman and won’t even try.  Now he wants to force me to give in and you want me to see HIS side?  If you wanna help him find an attorney, go right ahead.  I can take care of my OWN business.”  Justin paced further off.

Brian flared, “Do you want to fight over it?  Come on,” he stepped away from the counter.  “Go ahead.  Take your shot.”

“Fuck you,” Justin shook his head.  Stick up for fucking Michael if you want.

“What’s the matter?” Brian stepped closer, pushed Justin’s shoulder.  “Afraid you’ll get hurt?”

Justin slapped Brian’s hand aside.  “Because it’s stupid and pointless.”

“Like you and Mikey calling lawyers?”

Justin erupted, “You’re.  The one.  Who told me not to sell out!”

“Either way you’ll be selling out!   If you want to put a legal gun to Mikey’s head, be fucking sure it’s worth it.”

Justin’s skin sizzled with an old, sick feeling that he quickly brushed aside.  This is different.  Or is it.  “So you’re saying I’m wrong to defend my ideas?  My creative rights with Rage?”

“Nobody said you were wrong.  But you’re in a business that’s dealing with another business.  There ARE no absolute rights or wrongs.  Only better courses of action.  Your responsibility is to FIND them.”

“So why don’t you tell that to Michael?”  Justin narrowed his eyes.

Brian blinked back, “Because I’m the fucking asshole who’s thinking about taking legal action against the movie.  Wouldn’t it be better to tell him yourself?”

Justin stared for a long minute, meager smile.  You fucker.  “You took us both to lunch.”

Brian lifted the beer from Justin’s hands, took a sip and returned the bottle.  “Few things unify a workforce more than a common threat.  But I didn’t figure on you both walking out on each other so soon.”  He traipsed back to his desk, sat down and paged through another magazine.

Justin studied him a moment, walked his beer to Brian’s desk and set it down.  “What, ideally, did you expect to happen?”

Still paging, Brian casually answered, “I didn’t expect YOU to be that convinced, but I thought I’d give Mikey something else to think about, which I’m sure at this very moment he IS.  You might have started talking instead of arguing, and maybe found out…” Brian stared directly at Justin,  “…that you both have the same goal.  It’s possible that Brett may be splitting you to get around the characterization contract clause, so that whichever way they go, ONE of you will agree.  So is it YOUR movie?  Or THEIRS?”

Justin conceded, “For somebody who didn’t want to get involved with us on this movie, you certainly put some effort into it.”

“Bullshit,” Brian mumbled to his mag.  “My life would suck if I had to live it between two vicious unemployed queens.  I’d have to spend most of my time escaping to either my office or the Clubs and Baths like a miserable breeder.”

“You wouldn’t consider just dumping us both?”

“It’s never out of the question.  As a last resort.”

Justin leaned close and kissed a spot near Brian’s ear.  “Under all those layers of asshole, you have an amazing amount of heart.”

Brian twisted nose-to-nose.  “Don’t you have something important to do?”

Justin touched his nose to Brian’s, grabbed his beer and strolled to the bedroom.  Up the steps.  Expression darkening as he tried to ward off thoughts of Michael refusing to listen, or making new accusations.  Stop.  Can’t think like that.  Justin sat on the bed, slowly lifted the cordless and organized his thoughts.  Then he touched autodial and waited.  What can I say to prove I’m right?  No.  What can I say to start things right.

“Hey.  It’s me.  Before you say anything, I just want to tell you…I’m sorry.  This is our movie, and I want to work on it WITH you, not against you.  What do you think?”

At his desk, Michael held the receiver to his ear, slowly wound the cord on a finger, face grim in the light of his computer screen.  “I…was just about to call you.  I’M the one who should be apologizing.  Did you read your email?”

“Not yet.  Why?”

“Just read it.  I’ll wait.”

“Hold on.”

Phone in hand, Justin sprinted down the steps to Brian’s desk, laid the phone on the edge, skirted behind Brian.  “Move out of the way a minute.  I hafta read my email.”

Speechless, Brian rolled his chair back and watched Justin attack his computer.  Move out of the WAY?  Fuck.  I got more respect when I was on the shit list.  “What -”

“In a minute,” Justin cut.  He cursored past friendly chat notes and highlighted one from Fenderman Prodco.  Had to be it.  He clicked it open.

Brian edged his chair closer and watched Justin’s body tense as he scrolled two pages of print.

“Shit,” Justin bit.  “I can’t fucking believe this.”  He snatched the phone, sat on the desk and razed, “That is the worst piece of shit ever.  We have to do something about this.”  A sudden thought.  “You didn’t make that call, did you?”

