Monday at Kinnetik…

The usual frenzy of call returns, meetings to schedule, space to buy, deadlines.

Brian with rolled up sleeves and open collar, bent over his computer, parked his chin on a raised hand and tapped the Enter key.  His eyes swept left and right, the screen’s changing display flickering across his face and eyes.  A rap on his open door frame got his glance.  “Cynthia.  Any luck online?”

“No,” she shut the door, walked to his desk then twinkled sweetly sinister,  “But I have a friend who works for Visamericard.”

Brian swiveled to face her and leaned back with a Cheshire Cat grin.  “Tell me more.”

“I will, but I need your word that it absolutely, positively under no circumstances came from me.”  She watched his brows rise over wide eyes, accepted that and handed him a note card, leaned secretively close and rattled while he read.  “He lives in Fox Chapel and works for Mobile Eye.  It’s a private detective agency.  I looked it up.”

Brian darkened, snatched the credit card slip copy off his keyboard and compared it with Cynthia’s note.

She watched his reaction, “I spelled it right,” bit her lip.  “Are we under some kind of investigation?”

He covered with a carefree, “Not unless someone here is cheating on a spouse.  At least we know he’s probably not a security risk.  Thanks for nothing.”

It took a moment to register before she brightened, “Yeah.  Right.  Nothing,” then turned to leave.  Ted appeared and opened the door for her.  “Thank you” she nodded and stepped out.

Ted zipped over to Brian’s desk.  “Bri…I managed to get some gardeners out today, but it’ll be at least a few weeks before we can open for official business.  There are zoning restrictions, insurance coverage, housekeepers, food and beverage service, licenses -”

Brian halted with a raised palm.  “Theodore.  We have time for all that.  I just needed a workspace for Justin and you did an outstanding job.”

“Well…” Ted calmed with a modest nod, “It was a group effort.”

Brian’s com blared with Cynthia’s, “Brian…Mr. Hugo’s on line one.  Should I take a message?”

Brian hit the talk key, “I’ll take it,” went back to Ted.  “Let’s get through Monday morning first, then we can work on the house later.”

“Right,” Ted aimed a finger, spun to the doorway with visions of an exclusive spot for authors, philosophers and opera enthusiasts.  Not counting the delicious possibility of telling Garth Racine – We appreciate your request, but it’s for special guests only.

Brian stopped him with a quick, “Don’t forget I’m leaving early.  Can you hold down the fort tomorrow, too?  I may be out of town.”

Ted gleamed, “Yes, Sir.  Not a problem,” and merrily went his way.

Brian’s smile flattened.  He touched his shirt pocket.  Felt the paper.  There could have been a thousand reasons why a Private Investigator would be at Babylon, asking about him and talking to Brandon.  Finding out who hired him and why wouldn’t be easy.

Brian glanced at his desk calendar, read a flight number and arrival time.  It lifted the gloom and stoked his spirits.  He snatched his phone receiver. “Mr. Hugo.  Sorry I kept you waiting…”

In an off-cove at the rear of the Gallery…

Justin sat at a portable computer desk with a laptop and drawing pad, scanned the faces of fifteen students crammed together on folding chairs at three card tables.  He checked his watch, addressed the group.  “Sorry about the wait.  We seem to be one short.  Anybody hear from Leo?”

Students exchanged glances, shrugs, headshakes and a couple No’s.

At the 10^th Avenue Police Station, Leo stood before a Plain Clothes Cop and dark-uniformed Officer and erupted,  “I didn’t do nothin’, and I don’t know nothin’ about the guy.”

“You weren’t in the West Village last night about eleven?” Plain Clothes narrowed a sharp look.   “Because if you were and you’re bullshittin’ me -”

“Swear on my dead Father,” Leo hissed low, eyes blazing.  “I been here two hours and I ain’t gonna be any more guilty if you hold me all night.  Can I go now?  SIR?”

Plain Clothes tensed his jaw, lowered his tone.  “Go on.  Get outta here.”

With that, Leo abruptly turned and stormed out.

At the Loft

Brian in jeans and a white tee shirt, stood in the living room beside eight boxes with Master Palette logos and Emmett in hot lime jog-wear.

“Where did all THIS come from?” Emmett panned.  “I thought we got it all yesterday.”

“I couldn’t get a Sunday delivery.  Express dropped them off a few minutes ago.” Brian pointed, “Most of it should fit in the trunk.  That long one goes in the back seat.”  He lifted a box, noticed Emmett still choosing.  “Well?  Just dig in.  We need to get this down to the house before I leave for the airport.”

