Brian had turned onto the final stretch of road leading to the house when his high beams caught a junior urban guerilla walking the other way.  On an instant hunch, he slowed, U-turned, cruised back and stopped behind the hiker, flashed his high beams twice.

Tired, down and half-blinded by the light, Leo squinted and paced to the driver side to check out a potential lift.

Brian scanned him.  No obvious threatening devices.  He rolled down the window scant talking width and called, “Leo?” to the approaching kid.

“Oh shit.  Not you,” Leo groaned, turned and kept moving.

I’d call that a yes.  Car still running, Brian flung the door open, slid out and caught up.  “Does Justin know you’re out here?”

“Yeah.  I’m doin’ ‘im a favor.  Leave me alone, will ya?”

Brian answered matter of fact, “It takes a lot of guts to go after what you want.  No guts to run away.  You can come back with me or keep walking.  Your call.”  Then he turned and strolled back to the idling Vette, arced around the cloud of bugs in the headlights and climbed inside.   He was ready to leave for better or worse, geared up and started his turn when he saw Leo coming back.  Small grin, he stopped and opened the passenger door.

“Car comin’,” Leo mumbled as he thumped his bag on the floor and climbed inside.

Brian could see headlights moving slow in his rearview.  “That would be Justin,” he guessed.  Until the bubble lights and side spot came on, “Then again, maybe not,” and the patrol car pulled up behind them.  “Just relax.”

“Don’t worry.  I been there.”

That’s not a plus.  Brian rolled the window down for the approaching Officer, squinted from the brief stab of his flashlight.  “Good evening, Officer.” 

“You folks havin’ a problem here?”

“No, just stopped for something walking across the road,” Brian smiled.  Churned inside.  He could see the light beam checking Leo.  If he’s a reported runaway, I’m fucked.

“You wouldn’t mind if I see your license?”  Then to Leo, “Your ID too, Son, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”  Brian reached slowly into his pocket.  Saw Leo do the same and hoped it wasn’t an obvious fake.  Then the cell on the console tray rang.  Brian handed the two ID’s through the window.  “Can I get that?”

“Go right ahead.  I’ll be back in a minute.”

Brian grabbed the phone, saw the caller and answered, “Justin.  I’ve got Leo with me.”  At the car’s angle, the side view mirror was useless so he tipped the rearview to watch the activity behind them, “By any chance, did you call the police?” and saw the Officer returning.  “Hold on.”

In Britin’s drive, Justin sat in his car with the phone pressed to his ear, eyes straining to see anything moving in darkness faintly lit by every window in the house.

Officer handed back their cards, “Jes’ a routine check.  Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Kinney.  Have a good evenin’,” and walked away.

Brian felt his insides shrink to normal, raised his cell.  “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Closed his phone away, waited for the patrol car to pass then clicked on the dome light to avoid mixing their ID’s.  “Good job.  Your nothing was superb.”  He eyed and handed a card to Leo, replaced his own, killed the dome.

Leo pocketed the card.  “Ya don’t say nothin’, ya got less shootin’ back.”

Brian pulled onto the road.  “You didn’t get very far.”

“Didn’t get a chance.  I had to hide in the woods till Mr. Taylor quit comin’ by.  I thought he was gonna hang around all night.”

“He would have.  He has a habit of caring about people who aren’t always good to HIM.” Brian side-glanced, saw Leo’s eyes drop and took on light conversational tone.  “You know, you’re not a prisoner.  If you want to leave, I won’t stop you and you have nothing to worry about.  If something happens to you, the authorities will go after Justin.  Instructor, gay, out in the country with a student…he could lose his career, possibly be put away for a while…and since you’ve ‘been there’ you must know how they like blonds.  But…”  Brian shrugged, smiled, “You’ll have nothing to worry about.”

The rest of the ride was silent.

At the house, Justin stood in the open front doorway, smiled relief when he saw the Vette pull in and stop.  He watched Leo get out first, drag up the walk with Brian close behind.  Then he tensed with angry disappointment, glared at Leo and got a glance of wordless sorry.  Justin clamped his lips to hold the venom as he watched Leo drift into the living room.

Brian shut the door, pulled Justin into a hug, sensed him cooling off and kissed his hair.  “I never thought I’d say this, but I have a new respect for Mikey and Ben.”

“And my Mom.  It’s a wonder she ever forgave me,” Justin exhaled, pulled back.  “You find him in Pittsburgh?”

“Not exactly.  But thanks to your tenacious dogging…which I know only too well…he didn’t make it to the highway.”

“Then what are you doing here?  I thought you had a meeting.”

“We covered all the main points and finished early.” Brian took Justin’s hand, walked through the foyer.

In the living room, Brian saw Leo sitting motionless on the couch, looked from him to Justin with a routine, “It’s late, we’re tired and I’m going to bed.  Leo,” he called and got his eye.  “This way.”

Justin teamed beside Brian and led Leo up the stairs.  At the top, Brian pointed Leo to the right.  “Last door on your left.  Blankets are in the closet.  We’ll see you in the morning.”  Then he and Justin turned the opposite way.

Once in their room, Justin shut the door halfway, had second thoughts.  “Maybe I should stay up and keep an eye on him.”

“I don’t think he’s going anywhere,” Brian dimly smiled, tossed his shirt on the bed and shuffled to the bathroom.  “I need a shower.”  The day’s shit had begun to weigh like a boulder.  Would Horvath’s Anything Else That Could Come Up include a run-in with the West Virginia cops.  Hot water, cool sheets and Justin – no solution, but a needed lift.

Justin shut the door and elected to wait his turn.  Thought Brian looked beat and wanting some space.

In the other guest room amber-lit by a dresser lamp on the floor, Leo sat cross-legged on a blanket, his back against the wall.  It had drained him to go from feeling driven and hopeful to remorseful and stupid.  And his shaky New York Alpha spirit had to bow to the real thing.  He grabbed his bag, dug out beef jerky, a water bottle and his art portfolio.

Down the hall, hair still a little damp and messy, Justin left the bathroom, slid under the covers, kissed Brian and settled on his back beside him.  “I thought it over and decided to go with him tomorrow…do a quick turn and be back by dinner.  At least I’ll know he made it okay.”

“An excellent idea,” Brian agreed.  For more than one reason.

“Good thing you came by when you did.  And who was that other guy while we are on the phone?”

“The Police stopped us.”

“For what?”

“Wrong place…wrong time.  They’re used to seeing the house empty so I called them Monday and told them you’d be here for a couple weeks.  Fortunately your name was on Leo’s Student ID.  Otherwise, I think the cops were THAT close to holding us.”  He masked concern with dark flip. “I could see tomorrow’s headline now:  Kinnetik CEO Allegedly – I like that word  - Lures New York Teen to Secluded Lair.”

Justin chuckled, rubbed Brian’s arm.  “Sometimes the papers tend to blow stuff like that all out of whack.”

Brian faced him with a grim, “Once the idea goes to print, it’s hard to ignore.”  Then he looked off again, clasped Justin’s hand and held it on his thigh.  “It affects your job, your friends, everyone you care about.  People you never met…think they know some shitty little truth about you.  A fucked-up reputation…” he exhaled, “Image is my business.  I should know.”

Fatigue talking? “Brian, you picked up a hitchhiker.  I mean…it’s not like you murdered anybody.”

Brian shut his eyes, gripped Justin’s hand and tapped it on his thigh.  Have to tell him.

Justin saw and felt the tension.  “What’s wrong?”

“They think they have a lead on who might have bombed Babylon.”

Justin bolted up.  “That’s GREAT!  Who?”

“Me.”

Justin snorted a silent laugh, slapped Brian’s shoulder, saw him flinch and close his eyes dead somber.  “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

Brian stared up, shook his head.  “Not this time, Sunshine.”

Justin gaped in silent shock.  Sprang out of bed and paced, ran a hand over his neck.  “That’s bullshit.  That’s CRAZY!  Who the fuck -”

“Justin.”  Brian rolled to that side of the bed, sat up and hooked Justin’s arm.  “Sit down.”

Justin sat hard, arms stiff and hands clasped on his knees, body tight like he was freezing, head down and shaking.  “No.  Nobody would ever believe that.”

Brian clamped an arm around Justin’s shoulders, ran the other hand along Justin’s arm.  “They don’t have enough to charge me.  But there’s enough to make life peachy…if it gets twisted around in print.”

“What.  Tell me,” Justin stared with glazing eyes.  “What could they possibly have?”

“You know Babylon was in trouble at the beginning.  And we took out a huge insurance policy.”