Michael stayed subdued.  “No.  After that shit at Woody’s and…and Brian being all worked up…I guess I put it off.  And it’s a good thing, because you were right.”

“About what?”

“Standing by the premise.  So don’t apologize to me.  You were right.”

Justin breathed out a quiet, “There are no absolute rights and wrongs.  Just better courses of action.  What’re you doing tonight?”

Michael hesitated, then smiled, “Working with you on answering this email.  Your place or mine?”

“Yours.  I think Brian’s had his fill of us and this movie.”

“Yeah,” Michael’s smile sank.  “Is he there?”

“Yeah.  Hold on.”  Justin held the phone out to Brian.  “Michael wants to talk to you.”

Brian took the phone, leaned back and without giving Michael a chance to talk, drolly rattled, “No, I’m not mad at you, no, I don’t plan to file a lawsuit against the movie, yes, my shoulder’s coming along fine and yes, Justin can come out and play tonight.  Now should I put him back on?”  Brian handed the phone back to Justin and raised a satisfied brow.

Justin caressed Brian’s cheek as he answered the phone, “Yeah.  Sounds good,” stood up and moved around Brian, “I’m leaving as soon as I get my notes. Bye.”  He watched Brian roll up to read the email, looked past his shoulder.  “Fenderman’ll consider allowing the sex scenes if JT stays in drag, and Rage’s sexual identity is kept pretty much ambiguous.  You see what they’re doing?   We might have to compromise on some stuff, but Rage is out and proud GAY.  And that’s ONE thing we won’t let them change.”

Brian stood up, stretched, rubbed his slung arm.  “Take the Vette.  And don’t eat in it.”  He dipped to meet Justin’s quick kiss then moved away from the desk and headed for the bathroom.

Justin closed down his email, had a passing thought.  “Brian…you weren’t really gonna file a suit on us, were you?”

Without turning back, Brian called, “Before you shut down, there’s a document marked Untitled on the desktop,” and disappeared into the bathroom.

Justin located, opened and read the single page.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Michael quietly groaned to Justin on the couch beside him.  “You sure it wasn’t just a bluff?  You know, he DOES that sometimes.”

“No, it was definitely a letter to his attorney.  He said he’s not planning on using it, but he didn’t delete it, either.”

“Well, then we’ll have to get him to sign a release.”

Justin stared incredulous and just short of laughing.  “Are you serious?  I can hear him now…”

“Sure.  Bring it on.  I haven’t tried a one-handed paper airplane yet,” Brian stretched flat back on the bed. 

Propped on a side and facing him, Justin smiled along.  “That’s close to what I told him you’d say, only with more expletives.”

“So I take it you’re both happily reunited?”

Justin’s voice mellowed, “I took The Great Escape with me so I could return it on my way back.  Sorta reminded me to listen a little better to what Michael had to say.  About heroes and kids who needed them.”  He slowly ran his hand along Brian’s arm, up and down.  “And even though it pissed me off at first, I’m glad you got involved.  What made you do it?”

“Losing Exotic Epicurean.”

“Oh shit.  That’s the first one you ever lost since starting Kinnetik.”

“And Theodore thought I gave good pep talks.”

“Sorry.”

“For what?  They wouldn’t compromise on the business plan, and I had to decide if proving my brilliant creativity was worth tying up resources on ads and pitches that wouldn’t pay off.  Kinnetik may be my company, but the bottom line is, it’s a business.  Could I sell out my staff and reputation for a risky personal quest.  So I took what I thought was the better course of action.  It was never a question of right or wrong.”

“And that’s what inspired you?”

“No.  I was looking for Keller’s motive at the time.  It was your movie situation that sealed the decision on Epicurean.  All I did was return the courtesy.”

Justin grinned wider.  “And it had absolutely nothing to do with your feelings for Michael…or me?”

Brian stared at him.  You little shit.  “I already told you about life between -”

“Two vicious unemployed queens.  Um-hm,” Justin nodded.  “So to avoid that unsavory possibility, you’ll be happy to sign our release?”

Brian raised his arm from Justin’s hand, propped it behind his head, yawned and closed his eyes.  “Battle on, then.  I can always dump you both.”

Is that so, Mr. Wiseguy.  Justin slid his hand down Brian’s chest.  Let it bunch the sheet along its path across his hip then followed it with a trail of light kisses destined for his cock.

Brian exhaled, squirmed under the touch, “What are you doing?” felt Justin’s breath heat the skin near his groin.