Emmett gingerly tipped a tall box to test its weight. “When I said I’d help you with a few last minute things?…I was thinking more like color scheme.  Or menu.”

“Pretend we’re at the gym,” Brian called as he hiked out the door.  Mikey, I miss you.

Emmett took two tries to find a decent grip, yelled to the empty doorway, “This is NOT why I go to the gym?”  Hauled up the box, froze when he heard the elevator whir and swallowed. “Brian?  Which floor in the house?”

At the Gallery front desk…

Justin, full duffel in one hand, Leo’s portfolio and a white envelope in the other, approached Mrs. Rockway busy with a laptop.  He set the duffel down and held out the folio with the envelope marked Richard Watermeier on top.  “Mrs. Rockway…” he touched the envelope, “…can you give this to Richard?  It’s pretty valuable so you might want to lock it up.  And this portfolio belongs to Leo.  That student you met yesterday?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“If he comes in, can you see that he gets it?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.  I hope that’s everything.”

“If it isn’t, I’m sure it can wait,” she smiled, took the items and swiveled to a low credenza behind her, set the letter and folio down and picked up a brown packet. “Oh.  This came for you during class,” she handed it over. “We’ll miss you these next two weeks, but I hear West Virginia has some spectacular scenery.”

“Yeah, I plan on taking full advantage of it.” Justin accepted the packet, read the FineLine Magazine return address.  “From another contact.  That reminds me…” Justin pulled a slip from his pocket, unfolded it on the desk.  “If you need to reach me, here’s my private cell number and the house address.”

They heard a car horn beep-beep outside, saw a yellow cab framed in the door glass.

“Gotta go.  Bye.” Justin clamped the packet under an arm, grabbed his duffel and hurried out.

Moments after the taxi left,  Rockway recognized Leo walking in.  “Leo.  You just missed Mr. Taylor.”

Leo stopped inside the door, shuffled to the desk.  “When’s he comin’ back?”

“He’ll be out of town for a few weeks but he wanted to make sure he returned this.”  She swiveled back, took a moment to place the white envelope in a bottom drawer.

Few WEEKS?  Leo spied Justin’s note, its name and info clear enough to read upside-down.  Then darted eyes back to the portfolio Rockway held out.  He took it, “I liked his class a lot,” set the folio down.  “Is he doin’ any more?”

“Probably not until next summer.  If you like, I’ll note on the roster that you’re interested so we can let you know.”

“Yeah.  Okay.”  He picked up the folio with a, “Thanks,” turned and hustled out.

Rockway accessed the class roster on her laptop.  Didn’t notice that Justin’s note was gone.

Liberty Air 737 on final approach.

Justin gazed out the window, amazed at the way sun and shadows made the clouds look like a field of immense snow bubbles packed thick and tight.  No thrilling view of the City today, but there would be the electric charge of diving into the snow dunes.  Away from the sun and into shades of gray.  Until he broke below the layer, and for a few moments, could almost touch the cloud ceiling.

Justin turned back to the open magazine on his lap.  Though Airline issue, it still had a good Warhol article.  He recalled that his own first mag spread had tagged him as the New Warhol and chuckled to himself - That’s shit.  He’s him and I’m me.

Then he caught a Warhol quote that both amused and touched him: I think having land and not ruining it is the most beautiful art that anybody could ever want to own.

Justin leaned back and stared off.  Wondered if the great Andy Warhol had ever been to West Virginia.

A Flight Attendant broke his thought with her quiet, “Sir?  Is your seatbelt fastened?”

“Yeah, it is.”  Justin closed and lifted the magazine, saw her glance and nod approval before she moved on repeating the question.  Feeling the plane pitch down, he opened the seat pocket to replace the magazine, paused and slid it in the seat crevice.  Think I’ll keep this one.

Creeping in heavy traffic on the Pittsburgh Airport entry ramp, Brian steered with one hand, answered his ringing cell with the other.  Justin in already?  “Brian Kinney.”

At Mel and Linz’s Toronto condo, Michael held a conventional phone to his ear and answered, “It’s me, we’re here and so’s your gift.  It just came this morning.” Behind him, Gus flew past with the ominous weapon and wailed, “Nooooo!  It’s mine!” as Mel chased with, “Gus.  Gus!  Bring that back here NOW!” prompting Michael’s dry, “You’ll be happy to know that it has the effect you probably intended.”

“I’m so pleased,” Brian grinned, having heard the ruckus.

“You wanna say hello to him?”

“Put him on,” Brian smiled, anticipation building as he listened to Michael’s, “Hey Gus?  Wanna talk to Daddy?” followed by Gus’s faint, “Daddy’s on the phone!” a little exchange tussle and finally, “Hi, Daddy!”