Justin flared, “They don’t think homophobes bombed our rally?”

“They can’t put a face on that motive.”

“So they’re sacrificing YOU.  That is so breeder-stinking FUCKED!”  He tried to jump up but Brian held him firm, raised a hand to his cheek and touched foreheads together. 

“I need you to listen to me.  When you take Leo back to New York…it might be a good idea to stay there.”

“No way,” Justin snapped his head back.

“Just listen.  Will you listen?”  Brian waited for Justin’s eyes, could see he was so flamed a tear was trickling down.  Seeing it, Brian strained against a lump rising in his throat and fought to look calm.  “You’re just starting a career and -”

“Fuck my -”

“Stop!” Brian shouted then softened,  “I’m not telling you what you should do.  I know you well enough to know you’ll do whatever you think is right.  I’m just asking you to think.  Think about what’s best.  It may not always be what you think is right.”

Justin wanted to stop the hurt.  His and Brian’s.  But nothing came to mind.  Only a reaction.  He threw his arms around Brian, welded to him and wished he could have been some kind of super hero.

Brian held Justin tight, chin over his shoulder.  He could hear their pulses thumping into each other, needed to say something but realized how feeble and senseless a Sorry would be.  “We’re partners.  I didn’t want you reading about it in the paper.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“Stay a normal course unless shit happens.  It may not.  But if it does…you know and you can be ready for it.”

They stayed embraced for a while, as if what little energy and control each felt would seem like more if combined.  And keeping tight contact would let a small aura of comfort form around them until the inevitable power of reason and experience returned.

By morning, Justin stirred from a bad dream.  Someone was patting his hip.  He opened his eyes to a bleary day-lit view of Brian dressed and sitting across from him.  Justin stretched and smiled, “You leaving for work already?”

Brian’s mind had filed yesterday in pending and made this a new day.  “It’s nine-thirty and your flight’s at noon.  Leo’s downstairs doing what teenagers do best.  Eating.”

Dank reality hit.  “You should’ve gotten me up earlier.”  Justin sprang from the covers, palmed an eye.  Not a dream.  “Shit.”  I’M the one leaving.

Brian felt his ruse of routine waver at the sight of Justin’s change.  He swung over the bed and to a stand, gathered Justin in loose arms.  “It’s for the best. You weren’t getting much work done here anyway,” then hugged Justin as much for himself as the other.  “Need help packing?”

“That’s okay.  I’ll get it,” Justin strengthened, cleared his throat, mustered a smile and raised both arms to softly push off Brian’s chest.  Told himself…Be tough.  Be realistic.  If one less worry is what he needs, I can deal with it.

Brian watched him turn to the bathroom.  “Don’t get lost.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Justin surface-grinned.

Brian’s smile slid from snark to affection as he watched Justin disappear.  Having you here…telling you…seeing you not let it get to you…things don’t seem as fucked up now.

Brian strode into the living room where Leo stood looking out the window.  “Leo,” he barked, motioned for him to follow, opened the front door and led him outside.

Brian unlocked the Lexus passenger door, waved him in. “Wait here.  Justin should be out in a minute.  Oh.  Little reminder.  Fuck with him, you fuck with me and I’m not near as nice,” he warned with a smile.  Something for you to factor into any more bright ideas.

“I won’t,” Leo shrank, tossed his bag on the floor and meekly took a seat.

Brian shut Leo in, headed back and met Justin, bag in hand, just inside the door.  Brian held out a single key. “Just leave the car at the drop-off.  It’s all settled.  Is there anything you need shipped to the Gallery?”

Justin gripped Brian’s entire hand.  You, but I know that won’t happen.  “I’ll let you know.”  Then he took the key, felt Brian’s hand slide away yet one more time.

They stared at each other a moment, neither wanting another good-bye.  Hard to play it down if they kept eyes locked too long.  The easiest way was a quick hug, a fast kiss and a few kind words.

Brian pushed off, smiled, “Better move it.  Can’t keep your fans…or Leo’s…waiting.”

“I’ll call you later,” Justin blinked, turned away and skipped down the steps to the walk.  He turned back only once to wave.  Then he tossed his bag in the back seat, swung into the car, cranked it up and took off.

Brian tipped a small salute, went back inside and shut the door before the car even cleared the drive.  Like pulling a tooth.  Do it fast, do it clean.  And know it’ll fucking hurt before it gets better.

Justin kept his eyes on the road, half-listened to a rock station Leo picked.  His mind drifted from things to do in New York to things he hadn’t done last night.  We didn’t fuck.  Hardly kissed.  Can’t remember when we fell asleep.  Woke up apart, barely said good-bye.  It’s hitting me now…you won’t be there tonight, and all the things we didn’t do…are hitting me now.

Leo took the silence as anger and wasn’t sure how to make things right. “Look.  You don’t hafta do this.  I wasn’t runnin’ away…I was just goin’ home.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

After more dead air, Leo tried again, “Mr. Kinney seems like an okay guy.”

“He is,” Justin said low, eyes glazing.  I know that his cock is incredible if you see his eyes first…that he’s most romantic when he says nothing at all…that he shows how much he cares when he’s nowhere around.  And because he detaches from the good he does, “Not many people know it.”

Catching himself, Justin sniffed back, palmed an eye, “My allergies are acting up.”  Then he cleared his throat and refocused.  “So what’re your plans when you get back?”

“I dunno.”

“The good thing is, you’re in New York.  There’s more tolerance…more places to go…” he trailed off.  Not like in Pittsburgh.  “You should check out the Gay and Lesbian Center.  They might be doing an Art Show, and you could show your stuff.  Meet some new people.  That’s what I did.”  Well…one of the things I did.  “Just…I’d appreciate if you hold back one drawing.”

“I already got rid of it,” Leo mumbled to his lap.

In the upstairs bedroom, Brian checked for stray items.  The stripped down bed had a dismal lonely look.  Well, it’s been fun, he half-smiled and left for the room next door.

In the Studio, Brian tightened caps on paint tubes, pulled a brush from a water can and dried it on a towel.  He turned and saw a half-done painting on the easel.  Dark with brilliant highlights.  Two figures prone and embraced from an odd perspective, as if seen through a camera lens propped on the pillow above their heads.  A dark-haired man over a light-haired one, faces buried in each other’s necks.  No clear features, only the contrasts of hair, arms and shoulders.  

He moved closer, noticed texture in the acrylic, glanced around and saw the open shoebox.  Realized that within the standard colors was also Hawaiian Safari Shirt tan.  Liberty Air Ticket Wallet red.  Bird of Paradise orange.  Denim blue and Tee Shirt black and Brief gray.  Brian touched the sweat sheen on the dark man’s back and saw his fingertip glittered with fine glass dust.  He swallowed to loosen tightness in his throat.  Took two breaths to clear his eyes.  It’s us.  Not fucking.  Just close.

With another long breath, he spun to the balcony, checked the locks.  Then left the room, shut the doors and turned the key slow until this chapter of together ended with a final click.  I’ll leave it the same way you did.  It’s your space, until you say it’s not.

Outside LaGuardia Airport…

Justin ushered Leo into a cab and climbed in beside him.

Back in his element, Leo regained himself with a firm, “Rockway Gallery,” to the Driver and to Justin, “I just wanna hang around…look at the new exhibit…before I talk to my Mom.  What about you?”

Justin watched the concrete and steel horizon wiz past.  “I have a lot of work to do.”

“On a Saturday?”

Justin’s brows knit.  Then his smile lit, eyes sparkled.  “That’s right.  It’s Saturday.”  And I  DO have plans, protected by the Grandfather clause.  With possibly a few variations.

He worked his cell phone from his pocket, scrolled to a private number, hit SEND and listened.  “Richard.  Hey, it’s Justin.  You’re probably sailing on Puget Sound right now.  When you get a chance can you give me a call?  Nothing urgent.  I just need to know if Maggie Gunner still wants that interview.  I’d like to do it before they finalize the next issue.  Let me know, okay?  Bye.”

Justin leaned back smiling, looked at Leo.  “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Don’t mention it,” Leo side-eyed with no idea what Justin meant.

At Ted’s…

Brian sat on the couch, scrutinized a report in hand.  “We can start furnishing four of the bedrooms.  Remind Emmett to keep it simple.  Class, not Brothel.”

Ted lifted a brochure from a coffee table covered with papers and magazines.  “What about this idea for the Master?”

“That room’s off limits,” Brian said without looking up.