“A little experiment.  Seeing how far Vicodin travels through the system.”

Brian inhaled sharply as Justin’s moist lips touched his cock.  Swung his hand to settle and weave through Justin’s hair.  To quote a famous hustler - compromise is never out of the question.  Maybe I’ll just dump Mikey.

Tuesday lunch hour at the Diner.

Justin walked in and stopped to admire the cleaner back-to-normal atmosphere.  And Debbie hustling to greet him.

“Sunshine!  Ready to go to work?”  She relieved his surprise with, “Just kidding.  Come on.  Emmett and Darren are here.  Never thought I’d be so glad to see these same faces again.”

Justin followed her down the aisle.  “When do you need me to start?”

“You’re on for Friday, so enjoy your vacation while it lasts.”  Debbie stopped at a booth where Emmett and Darren sat reading menus across from each other.  “Okay.  Which one of you wants to sit next to a hot, sexy hunk?”  When several voices answered, Debbie clarified, “I’m talking to THESE two.”

“Right here, Baby,” Emmett sparkled.

“Justin!”

“Hey, Darren,” Justin smiled and parked beside Emmett.

Debbie raised her checkbook, looked from Darren to Emmett.  “So what’ll it be?”

Emmett sneaked, “I just need another minute.”

Debbie glanced toward the dinging call bell then back, “One minute,” and grumbled, “You should know that thing by heart already,” on her way to the pickup station.

Justin eyed Darren.  “Speaking of heart, how’s your sister doing?”

“Oh.  Turned out she had a reaction to a cleaning agent.  But it’s out of the house, far far away and she’s home fine.  Except for feeling bad for her roommate.  Really nice girl who had a cancer operation a couple months ago.  They said she was clean, but it came back in a part of her brain where they can’t operate.  Now they say she may have just a few months.”

Emmett peeked over the top of his menu.  “Can we…talk about something a little cheerier?”

“Sorry,” Darren smiled.  “It’s just…when I was in that hospital?” He turned to Justin, “You probably went through it, too…I never stopped to think how lucky I really was.”

“Yeah,” Justin forced a smile.  Lucky neither of us had cancer.

A cell phone’s muffled ring sent all three groping through pockets and exchanging looks: Darren’s “Is that YOU?” to Emmett’s “I think so,” until Justin beat them to the draw with, “It’s mine,” checked the ID - “Shit.  It’s Brett.” – and answered, “Hello?”

Emmett leaned toward Darren, “Brett’s that big movie director!” and they both eavesdropped with smiley rapture.

Justin maintained a cordial, “Sure.  I understand.  Yes.  Okay.  Bye.”

Emmett watched Justin close his phone and replace it too slowly.  “Well?  Don’t leave us hanging with just a few crumbs.  Di-ish.”

“He wants me in LA tomorrow,” Justin revived a smile.  “I start on Thursday.”  It’s happening.  It’s really happening.

“Oh.  My.  God.” Emmett gleamed, grabbed Justin’s arm.  “Ohmygod!”

“Congratulations!” Darren snatched and shook his hand.  “Now you’re not gonna forget about Shanda when you make all those contacts, will you?”

“Of course not,” Justin winked, caught in a glory moment.

Debbie rushed over on high alert, “What’s all the commotion?”

“Justin’s starting that job in Hollywood!” Emmett trilled.

Which triggered Debbie’s loud,  “Hey everybody!  Justin Taylor’s going to Hollywood to make my son Michael’s movie!” She caught herself and turned to Justin with, “I mean, you AND Michael’s movie,” barely audible under a short burst of applause.

“I know what you meant.  But you’ll have to find somebody to cover me for the next six…” His smile faded like the moment.  “Six to nine months.”

Emmett swung a crushing arm around Justin’s shoulders. “Lunch is on ME.  In honor of our first official Liberty Star!”

Justin shrank under Emmett’s hearty kiss and held a static smile while the chatter around him became a distant buzz.  After the initial excitement, reality pinched.  Six to nine months.  The possible equivalent of a lifetime.

At Red Cape…

Michael with an armload of comics was restocking a rack when he heard the door chime and saw Justin walk in.  “Hey.  School out early today?”

“It’s my last day.” Justin backed against a bin beside Michael.  “Brett called.”

“I figured he would call YOU.  Considering how I got along with Fenderman.”

“So you’re better with Fenderman.  Brett thought our response…the gee you have such great ideas let us think about it…was tactful and would satisfy him for awhile.  I would’ve told Fenderman something closer to eat shit.”

“He’s still the money man even if he IS turning out to be a major asshole.  At least we have Brett, and YOU’RE on his good side.”