Brian felt tightness in his throat.  The small voice had somehow gotten bigger. “Hello, Son.  Did you like my gift?”

“Yeah!  How does it work?”

An quick extension click was followed by Linz’s spelling lesson, “Tell him and you’re D-E-A-D…M-E-A-T,” and Gus’s, “Mommy?  What does dead meat mean?”

Smart little shit, Brian almost laughed.  “It means that my gift hangs on the wall until I get out there to see you.  Then I’ll show you how it works, okay?”

“Okay,” Gus resigned.  “When are you coming?”

Brian swallowed.  “Not today, but soon.  I’ll let your Mommies know when.”

“Okay.  Bye, Daddy.”

“Love you,” Brian said low, jolted when Michael answered.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I meant Gus?  But I’ll include you for old times’ sake.” Brian raised his brows, realized he was next to enter the pay lot.  “Hold on.  I have to grab a ticket.”

A ticket?  Michael’s brows knit as he listened to odd noises.  “Brian?  Where are you?”

As the automatic window whirred up, Brian slowly drove up the lot aisle.  “At the Airport.  I’m picking up Justin.  He should be calling any minute.”

“That’s great,” Michael beamed.  “I’ll get off so he can get through.  And I’ll let the Girls know.  Be sure to call me later on, okay?”

“We’ll do that,” Brian nodded, closed his phone and set it on his lap for quick access.

In Toronto, Ben held J.R., watched Michael’s expression go from sun to pensive cloud as he held the dead receiver.  “What’s going on with Brian?”

“Justin’s flying into Pittsburgh today.”

“And that’s something to worry about?”

Michael hung up the receiver, raised a half smile.  “I never worry about him coming in.  It’s every time he leaves.” 

Pittsburgh Airport. 

Warm evening, way too many vacationers.  The sky hung dark, low and ready to pour. 

Justin stood outside the main doors on the upper level, short-sleeved dusky shirt partially unbuttoned and tucked into jeans, duffel at his feet.  He scanned the lines of cars being hassled by security patrollers, shook his head and pulled his cell phone for a quick call.  Didn’t have to wait long for an answer. “Hey. The flight actually got in early for once.  What time do you think you’ll get here?”

Sitting in his car, Brian smiled broader than he realized.  “Five or six minutes.”

“Where ARE you?”

“Stop 15 in the Long-term lot.”

Now Justin gleamed.  Brian Kinney?  Waiting?  How times have changed.  “Tell you what.  Traffic is a mess up here.  I’ll jump on the bus and meet you there.”

“Don’t get lost.”

Justin heard a click, held his smile a moment then grabbed his bag and dashed back into the Terminal.

In the Lot…

Three rows down and several cars away from the closer, crowded spots, Brian leaned back against the headrest, face in the shadows, eyes on Shelter 15.  One bus stopped, a woman got off and hauled a roller away.  Another bus stopped and sat a minute before moving on.  It was like watching a ball on a roulette table when the stakes were high.  That Any-Minute-It’ll-Hit anxiety.

Finally, Brian saw the next bus pull up and let Justin off.  His hair had gotten longer – wisped in rising wind.  All the rest looked the same.  Incredible.

Justin studied one side of the lot, paced the length of the Shelter to check the blind side.  Snapped his face toward the loud thud of a car door and couldn’t miss Brian in short-sleeved brown unbuttoned halfway, worn jeans and that easy gait.  Always looking sleek, beautiful.

Though they smiled, they didn’t shout or wave.  Just closed in slowly, stopped a couple feet short of each other, locked eyes and started turning up the heat in a private Who-Caves-First game.  But this time with an underlying motive to test the other’s interest.  It had been awhile.  Things could have changed.   

Brian began with a sultry blink and, “How was your flight?”

“Okay,” Justin matched the blink and added more smile.

“The car’s back there.”  Brian turned to within an inch of their arms touching, braved the sizzle and headed that direction. “Have anything special in mind for dinner?”

Justin paced just inches from Brian’s side. “Yeahhhh,” he dragged out steamy slow. “What about you?”  He side glanced Brian’s crotch and smirked.  You’re hard.  Bet you can’t hold out much longer.

“Something I haven’t had in awhile that I’ve got a real taste for now.”  Try to hang on with THAT in your head, Sunshine.

The sky cut loose and thwarted the smolder with a downpour that sent Brian on a short dash to the passenger side of a white Lexus, Justin close behind.

“You got another Lexus?” Justin asked as Brian rushed the door open.

“Yeah.  Get in.  Just throw your bag in the back seat.”  And he sped to the driver’s side, grabbed the opening door, jumped in and slammed out the rain.