“Didn’t Justin go back to New York?” Ted questioned, got Brian’s wordless Don’t-Ask – Just-Do-It stare. “Oh, riiiiight,” Ted nodded, “Off limits, it is.  Makes no economic sense, but you’re the Boss, and he’s part of you, so whatever you both want,” then he lifted a floor plan. “There’s a game room we can convert into another bedroom.”

Brian momentarily smiled at Ted.  Glad you understand Justin and me.

Later at the Loft, Brian checked his clock.  Almost six PM.  He shuffled through his closet for a suit, froze when he heard the front door scrape open and shut.  I’m sure I locked that fucking door.  He hustled to the bedroom doorway, glowed at the guy tossing keys on the kitchen counter.  It’s Justin!  Wait a minute.  Brian changed to a scowl and parked a hand on his hip.  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Justin repositioned his suit bag on a shoulder, snatched the duffel off the floor and trooped over as routine as coming home from work.  “You said if I got lonely, I could join you at the Jazz Club tonight.”  He thudded up the stairs, moved past Brian and threw his bags on the bed,  “You didn’t think I’d go in a tee shirt and jeans, did you?” unzipped the duffel and lifted out a folded stack.  “I also decided to stay here instead of the house.”

Brian growled, “Did I ASK you?”

Justin eyed back, “That’s my workplace.  Maybe you should try sleeping at Kinnetik.”  Keeping mock defiant eyes on Brian, Justin opened his drawer and without looking, released the stack so it whumped inside.

Brian softened, “You said the next round was definitely yours.”  He glanced at the drawer, back at Justin.  So you knew it was empty. “Are you amazed?”

Justin warmed,  “Only that you listened when I said I’d be back.”

“Okay,” Brian blinked.  A grand but temporary joy.  “For the rest of the week.”  I did say stay the course.

Justin beamed a blink and turned to unzip the garment bag.  “So what time is the party, and who are we out to impress.”

Brian watched him unveil two trendy suits – one warm gray, one charcoal – and two shirts - white with silver pinstripes, red silk.  “Finelli Glass And Crystal.  Eight o’clock.”  When did you learn how to dress.

Justin held both shirts up.  “Which one?”

Red silk and charcoal.  Brian sat beside Justin at a white linen’d table with two other finely dressed straight couples, a Silver-haired Gent and Lady, their Forties Son and Class Fiancé.  He watched Justin sip wine, charm Lady with his smile and laugh.

The band started a moody slow piece that prompted Silver Gent’s rise. “Finally.  A dance my speed,” he chuckled, extended a hand to Lady.  She graciously accepted and soon all four guests left Brian and Justin alone.

Justin sipped his drink, eyed Brian, pleased he’d worn the white shirt, red tie and dark Armani.  Noticed Brian staring.  Just for the heck of it… “Do you think this needs something?”  Justin touched his open collar.

Brian tipped his head a moment, shook a no.  “I think you look perfect.”  And I’m proud of you enough to show it.

Justin was more than satisfied with Brian’s answer.  Until Brian stood up and extended his hand.  Okay, now this is getting weird.  “You wanna dance?”  HERE?

“No, I’m going to the Men’s Room,” Brian flatly stated, raised his brows and offered his hand again with a warmer, “Well?  While the band’s still playing.”

With a bright smile and low laugh, Justin walked beside Brian and they took their place with the few couples on the floor.  Swayed close together in classic form, their joined hands pressed between chests.  And they did draw looks.  Some smiled, some turned away but no hostile, insecure eyes dwelled on them.

Justin perked, “Do you realize this is the first time we ever danced in mixed com…” looked off.  Wait. “No, we did this before.”  He shut his eyes, saw only patches of color.  Light and dark.  But his skin suddenly prickled with a euphoric charge.  Making him feel wonderful.  Floating like someone in love…with someone in love.

Brian firmed his grip on Justin’s waist.  Justin had gone silent.  Maybe a lingering haunt of threat.  Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.  “Are you all right?”

Justin opened his eyes, looked up with a smile that melted Brian’s concern.  “I know we did this before.  Can’t picture it, but it felt just like now.  Amazing.”

“I was a few years younger then.  Don’t expect me to dip you.”

“That’s okay,” Justin twinkled.  “This is fine.”  Never thought I’d see the day you’d joke about your age.  Or realize how far back you’d risked showing your hidden side.

They finished the dance with no less intimacy than those around them, returned to their table along with their guests.  Then Justin talked art with Son and Fiancé, while Brian planned a meeting with Silver and his Lady.

Post-Party at the Loft…

The door opened, Justin walked in and unbuttoned his jacket, glanced back at Brian shutting the door behind him.  “I had a great time tonight.”

“So did I.  Monday, it’s Cincinnati and Finelli’s signed,” Brian loosed his tie.  “New York has certainly made you a cocktail party expert.”

“Social genius,” Justin raised a lofty grin. “And YOU get to show off your family genius.  How about lunch at my Mom’s tomorrow?”

Fuck. “And I was just getting hard.  Wouldn’t you two rather spend some time alone?”

“Oh, come on,” Justin coaxed, moved close and caressed Brian’s arm.  “I told her we’d stop over just once while I’m in.  Both of us.”

“You know I’ve got a flight tomorrow night.”

Justin batted his eyes, big smile.  “It’s our excuse to leave early.  See?  I got you covered.”

Brian blinked back a reluctant, “Since you thought it out so well...why not.” He stripped his tie to dangle loose and scanned a newspaper on the counter for any other surprises.

Justin caught the attention shift, squeezed between the counter and Brian, slowly unbuttoned Brian’s shirt.  “Got anything special in mind to finish off the night?”  Forget about the paper.

Brian grabbed Justin around the waist, lifted and sat him on the counter, crunched the papers back. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.” 

Justin clamped his thighs on Brian’s waist, took the tie ends like reins and drew their faces close.  Everywhere you go, you shine.  I love that about you.

Brian gripped Justin’s hips, tilted his head up and met the kiss.  You’re not just beautiful.  You were dazzling tonight. He slid Justin off the counter to the floor, smiled a lusty, “If you don’t let go of my tie right now, I won’t be held responsible for what I do to your suit.”

Justin flipped the tie ends like a scarf around Brian’s neck, smiled sweet, “Meet me in the shower. Expect it to be cold.  I’d like to warm up on the couch…move to the floor…” he sashayed to the bedroom, “…end up in here, if we make it that far.”

“Oh…I’LL make it that far,” Brian followed a step behind, removed his jacket.  Getting fucking hot in here.

Sunday afternoon.  Mild, sunny.  Good weather for a wild night’s recovery.  

Cruising the Vette up the quiet suburban street, Brian scouted for Jennifer’s townhouse.  The cookie-cutter buildings didn’t seem right for a dynamo woman in Real Estate.  But with all the upheaval in her life, this became and remained home.

“Pull up behind that motorcycle,” Justin pointed.  “Looks like Tucker’s here.”

Brian stopped the car.  “Is that HIS bike?”

“Yeah,” Justin muttered.  “Sometimes I think my Mom’s losing it back to her Brando years.  Don’t forget the wine.”  He swung from the car, beamed a big smile at Jennifer stepping outside the door.  “Hey, Mom.”  He trooped up the walk, the stairs, pecked a kiss, “We brought  -” turned for their gift.  But Brian was still on the street and slowly circling the bike.  “Brian!”

“Coming, Dear,” he squeaked, split a grin when he saw Justin roll his eyes and do his Don’t-Embarrass-Me grunt.  He strode to the porch where Tucker had joined the crowd.  “Jennifer,” he gave her a quick hug, “For the Hostess,” handed over the bottle.

“You two shouldn’t have.  Oh.  Tucker?  You know Brian.”

Brian firmly shook Tucker’s hand, glanced back,  “Nice bike.”

“She’s special,” Tucker radiated.  “Are you into motorcycles?”

SHE?  Breeders.  “I’m thinking about it.” At least he’s a Bike Man.  Looks like this won’t be so boring after all.

“Is Molly here?” Justin asked Jennifer.

“I’m afraid you lost out to Gary Maxwell, but she said to say hi.”

Tucker announced, “Well, let’s go in.  Lunch is ready,” turned with Brian trailing.

“Smells good, Mom,” Justin followed, heard Tucker call back.

“Thanks.  It’s my specialty dish.  Hope you’ll like it.”

Justin side-eyed low, “He cooks, too?”

“Don’t you or Brian?” she raised her brows.  “I like being a modern woman.”

Yeah but you’re my Mom, Justin thought to himself.  Round holes and square pegs.  I guess that’s where flexibility comes in.  Brian and I should know.

Lunch was barbecue, Real Estate, College happenings, Art and Advertising.  Then on to the living room where talk between Justin and Jennifer left Brian and Tucker spectating.