“Fuck Brett, too,” Justin answered matter-of-fact.  “He may believe in Rage and like the challenge, but he’d drop us just as fast if he doesn’t think it’ll pay off.  Whatever they try to do to Rage, I think as long as you and I stick together, we can handle them.”

Michael stopped racking long enough for a bright smile.  “I’m glad you said that.  For awhile I was worried there wouldn’t be an us at all.  So is that all he had to say?”

“He wants me in LA tomorrow so I can start work on the movie Thursday.”

“That’s great!” Michael hailed, saw Justin’s solemn eyes. “Isn’t it?”

Justin bit the corner of his lip.  “If you had to leave Ben for almost a year to work on this film, would you do it?”

“I…” Shit.  Don’t ask me that. “Why?  Does Brett want ME to -”

“No.  I’m just wondering if you could do it.”

Disturbed more by the idea than the reason, Michael stared past the floor.  “I don’t know.  After that drug reaction he had a couple years ago…I’d have to say…” He looked up with a firm, “No.  I couldn’t.”

“I don’t think I wanna leave Brian, either.”

Michael swallowed, eyes glazing.  “Is Brian…”

“He’s still clear,” Justin quelled.  “But you never know with cancer.”

“Yeah,” Michael hardened, jammed a comic into the rack, “Next time don’t scare the shit outta me.  You KNOW it doesn’t take much to make me worry.”  Fucking cancer.

“Sorry,” Justin grinned.  “I know you have enough to worry about.”

“You got THAT right.”

“Because you care a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes I think you even pride yourself on your ability to worry.”

“Absolutely.”  WAIT a minute.  Michael stopped and pointed.  “That’s LEADING.  I watch court drama once in awhile.”  Dawn lit as he watched Justin’s quiet grin.  “Okay.  You convinced me Brian’s all right.  And I think I know where you’re at on this.  You’re thinking that if you leave…and something happens to him…you’ll lose what time you should’ve had together.”

“I kinda figured you’d understand.”

Michael set the comics on the bin, leaned beside Justin.  “Well I almost made a major mistake with that kind of thinking.  Almost let Fenderman do anything to make this movie so I’d have some kind of insurance.  Because I worried about a lot of things that could go wrong.  Not going wrong, or already WENT wrong…COULD go wrong.  When you seriously think about it, that’s actually a shitty outlook.”

“Caring about people isn’t shitty.”

“To a point.  Going past it is my genetic curse, but I’m working on it.  Lucky for us, you’re not like that.  And I think that’s one of the things Brian loves about you.”

Big, coming from Michael.  Justin considered the similarities of their situations, the dynamics of their differences.  “Thanks.” He pushed off the bin and headed for the door.  “Guess I’d better go home and pack so I don’t end up running crazy at the last minute.”

“Like our last trip?” Michael chided, got Justin’s mimed dry laugh. “Call me when you get there so I know you made it okay.”

“I will, Mom.”

“Hey,” Michael flared, “I said I’m working on it.  Now go while we’re still friends?”  He grabbed his stack and finished his task while grumbling to himself, “Not worried about you.  It’s all those slimy lurkers out there just waiting for a chance to -”  His phone rang and he leisurely racked the last of his books before moving to the counter.  I already know, Ma.  Then his face beamed with the full impact.  We’re doing it.  We’re making a movie!

Justin closed the door and left feeling more enthused but far from ecstatic.  I’m not even gone, and I miss Brian already.  He slowed and stopped on the busy street, tapped his fingertips on the phone in his jeans pocket.  Brian.

At his Kinnetik office, Brian stood in front of his desk and in a pow-wow with Ted and two Art Department girls.  “I need the Cohen roughs by Thursday,” he told the girls, and to Ted, “Check on that wire transfer from Brown.  We’ll need it to cover Cohen’s next run.”

“I’m right on it.”  Ted led the team to the door and past Cynthia strolling in with Justin close behind.  “Justin,” Ted nodded and kept moving.

“Brian, you have a visitor,” Cynthia smiled, set a couple faxes on his desk. “Should I hold your calls?”

“I’ll let you know.”  Brian watched her nod and leave then sat on the desk edge facing Justin.  “If you stopped for lunch, you just missed it.”

“The studio called.  I’m flying out early tomorrow.”  Fast and short.  Not enough time to reach sniffle stage, just enough words to stay strong against the weak sound of regret. 