Once inside, they brushed off drops.  Dueled eyes again.  Pumped from the rush of beating the rain and test results confirmed, they abandoned the game, smashed their bodies together in a tangle of arms and fevered kissing, rammed tongues down each other’s throats and checked if their cocks felt as hard as they looked.

Brian glimpsed the windshield in a cloaking veil of rain.  The seats were already back as far as possible but he still had to contort his long legs over the shift console and to the passenger floor.  Then he slid across the console and wedged onto his hip.  Bodies tight on the same seat, they broke for a look into each other’s eyes, chests heaving, breaths hot and loud and arousal super-charged.

Brian grabbed Justin’s shoulders and flipped him against the door. 

Barely on the seat with his knees against the panel, Justin felt the side of his face flatten on the cold window, slapped an open hand on the glass, moaned through a smile and went for a one-hand unzip.  But Brian’s hands were faster.

Brian clawed Justin’s waistband and yanked it down.  Pushed the shirttail up where it stuck to the sweat on Justin’s back.  His cock ached, head throbbed at the sight of cream ass.  Choosing rough, he slapped it hard, heard Justin grunt, then wide-mouth kissed the hot spot, tongue drawing in the taste.

Justin steamed the glass with heavy breaths and a low laugh over the gritty action and leather-velvet slap that told him Brian was past full throttle.  He gripped his own cock, caught in the front of his briefs and worked it free.

Brian wrenched his own jeans down, cock so stiff it hardly bobbed.  His hand scrambled under the seat.  Snatched a packet and ripped it open with his teeth.  He spit the shard aside, rolled rubber then fished a tube from the under-seat stash.  Shot his right hand over Justin’s hip and down the side of the seat, pressed a button, and they both rode the seatback down.

Still on his side, Justin edged up as far as he could, head spinning with the frenzied motion, hissing breaths and battering rain.  He felt Brian’s palm shove his hip toward the door, forcing his crack open.  And he moaned when a finger took him fast and harsh.  Then braced a bent arm on the frame.

Near flash point, Brian thumped a foot on the dash, probed for home, let out a grunt and drove in, stopping only once to let the tightness give.

Mouth open, Brian’s cock burning into him, Justin levered his knees on the car so he could push into Brian’s thrusts.  Reached back and gripped Brian’s blue-jeaned thigh to pull him in as well.

Cramped space, bad leverage and the limits of side-fucking didn’t stop the action.  They’d been separated too long and were too consumed with each other to care about the drawbacks.  Brian climaxed sooner than usual.  And without that distraction, he was awed by the pleasure of feeling Justin shudder to completion in his arms.  It no longer mattered if he came first, or they didn’t come together.

Hot, spent and spooned tight from space as much as desire, Brian kissed the hair beside Justin’s ear and whispered, “I didn’t plan on fucking dirty in the car.  I guess you win.”

“Yeah, right,” Justin weakly chuckled.  “That’s why you parked way out here.  Congratulations.”

Holding the condom base tight, Brian slipped out of Justin and pushed up on an arm.  Watched rain flow in syrupy sheets down windows fogged by air thick with musky sweat, cum, ass and used breaths.

Justin eased onto his back, worked his pants in place, watched Brian reach across for a door arm switch and crack the window open.  “You were amazing.”

Tending to his own pants, Brian tossed, “I know.”  But Justin’s glow compelled him to say something more.  He maneuvered over Justin, kissed him and whispered, “It feels good not missing you,” then quickly masked the twinge over what nagged him as verbal tripe by pushing up short of hitting his head.  “So.  What did you have in mind for later?”

Content with the words however accidental, Justin answered low, “A shower.  And maybe just stay in bed for the rest of the night.  Hopefully with you.”

“What kind of host would I be if I didn’t aim to please my…” he almost said guest until he saw Justin’s chest hold.  “…Partner.  Let’s get out of here.”

Justin released the breath through a sunny smile.  They wore no rings.  But the invisible ones shined far brighter than he’d imagined.

Twisting uncomfortably, Brian finally punched the passenger door open and climbed over Justin.  “I think I’ll go the long way.”

Outside he stretched, glanced at Justin repositioning his seat then sprinted for the driver side.  The rain felt good.  Cool wind felt good.  For the first time in a long time, the whole fucking world felt good.

Back in the car, Brian started the engine, hit the defogger and smiled at Justin’s radiance, still blushed from the Welcome Home.

Maybe one more short kiss for the road.

Busses, cars, people come and go with high-speed action as the Lexus idles in the lot.

Song: “Set Fire To Me” by Hyper

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