Tucker stood up, addressed Mom & Son, “We’ll leave you two to catch up.  Brian?  Come on.  I’ll show you my bike.”

Brian nodded and followed.  Finally something.  I was about to volunteer to do the fucking dishes.

Outside, Tucker donned sunglasses, lifted two helmets, handed one to Brian.  “Got any shades?”

“In the car.”

“You M-licensed?”

Brian torched a smile.  “Since last year.”

Inside, Justin stood up glanced through the sheers, saw Brian adjust the helmet, slip it on and mount up.  “Shit.  What is he doing.”

“Trying it on for size?” Jennifer offered over Justin’s shoulder, saw Tucker helmet-up, climb on back and grab the seat edge.  “Or leaving us for greener pastures.”

With Jennifer tailing, Justin opened the door, made it onto the porch in time to watch the bike speed away.  “Brian and Tucker riding off into the sunset.  Not my ideal storybook ending.”  Wait.  No, he winced, narrowed eyes on Jennifer.  “Is Tucker…”

“Absolutely not,” Jennifer assured.  “And if I thought he was even half way, I’d still put up a damn good fight.”

“Sounds serious.”  Justin sat on the top step, stretched his legs and looked up the street.  Can barely hear them now.

Jennifer sat beside him.  “You could say that.  But we’re not rushing to the altar.  We like things the way they are.  Like you and Brian.”

“Yeah,” Justin looked aside, stripped the needles off an inch of juniper branch.

“Honey, how long are you planning to stay in New York?”

Justin lifted his chin with a near sarcastic smile.  “Till I’m filthy rich and in so much demand, I’ll never hafta worry about depending on anybody.”

“And after THAT?”

Justin shrugged, shook his head, victimized another branch, “I’m not sure yet,” and quizzed direct, “Why are you asking?”

Jennifer head-tipped, “Well…it’s not my business what you make, but I know New York rents, and you might do better if you invested in a home, don’t you think?”

Miles away, Brian stopped at a shady spot off a Park road, shut down and uncapped the tank.  “I don’t want to run you out of fuel.”

“I need a stretch break anyway.”  Tucker dismounted, removed his helmet, arched his back.  “I’m glad you two came by.  You don’t know how happy you made Jen.  She worried like crazy when he left.  But now she knows he’s settled in and doing okay.”

Brian swung off the bike, removed his helmet and adjusted the fit. “If anyone could do it, it’s Justin.  There’s no holding back that Taylor wild streak,” he smiled off, skated his hand up the handle bar.

“And we both know where THAT’S from,” Tucker grinned.  “You ever think about trying New York?”

Brian twisted a smile upward, faced Tucker with a serious, “Sometimes.”  But that’s not for discussion.  “Do you want to drive or ride?  And I mean that in the hetero sense.”

“She’s all yours,” Tucker chuckled, donned his helmet.  I heard you like to drive.

In Jennifer’s kitchen…

Justin loaded the dishwasher; Jennifer hunted for leftover space in the fridge.  The rumble and stop of the cycle engine got their attention.

“It’s about time,” Jennifer huffed, shut the fridge and strolled to the living room as Tucker walked in.  Alone.

“We’re back.”

“Where’s Brian?”

Tucker motioned to Justin past Jennifer’s shoulder.  “He wants to see Justin outside.”

What now, Justin exhaled, hurried out, stopped on the porch and cocked his head at Brian, still on the bike and waving him over.  He took his time trudging down.  “I know.  You wanna buy one and you wanna know which color.”

“Grab a helmet.  Get on.”

“Really?” Justin sparked, killed it quick with a pseudo-serious, “I don’t know…you’re not the most experienced -”

“Mention that Ride again…you’re moving in with Mikey.  Now get on, or I’ll go without you.”  Brian held out Justin’s sunglasses.  I know you can’t wait.  It’s in your genes.

“Okay,” Justin lit, sped on the helmet and glasses, climbed aboard and gripped Brian’s waist.  Now THIS is more like it.

Justin waved to Jennifer, Brian thumbs-up’d to Tucker then kick-started the bike and roared off.

In the doorway, Tucker slid an arm around Jennifer, noticed her long face. “Missing him already?”

“It’s just…he seems so different when he’s with Brian.  Brighter…more animated…” she paused and sighed.  “He told me they’d discussed the move and decided it was the right thing to do.  You want to know what I think?”

“What.”

“That even though Justin likes the excitement and attention to his art, he also took it as a gift from Brian.  And if he doesn’t make the most of it…‘most’ being undefined… he thinks he’ll lose him.”

“That’s interesting,” Tucker squeezed her shoulder.  “I got the impression from Brian that he thinks Justin’s an adventurer at heart…and if he reins him in before Justin’s ready… he’ll lose him.”

“I feel like I should say or do something.”

“You’re a Mother.  It’s allowed.  But I think they’ll work it out themselves.”

Jennifer half-smiled at Tucker.  “Well, we can’t go for a bike ride. Want some apple pie?”  You’re right.  They’ll take care of them.  We’ll just take care of us.

Later at the Loft and still in the day’s casuals, Justin watched Brian at his office computer, leaned on the desk with a smug, “Admit it.  You actually enjoyed a family picnic.”

“Every family event should include one non-Lesbian Biker,” Brian reminded, muttered at the Liberty Air web page, “What the fuck is wrong with THIS,” then snatched his desk phone receiver and speed-dialed.

“Who’re you calling?”

“Liberty Air Exec Desk.”  Then to the phone, “Celeste…Brian Kinney.  I’m on five-thirty-six to Cincinnati tonight and your online check-in is down.  Can you -”  He leaned his forehead on a raised hand. “But I have a confirmed seat.  What about another airline?”  Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, shut his eyes.  “No, I DON’T understand.  What does a storm in Indiana have to do with my flight?”  He stared at the monitor, toned down.  “Alright.  I’m leaving for the airport now and I’d appreciate anything you can do for me.  Thank you,” he seethed with a smile, hit the hookswitch and slammed the receiver hard.

“They lose your reservation?”

“They changed to a smaller plane,” Brian bolted up and thudded to the bedroom. “It’s Airport Checkin Only until they run out of seats.  I’ll have to get there early.”

Justin sprinted after, stopped in the bedroom doorway and watched Brian whir through packing.  “Want me to drive you to the Airport?  It might save some time.”

Brian whipped a suit from his closet and changed in seconds.  “If I don’t make that flight, I’ll have to drive, so I might as well take the car.”  He shouldered his suiter, grabbed his flight bag and skipped down the stairs.

Justin trailed him to the office, watched him shove contract files, laptop and disks into the flight bag.  “Aren’t you taking your briefcase?”

“I don’t want to check anything so I have to stay light.”  He pulled his good camera from a desk drawer, checked power cords and charger, jammed them into the flight bag.

Justin noticed the cell phone charger, quickly unplugged and wrapped the cord. “Don’t forget this.”

Brian started a quick-grab, paused to stare into Justin’s eyes.  I shouldn’t forget you either.  He slowed his reach and calmly accepted.  “Thank you.”  He placed the charger in his bag, zipped it shut then eased around the desk, around Justin. “I’ll admit it.  I had a great time.  Except for one thing.”

“You didn’t get to shower?”  Justin grinned as they folded together.

Brian looked off in a fake pensive moment until Justin smacked his arm.  “With you,” Brian finished, kissed him, backed off, scanned his sunny eyes, kissed him again.  “We’ll catch up when I get back.”

“Later,” Justin whispered as he watched Brian hoist his bags and disappear.  You were never one for long good-byes.  I can live with that.  They’re not as important as hello’s.

Justin went to the front window, parted the sheers and watched Brian stride to the Vette.  When he saw Brian look up and wave, he laughed and waved back.  “Didn’t think you’d do anything this corny.”  Then closed the sheers and watched a filmy view until the car was gone.

New agenda.  Justin worked his wallet from a pocket, located Sylvie Duncan’s Post Gazette card, sat at Brian’s desk and set the card by his phone.  He dialed her number, got the expected recording and leaned back.  “Ms. Duncan…this is Justin Taylor and I want to apologize for last week.  If you still want that interview, I’ll be in town until Saturday, and I have two new pieces that haven’t been shown yet.”  He left his phone number, a cheery, “I’ll look forward to hearing from you, Bye,” then leaned back and blew a breath.

Next he swiveled to the printer, swiped a sheet of paper, snatched a pen, whirled to the desk top and wrote: Britin Manor.  Leaned back perplexed.  Need some info on Britin.