Brian felt his throat catch.  Saw Justin stiffly waiting for a reaction and knew he had to fucking say something quick.  “Good.  They dragged it out long enough.”  He lifted and inspected one fax, swiveled and touched his com button.  “Cynthia, don’t answer these faxes yet.  Let them think we’re so busy they’ll be lucky to get us.”  She didn’t answer, but it was all for show anyway.

Justin smiled an awkward, “I can see you’re pretty busy.  So I’ll see you tonight?”

“Unless you’re planning on staying somewhere else.”

Justin shook his head, “Not a chance,” and eyed Brian’s ringing phone.  “Guess I’ll go.”

Brian waved, snatched his phone, “Brian Kinney,” watched Justin take a couple steps back and smile before he turned and walked out.  “Yes, I got your message.  I’ll check with my staff and be back to you in an hour.”  But his mind really wasn’t on the call, and his eyes stayed fixed on the empty space beside the doorway.

Justin stepped up pace toward the Loft front door and was glad he’d made the decision to tell Brian right away.  They had stayed in rhythm in their dance and parted at the right signals.  Each giving allowances to find a comfort level so their remaining time wouldn’t be wasted on the initial shock.

He let himself in and started up the stairs.  A lot to do.  Call his Mom and Daphne.  Call the School.  Pack.  He wanted that all out of the way before Brian got home.  Midway up the first flight, Justin stopped.  He debated about the thing in the basement, made a decision and headed back down.  Because this night would have to last them for who knew how long. 

At Kinnetik, Brian stood behind his desk, accessed a web page on his computer but spent only seconds viewing it.  Spied the faxes, lifted one and tossed it down.  Reached into his Outgoing tray and rechecked the address on an envelope.  Fuck if I can work right now.  His phone rang and he hit his com button instead.  “Cynthia.”  No answer.  “Cynthia!”

She suddenly appeared and growled, “What?  I was just on my way.”

“Take my calls.  I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“Okay,” she answered.  The desk phone rang with caller persistence.  “Brian, do you -” she looked up but he was already gone, so she reached over and grabbed the phone.

Outside Kinnetik, the sunny mild day was made for a walk.  Brian looked up one side of the street, down the other.  What’ll it be – Woody’s?  Adonis?  The Liberty Baths?  How about just Red Cape Comics.

He set out toward the busy street, turned the corner and walked until a bookstore window display caught his eye.  Art and Graphics books.

Evening at the Loft…

Brian closed the door, shuffled past the foyer toward low-volume rock and Justin’s, “Hey, you’re early,” from the living room.  He saw Justin in socks, jeans, rolled up sweatshirt sleeves and sitting back on his legs amidst stacked clothing, books and papers near an open duffel.   Spartan choices whose transient look balm’d the sting of finality.  “Is that all you’re taking?”

“Pretty much.  I can buy anything else there.”

Brian sniffed the air.  “Is Debbie here, too?”

“Just her marinara sauce,” Justin rose, closed in and slid arms around Brian’s waist, gave him a warm greeting kiss.  “Rigatoni’s still hot, if you want some.  I already ate, but I’ll join you for dessert.”

“I had a late lunch.  So what’s for dessert?”

“Not lemon squares.”  Sly smile, double brow rise. 

“Oh?” Interest piqued, Brian kissed Justin’s lips again, ran a hand down his back and parked it on a hip.  Up front he could feel hard cock under denim pressing against his own light wool.  “Well?”

“Something different.”

Justin’s hand clamped onto Brian’s and pulled him toward what Brian expected was the bedroom.  When they bypassed the steps and stopped in the nearby niche, Brian halted with an open-mouthed stare.  Dangling from a four-post frame, a black fabric sling.

“What’s wrong?” Justin broke in, flash of doubt.

Brian casually approached the sling, ran a hand up a support cord and tugged.  “Nothing.  Except you know I won’t get into it.  And at Dungy Don’s last year, you said you would have to be dead before you would ever be caught in one.  If you noticed, I never asked again.”  Something repulsive that you wouldn’t explain.  “So who’s it for?”

“Us,” Justin blinked, stole a moment to gather some brass then slowly removed his shirt.  “You’re not backing out on me, are you?”  He swung the shirt to the side, unzipped and dropped briefs and jeans in one plunge.

Brian watched Justin spring up, flushed stiffy bouncing from a trimmed blond nest and contrasting pale skin.  Overpowering and promising.  Brian unfastened his arm cuff, wrist cuff and chest band while straining to go slow, keeping his arm bent and still.

Justin kicked his pants aside and unbuttoned Brian’s shirt.  “Want me to help you put that back on?” Justin eyed the immobilizer sling hanging like a tailor’s measure around Brian’s neck.