Justin eyed the file drawer, pulled it open and walked his fingers through the tabs.  Nothing under B.  Nothing under H for house.  Until the very last one.  W VA. “Brian…the madness to your method defies my logic,” he grumbled to himself, opened the folder, scanned the top page and gazed at the left side.  A half-sheet computer print-out: I think having land and not ruining it is the most beautiful art that anybody could ever want to own – Andy Warhol

Justin swallowed, crossed his arms on the folder and rested his head on them, slowly read the quote up close.  You didn’t just pick a place to match what I said.  You really thought it out.

Late night in a Cincinnati hotel suite…

Brian stripped off his tie and jacket and flung them beside his bags on the king bed.  Whipped out his cell, paused then decided on the room phone for his call.  Stretching the cord, he walked to the large window and stared at the restless lines of car lights, airplane landing lights.  “I made it.”

“Made who?” Justin grinned from his side-lounge on the Loft bed.

“Flight officer…purser…valet…take your pick,” Brian sat on the wide sill.  “What about you?”

Justin lifted his page of notes.  “Oh…I’m staring at butt plugs and deciding.  What do YOU think?  Four or seven inch?”

“Wait.  Let me turn up the speaker phone.  The Bellboy wants to hear this.”

WHAT the… “Fuck you, Brian,” Justin snapped, heard Brian’s laugh then rolled his eyes and grunted.  Loud.  “Okay.  Your round.  But I almost hung up.”

“And miss the most exciting part?  I intend to shower and work on this campaign.”  He raised his brows with a casual, “It’s what happens when you sell a product you don’t have yet.”

“Tell me about it,” Justin matched,  “I told the Post Gazette I finished two new paintings.  Now I hafta get to the studio early tomorrow and do them.”

 “Deadlines are so motivating.” Brian rose and paced to the nightstand.  “So I’ll leave you to your butt plug, and jerk off to fond thoughts of you both.” 

“Have fun.”  Justin heard Brian’s hang-up click and smiled.  Sounds like you’re staying in tonight. 

Brian replaced the receiver and felt his cock swell in his pants.  My round?  Fuck.  I’d call this a draw.   As for fun…when I get back tomorrow.

Next morning…

At Finelli Glass, Brian shook hands with Silver in an elegant glass-walled office. “With your permission, I’d like to take some pictures for a few ad samples.  Then you can pick which ones you think we should use.”  Yes, you’ll have some control.

“I like the idea of an agency where I can work directly with the CEO.”  Silver hit his com button.  “Janie?  Page if you need me.  I’ll be on the floor with Mr. Kinney.”  Then he motioned Brian to the door.  “By the way, your suggestion about the Jazz Club was a big lift after that dull convention.”

“If you decide to sign with Kinnetik, we’ll have to do it again,” Brian smiled as they paced down the hall.  Justin might like that.  Minus the Finellis.  If he has the time.

At Britin, Justin was signing the corner of Painting One when he heard ringing from the supply table.  He took a quick sip from a water bottle, hurried to the table, tossed his brush into a water can and grabbed his cell.  “Hello?  Ted.  I was meaning to call you.  To ask about plans for Britin.”

On the road in his car with Ben beside him, Michael in the back seat, Ted side-nodded, “That’s timely.  Michael and Ben are back and I was just about to ask YOU if we could swing by from the Airport.”

“They’re back already?”

“They had some things to do at home.  And since they’d like to see you, and haven’t been to the house yet -”

“Sure!” Justin agreed.  “Come on out.”

“We’ll be there in about an hour.  See you then.”

“See you.”  Justin closed his phone, noticed paint on his hands.  Jamming the cell into his pocket, he headed for the Master bath sink, turned the water on and soaped up.  His phone rang again.  No towel.  Wiping soap on his jeans, Justin yanked the phone out with a curt, “Yeah?” grimaced with closed eyes and a softer, “Ms. Duncan.  No, it’s a good time.  I was just…cleaning up a paint spill.”

When Ted parked his two-door sedan at Britin, Justin was already on the front door step and waving.  Ben gawked from the front seat, Michael from the back.  Ted gave a rousing,  “Welcome to Britin Manor.”

“Holy shit,” Michael exclaimed, wide eyes panning the scene as he followed Ben out.

Justin skipped down to meet the three on the walk where they exchanged hugs and greetings.  “Well?  What do you think?” Justin proudly motioned to the house and grounds.

Still awestruck, Michael’s eyes kept moving, “The way Brian described it, I never guessed all this,” then looked at Ben, quipped unguarded, “If this is modest, our house in Toronto must be a shoebox.”

Ted froze; Ben held a breath; Justin gasped,  “Mel and Linz bought a house?”

Cat unbagged, Michael flinched, “Well…not exactly.  We haven’t really discussed -”

“We put in a bid,” Ben cut in with smiley calm, swung an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “If it goes as planned and we sell our place, we’ll be moving this fall.”  We have nothing to be ashamed of.

Lost for words, Ted stammered, “That’s…a…uh…surprise.”

But Justin clamped hands on his hips, shook his head at the ground and inadvertently blurted, “You can’t.” And I can’t tell you why. 

Ben’s smile tensed, “Justin, it’s our decision -”

“And you didn’t tell anybody?” Justin shot at Michael, “Not even Brian?”

Michael blazed back, “It was hard enough deciding,” turned to Ben, “See?  I THOUGHT this would fucking happen.”

Feeling heat, Ted set a hand on Justin’s shoulder and cheery-toned to all, “Let’s go in.  You won’t believe the Den,” but went ignored.

Justin brushed Ted’s hand off, glared at Michael. “Why would you wanna leave NOW? After all Brian did to stand up for -”

Ben hotly pointed, “This isn’t about Brian,” saw Justin’s lips thin tight.

Ted eased Ben’s arm down. “The Stables.  You have to see the Stables.”

Michael nudged Ben aside, took a step toward Justin  “Why WOULDN’T I want to be with my kids?  Up there, we were a real family.  Not like here, where we’re just freaks without rights -”

“And it’ll always BE like that if everybody keeps running away!”

“Like YOU should talk!”  Michael saw Justin gape and whiten, winced, “I didn’t mean that.”

Ted shrank, “Anyone for tennis?”

Justin seethed to Michael, “Is that what you think?”

“Shit, no,” Michael groaned.  “I know why you left.  I shouldn’t have…” he trailed off.  Knew why he’d said that.  Because he believed Justin was shifting roots and had no right to say they couldn’t, but somehow the words got twisted.

Ben implored, “You know, Justin, we’d have to live there three years before we can become citizens.  All the benefits…the schools, medical care.  At the pace they’re going on HIV, who knows where I’ll be…in three years.  I have to think of Michael.”

Michael wide-eyed Ben.  News to ME. “I thought it was for the kids.”

Ben flustered, “Of course. That, too.” 

But Justin didn’t hear it.  He’d cornered Ted with a troubled, “Is that what YOU think?”

“I…uh…never thought much about it.”  Quick.  Need, “Wine!” Ted lit.  “Why don’t we all have a glass of -”

“No thanks,” Michael snapped with a furtive glance around.  “Ben and I have some things to discuss before I leave for San Diego.”

Ted queried, “San Diego?  When?”

“Wednesday.  For a three-day Comicon?  And I told just about everybody -”  Michael glared at Justin, “INCLUDING Brian - last week.”

Ted finally exploded at Michael, “Forgive me!  I’m sorry!  I forgot!” blasted them all,  “Now is ANYBODY interested in seeing the FUCKING -” then he caught himself and eeked a quiet, “- house?”  Ted, you’re losing it.  Think Beethoven’s Pastoral.

The group went silent, exchanged quick-drop glances.  Realized that barbs were only causing unintended wounds, not resolution.

Most sensitive to it, Michael faced Ted with a low, “Sorry.  Thanks for the offer,” then to Justin, a cordial, “Maybe next time.  When we can stay longer.”

Ben added, “We’d appreciate if you kept this quiet.  We haven’t told Debbie yet.”

“Because it’s not final,” Michael dark-eyed Ben.

“Well then,” Ted kept smiling, “Guess we’ll be off.”  He watched Ben and Michael nod goodbye’s and head for the car.  Then he said low to Justin standing cross-armed quiet, “I’ll…uh…stop back out some other time,” and trotted to the car with passengers already seated.

After they drove off, Justin shuffled to the door, turned and sagged back against it, gripped crossed arms, closed his eyes in a quagmire of feelings and listened to the engine fade.  jesus.  Hafta sort this out.

Justin straightened, went inside and hurried up to his studio.  He spread a tarp center room.  Picked a blank canvas from the wall stack, flung it on the floor, scoured his worktable and pitched items on the tarp.  Wide house paintbrush.  Four-inch roller.  Three acrylic brushes.  Then he grabbed a paint can and screwdriver, dropped to his knees and roughly pried the lid.

At Finelli Glass, Brian focused his camera and freeze-framed Artists.  Blowers.  Firing furnaces.  Dozens of finished works against velvet throws, mirrors, flowers and black foam core.

At Britin, for every snap of light and hue Brian captured, Justin swept lines of color.  Broad and narrow.  Bright and mute.  Stabs and swirls from thick opaque to swaths so fragile, the base white filtered through.

By five PM, Brian casually walked with Silver Gent through the sparkle-and-glitter showroom.

Silver smiled a satisfied, “Brian, I have a good feeling about this.  Some of those shots were so Finelli, I wish I could have chosen them all.  Perfection and integrity are important to our reputation.  And we want all our business partners to be an extension of that.”

“As does Kinnetik,” Brian smiled, felt a jab of blemish and quickly filed it away.

“Then this can definitely be a good relationship. If there’s anything else you need -”

“There is,” Brian stopped, glanced around the room.

The French Door view was total black when Justin, on his knees on a folded duvet, decided to take a break.  He rolled onto a hip, winced and groaned as he slowly stretched his legs and rubbed out pins and needles.  He hadn’t eaten.  His back was stiff.  And dark paint streaked his forehead.  But he smiled at four finished works lined against the wall.  Then dropped onto his back on the floor, spread-eagled to relax and debate his next move.

His cell rang.  Justin worked it from his pocket, bent an arm under his head and didn’t bother to check the ID.  “Hello?  Hey,” he brightened, wet his lips. “Did you just get in?  Sounds like you’re still at the Airport.”

“Unfortunately, yes.  Cincinnati International.”  In a crowded gate area Brian stood at a rain-battered window overlooking a deserted ramp in lightning flashes and red lights.  He pressed a hand to one ear to block out announcements and chatter. “The weather’s fucked and the airport’s closed.  All the flights just cancelled.”

“So when do you think you’ll get back?”

“I thought about renting a car but this storm is moving east.  Five hours in rain and construction on I-Seventy…I’d sooner rub Tiger Balm on my dick.”

“Ugh,” Justin made a face.  Do that, and I know ONE place it’s not going.

“I have a room at the Airport Hotel and I’ll take my chances on standby tomorrow.”

“I’m still at Britin and I’m on a roll so I’ll probably stay here a couple days.  Call me when you get in, okay?  So I can get dinner ready.  That’s if you’re up to driving out.”

“I’ll keep you posted.  Now I have to go before they give my room away.”

“Brian…” Justin bit his lip.  Should I tell him about Michael.

Brian knit his brows at the silence.  “What?”

“I miss you.”

Brian bowed his head, exhaled,  “You, too,” and shut his phone.  He drew a cocktail napkin from his pocket, eyed its handwritten – Jake – and phone number.  Then he opened his cell, made another call, “Theodore.  I’m stuck in Ohio,” and threw the napkin in a trashcan.

By late afternoon the next day, the storm reached West Virginia.

In brisk wind, Justin stood in the grass beside the veranda and aimed his digital camera at the sky - a panorama of churning gray clouds, lightning flashes and jagged spears.  Thunder boomed and echoed over the frizzle of leaves in the wind gusts.  Surrounding him with nature-powered sound and feel unlike the City storms.

With all the noise, he barely heard his cell ring.  Camera in one hand, Justin dug out his phone, smiled at the ID. “Brian.  You back yet?”

Standing beside the Vette in the lot, Brian watched the threatening sky, listened to distant thunder and Justin’s words breaking in static.  “I just got in.  Severe storm warnings are out all over the area.  Are you still at Britin?”

“Yeah. The lightning is awesome and I’d like to get some decent pictures for a painting.”

“I suggest doing it from inside.  The house is solid and has enough lightning rods.”  Brian swung into the car, heard a crack on his cell and reflex-jerked it away from his ear before returning with an anxious, “What was that?”

Justin had moved onto the veranda beside the door.  “Nice one.  And I missed it.”

“You’ll get the next one.”  Brian started the car. “I’ll pick up dinner.  Any requests?” 

“This storm looks pretty nasty and you hafta be tired from your trip.  Why don’t you just go back to the Loft?  I’ll be okay.”

“I suppose I could find some willing company at Babylon.”

“Chinese.  See you in about an hour.  Since I know you would’ve come anyway.”

“I’ll take that round as a gift,” Brian grinned, snapped his phone shut and tossed it on the dash.  Soon you’ll be gone again.  Fucking storm or not, we lost too much time already.

Still on the veranda in a strong gust, Justin stepped to the rail for one last shot.  Felt his skin jump and sizzle.  A blinding white flash.  Ear-stabbing CRACK.  Tree bark blasted the building, the balcony above him.  Justin spun away shielding his face with an arm, heart pounding heavy as rain sheeted down, blew against him.

In exploding thunder, Justin swung back to see what happened.  The large oak in the woods past the stables stood like a giant, naked white hand reaching for heaven, all its bark and crown blown away. 

Another bright flash sent him dashing into the dining room.  He shut the French door, sank back against it, closed his eyes.  Wiped rain off his face as his rapid breaths calmed, realized he’d managed to hold onto his camera and tried to focus on the damaged oak through the glass door.  Wasn’t that the tree Brian had leaned against?

A wave of dread took hold.  Sick and deep like when he’d learned about Brian’s cancer.  Shit.  Brian’s out on the road in this.  Justin tossed his camera on the table, whipped out his cell and got a Low Battery alert.  Tried to call but couldn’t connect.  He rushed to the kitchen table, slipped the cell into the charging unit.  No light?  He flipped the overhead light switch.  Nothing.  Shit…shit…shit.  Fucking power is out.

Justin rubbed a mild throb in his temple.  What am I doing.  It’s just a storm.  He drifted to the fridge, snatched a beer from a dark shelf and walked it to the living room couch then sat in the strobe of lightning flashes with muffled rain batter and thunder rolls.  Funny.  Even the times I left, so sure I’d get over you…you were still always there.  I never seriously thought what life would be like without you in it.

On the expressway, the Vette’s low profile took the wind but its wipers couldn’t cut the rain.  Forced to pull over, Brian sat in the hammering torrent, surfed his radio for a weather station.  Then he leaned back in the spicy aroma of carry-out and pictured Justin busy painting.  I don’t think of fucking as much as when I know I’ll see you.  I don’t look forward to coming home as much as when you’re there.  The closest I’ll get to asking you to stay, is to show you’ll always have a home here.  But until this bombing shit is straightened out, you’re better off somewhere else.

Five PM looked more like eight in dreary overcast.  Brian parked at Britin, grabbed dinner, raced through drenching rain and thunder.

Flashlight in one hand, Justin let Brian in, shut the door.  He gripped Brian’s arm, got a one-arm hug and shared a kiss. “god, am I glad to see you.”

“You must be REALLY hungry,” Brian grinned oblivious, backed off and saw the flashlight. “Lose something?”

“Lightning hit a tree and knocked out the power,” Justin recapped as he led Brian to the dining room and pointed through the door glass. 

Brian stooped to view the treetop past the veranda roof, saw its lightning-lit eerie form, the bark on the porch.  He shuddered and masked it with a routine, “I wonder what they’ll charge to clean up a mess like this.”  So fucking glad I’m not talking about YOU.  Fuck, that was close.

“I was just about to look for the electric box.  My Dad used to check the breakers when we lost power.”

“Mine, too.  If he was home.”  Brian trooped to the kitchen, set the bag on the table, took out his cell.

Justin unpacked cartons, watched Brian open a cabinet, run his finger down a call list posted inside the door.  “Who are you calling?”  He peered past Brian’s arm and reached for plates in the open cabinet.

“The Electric Company.  Before you get ME near an electric box in a thunderstorm, I want to be sure it’s worth it.”

“Oh,” Justin winced, set the table.  Dad never told me that part.

Brian tapped in Britin’s zip code, listened to a recording and grumbled,  “No power…no lights, air, water pump, shower, flushing toilet…”

“Sounds almost like my old apartment,” Justin filled two plates. 

“Get ready for deja vu,” Brian closed his cell.  “Several lines are down.  There’s another storm coming and they don’t expect a fix until roughly noon tomorrow.”

“We could go back to the Loft.”