“Why don’t you just have a seat and watch?”  Brian carefully removed his shirt, anxious to see how hot Justin would look getting into the sling. 

He watched Justin’s back, saw a fraction’s hesitation but shrugged it off when Justin finally turned around, hopped in and sat holding the cords, feet dangling as he vocalized bars of David Rose’s The Stripper.  Going with it, Brian swung his shirt in a circle before letting it fly then slowly donned his brace to Justin’s rhythm.  Watched Justin whistle, clap and look as wicked as too innocently young, rocking on that sling.

Justin protested Brian’s approach.  “No, the pants next.  All the way.  All the way.”

“And ruin the suspense?”

“Booooo”

“Fuck you.”

“That’ll work.”

Brian moved in.  Closed his hand over Justin’s and hovered near.  They teased by lightly dodging each other’s passes so that when lips finally connected, it was like something worked for, waited for and a lot fucking more than hi-how-are-you.  Brian felt Justin undo his belt, its buckle fall loose with a faint clink.  Zipper downing with a leisured rrrrip.  Like a tantalizing finger splitting a seam to free his bulging cock.  Quick thought.  Fuck.  “Hold that pose while I do a supply run.”

“Wait.”  Justin twisted aside and slid his hand into an outer pocket on the sling.  “It’s a standard feature on this model,” he grinned at Brian’s raised-brow approval and laid lube and condom on his lap.  Holding the cords, he eased back to relax.  But a shadowy face leered at him.  Grotesque in the fluid distortion through drugged eyes.  A memory flash that tensed his gut.

Brian saw the second’s reaction.  Like Justin had lain on nails.  “Cold?”

“I’m okay.”

A little fright behind calm eyes, Brian thought, let it pass as new urges built at the sight of Justin’s fastening a Velcro restraint around his raised right wrist.  Then Justin’s telltale swallow.  Something definitely amiss. “Just one.”

“Both,” Justin recovered, stretched his left hand to the restraint and head-tipped an invitation, full-power con-man smile. 

Brian exhaled, cock-driving desire battling a sixth sense.  He reached for Justin’s wrist.

Justin saw…FUCK.  A flabby, drooling half-bald scuz grabbing his hand.  Justin yanked it back.  And suddenly saw Brian stare with heavy concern, reach across and rip the Velcro loose from his other hand.  “What’re you doing?”

Brian assessed the heaving chest.  Shrinking dick.  Reached out to stop Justin from reattaching his hand.  “Fun’s over.  I’ll help you take this down.”

“I’m not taking it down,” Justin seared a look.  “What’s the matter?  Can’t handle it?”  More to himself than Brian.

Brian shot, “I don’t get my kicks from being a fucking rapist.  So who DID?”

Open mouth, fractured thoughts, Justin pulled his body tight as if exposed and chilled.  “That’s not what happened.  Not to me,” he barely whispered.  “But almost.”

“When?”

“A party.  Back when I was dancing…” he trailed off, disgusted.  Then strengthened, “I don’t want that nightmare anymore.  So don’t get the idea this is all for just you.  I’m doing it for me, too.”  Justin pulled his right hand from Brian’s, attached the restraint, put his left hand up again, saw Brian hesitate.  “I’m tired of holding back worrying I’ll grab your shoulder.  And this way, you can do whatever you want.  Face to face.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Do it.”

“Keep your eyes on me.” Brian bound Justin’s other hand while watching his reaction.  The restraints were cool and soft.  “Is this silk?”

“I didn’t want leather anyway.”  Justin brought his knees up, splayed his legs toward the ankle restraints.  Anticipating the experience and Brian’s careful attention made his cock twitch more solid and stopped the haunting déjà vu.

Brian fastened one ankle, his own breaths heating at Justin’s full exposure, trust, a sense that he’d overcome the bad and willingly opened for the pleasure.  Finally assured that Justin was fine, Brian bound the other ankle.  Kissed the leg and flowed his hand down its length.  Down to Justin’s groin.  Let his fingers explore the details.  Listening to Justin’s contented hums, seeing eyes peaceful and excited, Brian decided – No surprises.  Or chances you’ll recall something else.  Here’s the plan.  Dwell on it.  Live in it.  “I’m going to eat your balls.  Rim your ass.  Suck your big hard cock and pump you dry.”  He circled a fingertip around Justin’s hole.  Round and round.  “Then I’m fucking your tight little ass so hard, it’ll take you hours to remember your name.”

“Prove it.”