Brian sat at the table, watched Justin grab a water bottle from the fridge, pour two glasses.  “In the dark, in a storm with downed trees, lines and flooded roads?” Brian arched his brows.  “Looks like we’re camping in tonight.”

“That could be fun,” Justin sparked, caught Brian’s dead stare, quickly changed the drift between bites.  “So how did it go with Finelli?”

Might as well make the best of this.  “Fabulous, as expected,” Brian took another bite.  “And how’s the artwork coming?”

“Got five done.”

“My.  You WERE painting up a storm.”

“I didn’t get to that one yet,” Justin winked, “It’s still in my camera.  At least I’ll make good on what I told the Gazette.  Sylvie Duncan’s coming out here Wednesday at one.”

“She wouldn’t make the trip for just anyone.  You’re A-List now, Mr. Taylor.” Brian sipped his water, looked at the dull window light, napkin’d his mouth and stood up.  “Can we interrupt dinner for a private showing before it gets too dark?”

“Sure,” Justin glowed, hopped up and headed for the stairs.  “I’d like to know what you think.”

In the Master, distant lightning flickered on the French doors.  Brian slowly flipped through four stacked canvases, glanced at one standing alone to dry.  “I like that one.  It’s bold and furious.  This one, too,” Brian nodded at the second in the stack.

Standing a few feet away, Justin confided,  “Yeah.  Michael and Ben are back.  They stopped by yesterday and got me motivated.”

Brian noted Justin’s dour expression.  “Creative spark aside, I thought you boys learned to play nice.  Is Rage flying through turbulence again?”

“Did Michael tell you they’re planning to move to Canada?”

Brian’s smile twitched, recovered.  No. “I’ll have to call and congratulate him,” he said to the paintings.  Mikey’s not sure or he would’ve fucking said something.

Justin bit his lip.  “You’re happy about it?” You’d sooner see everybody leave than have them here if you need help.

“He always wanted to be a real Dad.  It’s about time he did it.”  Not up to me.  That’s Ben’s place now. “I didn’t drive through The Perfect Storm to talk about Mikey.”  Brian lifted a painting, “I think this is some of your best work yet,” carried it to the door and called over his shoulder, “Grab one and bring it downstairs.”

“What for?” Justin queried, moved in and followed Brian’s lead.

“You’ve got press coming and you’re a professional.  These should be hung, not stacked like bargain prints.”

They hauled the bulky, odd-sized works to the living room and stood them against the bare walls.  Brian stepped back with hands on his hips.  “You can bring the rest down and decide on placement.  I’ll find some tools.”

In the Master, Justin rummaged through art supplies.  In the Kitchen, Brian scoured through drawers.  In the living room, Justin lined his work around.  In a bedroom closet, Brian saw a nail clothes hook, wiggled it free.

They met at the living room coffee table to pool resources.

“Got this,” Justin smiled, laid a tack hammer down.

“Marker, level and measuring tape.” Brian set a pencil and small plastic case beside it.

Justin picked up the case.  “Dental floss?”

“You know the old saying.  Any port in a storm.”  He searched his pocket.  “We only have two nails but I think that’s all we’ll need.”

“For five paintings?  Maybe there’s more in the Stable.”

Brian looked around.  “They’ll probably pull right out of these plaster walls.  But if we hook these through the holes and work slow…”  He reached into his other pocket, held out five silver wire rings.

Justin picked one, studied it and smiled.  “Shower curtain rings.”

“They’re sturdy.  Not that cheap plastic shit. Well?  Let’s move before we lose the light.”

Using floss strung between nails for alignment, and lengths of floss for distance, they accomplished their task with decent results and no arguments. 

Except for brief lightning, the kitchen was dark when they returned.  Justin stood his flashlight on end in a glass, frowned a look up.  “I guess it would work if we were eating on the ceiling.  What about the patio candles?”

“Dinner by Bug Repellent?  No, thanks,” Brian crouched at the under-sink cabinet.  “This should do it.”  I hadn’t planned on using these tonight, but what the fuck.  We need them. 

Justin watched Brian set a 10x12 cardboard box on the counter, edged close for a peek as Brian opened it and shined a light inside.  Six tall, fat white candles.  “You bought candles?” he grinned.  Times HAVE changed.

Brian took a saucer from the drain basket, put a candle on it, “Never know when you’ll have a power outage,” found matches in a drawer, hooked the flash under his arm and focused on flaming.  “Besides.  We should save the batteries.”

“Um-hm,” Justin raised his brows, took the candle to the table where its soft amber made even cold Chinese look better.  Then he grabbed two beers from the fridge and joined Brian at the table. 

In the warm glow they talked lightning, paint and airports. Brian thought Justin looked vibrant and golden.  Every eye sparkle, smile or frown.  Justin thought candlelight made Brian mysterious and intimate.  Hidden in plain sight but still giving himself away in a tone, look or blink.

Justin raised his beer bottle.  “I propose a toast.  To the first unofficial Britin Gallery.”

“Taylor Gallery,” Brian corrected, clinked his bottle to Justin’s, “I had nothing to do with it,” and swigged a drink.

“You had a lot to do with it,” Justin softened, drank to that.

Brian felt a twinge.  Say nothing - it would be like taking credit for something I didn’t fucking do.  Object, and I tell you your opinion is worth shit.  “I have to get my suit out of the car.”  He snatched Justin’s flashlight off the table, headed to the front door – always have an Ace.

Justin watched him, exhaled long.  Why does he always do that.  He stood up, gathered plates and took them to the sink, pushed the candle box aside but knocked it off the edge.  His one-hand save failed and the box thumped upside down on the floor.  “Shit,” he grumbled, dropped the plates on the counter, bent to lift the box and noticed a label on the bottom.  Grabbing Brian’s flashlight, he read Box 1 – Taylor/Kinney and smiled.  You kept these, too.

Outside, protected from steady rain by the porch overhang, Brian watched flashes in the black western sky, heard approaching rumbles.  Here we go again.  He hurried to the car unlocked his trunk, removed a suiter and small flight bag and ran them back.

Brian dashed inside, shut the door and was suddenly neck-tied by Justin’s arms and a kiss attack.  Almost dropped his suit and flashlight.  “What’s THAT for?” he pulled back.

“No big reason,” Justin grinned, lowered his arms and took the suit bag on the way.

No reason?  Must be ozone from the storm. “Careful with that.”  Brian slipped an arm under the suiter and let it drape.  “There’s glass in the bottom.”

“Glass?” Justin released his hold, followed Brian to the kitchen.

Brian hung the suiter over a chair back, unzipped it.  “Just something for your collection.”  He removed a Prada shoebox, unpacked it on the table and stood a clear glass bottle near the candle. 

Justin slowly turned it in the light.  It’s lower half angled one way, top half wilted the other so that it overlapped itself in asymmetric thickness with bubbles of different sizes in one side of its base.  “This is beautiful!”

“Actually, I rescued it from the re-melt bin.  But it’s authentic, hand-blown Finelli glass.  And I can guarantee you there isn’t another one like it.”

“I love it.”

“I thought you would.  Now I’m going upstairs to wash up before the hot water gets cold.”  Brian rezipped his suiter, slung it over his shoulder, snatched his flight bag and a flashlight.

“Isn’t the pump out?”

“There’s a thirty gallon reserve.  Just enough…” he rolled his eyes, shook his head, “…for a quarter-full in the tub…which we shouldn’t drain in case we need water to flush the toilet.  That should leave some for tomorrow, if we need it.”

“We could shower outside in the rain.”

“Like that tree?”  Brian tipped his head toward the yard, added a seductive, “I’ve got the matches.  You can bring the candle.”  Then he flicked on his flashlight and left like a night watchman on rounds.

Justin ran his fingertips down the bottle, lifted the saucer and followed.

In the guest room tub, in candle light reflecting off the tile, they kept it short and agreed on one unappreciated luxury – letting the shower run.  With thunder beating closer, they split to separate bathrooms for some private time.  Then met in bed for a quiet round of fondling and kissing.  Turning up heat, getting cock-hard ready.

Tempo building, Justin rose on his knees to start a ride.  But as he lifted one leg to straddle, Brian abruptly pulled his own knee up, blocking Justin’s move.  “What?” Justin asked confused. You want on top?  Should I lay back or front?  What?

Half-closed eyes on Justin, little smile to ease concern, Brian took a condom, ripped it open, rolled to sitting and whispered in Justin’s ear, “You know, it’s that time of year again.”  He deftly dressed Justin’s cock, cupped his package and mini-kissed his lips.

Justin nuzzled nose on nose.  “Call it.”  Whatever position you want.