Justin shut his eyes and moaned through a smile, wrists twisting in their confines as Brian’s tongue made good.  Freedom to use all the force that came naturally, against nothing that could get hurt. 

On his knees, Brian let his tongue caress the soft warm balls, scoop one, then the other into his mouth, massage each morsel and release it.  Blow the steamy underside and listen to Justin’s giggle.  He cupped the package in his hand, gently lifted and targeted the contracting little hole.  Yeah, I’ll prove it.  Maybe not the name part…but I’ll come fucking close.

At 3AM, Justin checked his clock and realized that he still couldn’t sleep.  He started a noisy roll, abruptly stopped and peeked at Brian on his back, eyes shut.  THIS isn’t gonna work.  Already at the edge of the bed, Justin grit his teeth, held his breath and slid from under the covers.  His sweats were in easy reach on the ledge and he managed to dress in silence until a running shoe squeaked on the floor.  He nearly jumped when Brian spoke in a voice too clear to have been asleep.

“This isn’t Chicago.  Security lines aren’t THAT long.”

Chicago.  That WAS a riot, wasn’t it.  “Shit.  I was trying not to wake you.”

“I’d hate to experience if you WERE.”  Brian rolled to face him.  “Leaving so soon?”

Justin donned his pullover with normal action.  “Thought I’d go up on the roof for awhile.”  He watched Brian sit up.  “Why don’t you go back to sleep?  I can sleep on the plane.  YOU have to work.”

Brian got into sweatpants, loafers, slid his right arm through the sleeve of a button shirt and caped the left side over his shoulder.  “Stay behind while you fall off?”

“I won’t fall off.”

“And I’m not staying behind.”

Stubborn fucker.  “Okay, but you’re not blaming me for pneumonia,” Justin smiled, hurried over and started buttoning.  Go ahead.  Stop me.  Yell.  Complain.  Give me something to not miss.  As much.

Brian stood watching Justin’s blond head and careful hands.  An act that would have sparked resistance had suddenly become precious.  Soon the button trail led to his neck and a full view of Justin’s face.  One more scene to lock away for every now and then.

Justin felt the intense gaze, met it with his own and fought the urge to kiss.  I can’t.  Not now.  “There,” he broke the trance and moved away, flicked on the bedroom light.  “That should keep us from bumping into walls.”  And he thumped down the stairs.

On the roof they stood together in a cool breeze so light it hardly wisped their hair.  Below, their neighborhood slept through droning city sweeper machines on the last dusty remains of the flood.

Brian pressed against Justin’s back for warmth, contact, anything.  “Is that still bothering you?  Being in a sling.”

Justin leaned back, eyes recording every detail of his City.  “I don’t think it was the sling as much as the idea…that I can make mistakes.  Ones I can’t find a way to justify.  So they’re never more than just bad mistakes.”

“If you’re referring to the Secret of Sap’s Party, I’d say we knocked THAT one down.”  Brian wrapped his arm around Justin and rested his hand on Justin’s chest.

Justin reached up with one hand, floated his fingers over the small valleys between Brian’s.  “Yeah.  But I’ve got that feeling again.”

“New job jitters.  They’ll disappear with that first paycheck.  Or in YOUR case, that first creative result.”

“I know I’ll do okay as soon as I get into it,” Justin defended.  “That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

“It’s…” Justin swallowed, started with a more casual, “If anything changes…your job, your health, your feelings, anything at all…” until his tone grayed, “Don’t let me be the last to know.”

Brian leaned his cheek against Justin’s, let out a long breath.  I knew it the night you won King of Babylon.  At every place you’re in a crowd – the looks, the whispers, the heat.  You’re just getting started.  Once you sample a world of beautiful people, you may not even remember what you thought you saw in me.  How do I keep my right to decide from robbing you of yours?  I guess it has less to do with if you’ll care, and more to do with what I think of you as a man.  “You’ll be the first.”

Relieved and uplifted, Justin viewed the azure horizon, reached back and squeezed Brian’s thigh.  “It’s getting light.  I hafta get going.  Emmett’s got this big sendoff planned at the airport.  My Mom, Daphne, everybody.  It was supposed to be a surprise, but you know Michael.”

Brian kissed Justin’s neck.  “His advance warning has saved me from many a boring social function.”

Justin turned and pressed close. “I’m glad you’re not going to THIS one.  My last vision of you would be this pissed-off tall guy in a noisy, embarrassing crowd.”  He took Brian’s hand and towed him to the door.  Just to feel their hands together for awhile.

Brian gripped back.  “I’m sure I’ve been pissed-off and tall in worse.”  But I want my last minutes with you alone.   

Brian was still staring out the living room window when he heard Justin return from the bathroom.

Dressed to go and packing his last toiletries, Justin lifted a pair of socks he’d held aside.  Turned them in his hands like their touch made him warm.

Brian glanced over his shoulder and noticed.  “Borrowing my socks again?”

“No,” Justin bolted and took them up the bedroom stairs.

Brian followed, stopped at the bottom step and saw Justin place the socks back in the drawer.  “If you need a pair, take it.”

Justin shook his head.  “I can’t just take something.”  I’m not seventeen anymore, stealing a jock strap.  Then he raised a smile and bounded past Brian to the living room.  “Cab should be here any minute.”

On some things, Brian wasn’t quick to catch on.  So it took him an extra second to relate what Justin said and did, to what he himself did during the last time Justin was…away.  Found replacements to keep him close, though he tried to deny it.  But there was no denying the difference between something taken and something given to fill the tactile void.

Brian reconsidered an item he’d thought of giving Justin.  Still in his briefcase where he’d left it after deciding it was too much like a collar.  Or a chain.  Or a selfish whim that his mind had somehow disguised as something-for-Justin during his hour in the bookstore.

The door buzzer razzed.  He heard Justin answer and call, “Brian, the cab’s here.” 

Fuck.  What the fuck.  Brian strode past Justin already lifting his duffel and shoulder bag.  “Got room for one more thing?”

“Depends.  What is it?” Justin trailed Brian to the desk, watched him dig through his briefcase then present a thin book.

“Here.  It has a couple of quotes I thought would mean something to you.” 

Justin dropped the duffel, took the book, read the cover: Words of e e cummings.  “You bought a book of poetry?” 

Brian shrugged it off.  “Even hard-hearted assholes have rare moments of madness.  Besides.  The chapters are short, and not a fucking ad in it.”

“Um-hm,” Justin side-eyed, opened to its bookmark and chuckled.  The Epicurean Cockroach postcard.  “I know.  You couldn’t bear to throw this out so you’re donating it to me.”

“Think of it as a visual reminder…to let go if it doesn’t work.”

But Justin was more intrigued by a handwritten asterisk beside one verse.  He read aloud, “We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch.  Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or experience that reveals the human spirit.”  Justin smiled at Brian.  “I know you’re not big on good-bye speeches.  So is this your way of saying you believe in me?”

“That’s a part of it,” Brian glanced off in thought then back.  “It also reminded me of a vision I had while biking the dismal trail to Pittsburgh.  I pictured you believing in ME.”

“Really?” Justin lit, absently rubbed his own neck.  I did that for you?

“Really,” Brian softened, amused he could still make Justin blush.

They moved together into what began as a low-key embrace.  But inches apart, overwhelmed by thoughts of separation, Justin threw one arm around Brian’s neck and Brian clamped an arm around Justin’s waist.  The kiss was deep but short-lived before they closed chins over shoulders and pulled into a tight hug.

Justin ran his hands over Brian’s arms, told himself, I’m not gonna cry.  Not gonna fucking cry.  But the harder he held back, the more betrayed he was by tears on alternate course until he had to sniff back the flow, and his voice rasped just above a whisper.  “This may not sound right, but you just made it…a little easier.”

The blasting buzzer spurred Justin to frantic action.  “Thanks,” he whispered, eyes welling as he unzipped a pocket on his bag and closed the book away.  “I’ll call you tonight.”

“Just don’t forget the time change.  Now get the fuck out of here before you’re late for your first day on a new job.”

Justin grabbed his duffel; Brian grabbed the door.  They snatched a final quick kiss without a word of good-bye.  Then Justin scampered down the steps and Brian shut the door before Justin’s shadow disappeared.

Brian stood against the door, head high, a couple deep breaths.  Time to get on with living.  He walked slowly to the bedroom, selected the day’s dazzling shirt and laid it on the bed, pausing only when the faint thud of a car door outside threatened to shatter his grip.

In the cab, Justin palmed away a tear as the City whizzed past.  Not a dildo, or a guide to gay LA nightlife – a book of verses.  With a personal quote.  Anxious to read it again, Justin worked the book from his bag, opened it and grinned at the postcard – a bizarre little creature out of place in the norm for most, but no doubt special in its way.  He casually lifted it out and turned it to check the back before placing it in the crease.  There in handwritten letters in quotation marks were the words:

I love you and I’ll be here when you get back.

Song:  “Love Throws A Line” by Patty Griffin.

Thanks for joining me on this post-S4 excursion. Hope it made you smile.
London

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