Brian sank back, handed over the lube, did a side-nod on the pillow, blinked slow.  I could ride, but you take charge tonight.  I just want to look at you.

Settled.  Justin blinked agreement and slicked up.  It was no small challenge to top a major top.  Being the best didn’t matter.  Ultimate pleasure did.  He himself peaked from the inside out.  But for Brian, it was outside in.  

Justin knew that getting Brian hot was all about cock, that Brian could take or leave a rim.  That his nipples were intensely sensitive.  That trailing a slow tongue between his pecs and down his gut would cause a squirm.  And last minute veering away from his mound could make him groan.  He knew that kissing certain spots on Brian’s groin made his cock seep and twitch.  And which spots to avoid unless he wanted a laugh or stinging swat.  That Brian breathed harder and reacted more when his balls were mouthed and licked and blown.  A couple tongue flicks on his hole…a few deep throats to fuel the edge.  Then Justin could hear it in Brian’s breaths.  Feel it radiate from his skin.  Almost hear Brian think:  I’m getting close.  Are you ready to turn it up? 

Brian felt his skin prickle and cock strain under Justin’s fire.  Pushing him to his limit.  He clamped his legs high on Justin’s chest, gripped Justin’s shoulders, clenched his eyes shut and hissed a breath as Justin’s cock pierced through.  Driving slow then plunging deep.  Holding.  Holding.  Letting the foreign become familiar.  Brian opened his eyes, gazed at Justin, golden in candlelight flicked by silver lightning.  You got it.  You got it just right.  Now take us all the way.

They rocked and drove each other in strobing storm light.  Justin came first, sank onto Brian who hugged him tight as his own load pulsed into the small random spaces between them.

Justin revived, pulled out, removed and tied the condom then edged alongside Brian and stared with anxious eyes.  It was good for me, but it’s not your thing.  So hard for me to know…was it good for you?

Brian shuffled onto his side, smiled down and kissed him.  Once in awhile, if I feel the urge, I know you’re the only one.

Later that night, Brian roused to a thunder crash and another urge.  A lightning flash lit Justin’s space.  Empty.  Brian sat up and glanced at the bathroom doorway.  Open and dark.  Where the fuck IS he.  Hide-n-seek whetting desire, Brian swung out of bed, snatched a condom and bottle off the nightstand.  Debating about a flashlight, he looked down the hall.  Lightning through the open studio doors was enough to guide his steps, and he wondered if it was possible to paint in the dark. 

Brian stopped in the doorway and saw Justin. Standing near the balcony doors and staring out, each lightning burst outlining his naked silhouette.  Seeing Justin’s hand glide down front sent a shock wave through his own cock.   

Justin slowly stroked himself in the allure of such beauty-danger.  Wished he could wake Brian but knew he had to work later.  He swiveled back when he felt the charge from a presence closing behind him.  Brian, alive in lightning and thunder.  A man whose very nature made him brother to the storm.  Pent up need burst free and Justin launched himself at Brian.  Kissed him hard.  Clawed his back and nipped his chest.

Brian let the lube and condom drop to the floor.  Groped cock, squeezed ass, grabbed Justin’s hair and fired back a lengthy kiss.  Pulled them down to their knees, buried his lips in Justin’s neck.  In a flash of light, he spied the duvet bunched near the work table, dove against Justin’s counter pull then dragged the pile close.

Justin went for Brian’s neck, felt hot hands grip his shoulders with a twisting force that spun the room until he was sprawled face down on the duvet, smiling and catching a breath.

On his knees and straddling Justin, Brian speed-rolled a condom, shoveled an arm under Justin’s waist and yanked him onto his knees.  Planted his own knees outside Justin’s but his feet inside, pinning Justin’s ankles and holding his legs.

Justin pushed up on his arms but was quickly flattened chest down by a firm hand on his back.  Now he felt delirious.  Free yet trapped rear up and open.  His cock was being pulled firm and long, firing every nerve in his groin, making him grunt elated - He’s not using lube.  He’s using my cum.

Moving fast, Brian wet his cock.  Not enough.  Added spit.  Centered on mark and speared in deep.  Dropped his head back and gasped from the grip and stricture.  Then he took his hand off Justin’s back, wrapped it around Justin’s cock and twinned the action with his rough, hard thrusts until he needed both arms for support.

They hit the edge and erupted together in flashes and rumbles, collapsed spooned and breathing heavy in the still air.

Justin flinched despite Brian’s slow pullout.  “When I go for rough, you don’t fool around.  And that lube?  You’re just full of surprises.”

Brian snapped off the condom, checked and tied it off then tossed it aside. “Actually, I did bring a bottle.  We’ll probably find it in the morning.”

Deciding not to sleep on the unforgiving floor, they helped each other up and shared a frugal tepid shower.  Released from layers of cum and sweat, they went back to bed in the fading sounds of the storm.

Morning sunlight poured through the window.  Brian stirred first, grabbed the clock and smiled.  Wrong time, but it was running.  His wristwatch said seven-fifteen.  FUCK this SHIT - I’m late.  Brian adjusted the clock to match his watch.

Awakened by the motion, Justin rolled toward him, snaked an arm around his waist and molded against him.  “Mmm.  It can’t be morning yet.”

Brian slid from Justin’s hold, swung out of bed, bent low to his ear with a quiet, “I think the power’s back on.  I have to go,” kissed his temple, “Don’t forget you’ve got an interview at one,” gave a couple butt-pats and zipped into the bathroom.

On his side, mind clearing into serious thought, Justin listened to the running sink then sprang out of bed and to the bathroom doorway.  He leaned on the frame and watched Brian lather for a shave. “Brian?  You think you might be able to spring Ted to be here when the press shows up?  In case they ask me about Britin Manor.”

“You may unleash a monster,” Brian quipped between strokes.

Justin blew it off with a smile, “I can keep him in line,” and a cheeky, “I get a lot of practice with YOU.”

Brian flicked a water spray but Justin had ducked out too fast.  “You’d BETTER hide,” he lightly warned.  Because I want to fuck you and I’m late enough as it is.

Justin donned a white terry robe, bounded barefoot to the kitchen, filled the coffeemaker and sighed bliss when it worked.  Guess we’re BOTH City Queens at heart.

Dressed in yesterday’s suit and rumbling down the stairs with his bags, Brian smelled coffee.  Dropped his bags in the hall, tracked through the dining room and stopped to view the storm carnage before heading into the kitchen.  “The yard looks like the work of a psycho shredder.”

“I’ve got time to clean it up a little.” Justin handed Brian the first cup, had to wait another minute for his own.  “I can fix you some toast.”

Brian lifted Justin’s chin, “That’s not what I want.  But we’ll get to that later,” kissed him quick.  “The rain probably washed off the mosquito spray, so you may not want to hang around too long outside.”   He took one more sip,  “I’ll tell Ted to be here by one,” set his cup on the counter and hurried out.

At Kinnetik…

Brian, briefcase in hand, breezed to Cynthia’s desk where she was crouched down with just the top of her blonde head visible.  “Party’s over.  The Boss is back.”

“Hurray,” she dead-panned, stood up with an oil can in one hand, screwdriver in the other.

“That’s a new look for you.”

“Not every self-sufficient woman is a dyke.  I hate sticky drawers.”

“I’ll bet you tell that to ALL the boys,” he ribbed, got a biting grin and added a more business,  “Any other news?”

“A lightning storm came through last night and caused a power surge.”

“I trust all those expensive protectors worked.”

Cynthia hushed a somber, “Ted had a faulty unit.”

Fuck.  Brian bee-lined into Ted’s office, saw Ted shuffling through disks, tie sagging and sleeves rolled.  “How much did we lose?”

“Jeez!” Ted jumped, arms flying two disks at the floor.  “Don’t you ever knock?” he snapped, saw Brian and shrank, “Sorry.  Welcome back,” retrieved and read the disks.  “I guess you heard.”

“What about the backup drive?”

“Charred with the main.  On the bright side, we kept your old computer.  And on the brighter side, I ignored all the OCD remarks and triple-backed everything on disks.  But I’ll need your prelims on Finelli so I can input their contract.”

God bless your redundancy.  Brian slapped his briefcase on a file cabinet, removed his laptop and set it on the desk. “Just download Finelli from this.  And don’t worry about the contract.  He didn’t sign yet.”

“What?” Ted halted activity, looked up.  “Harry got your email copy and photos.  They’re already halfway into production.”

“Finelli’s being cautious.  We’ll go on spec for now.  And I may need you for a project later.  How long will it take you to catch up?”

Ted picked through disks, selecting, discarding.  “A lot of these are spreadsheets and forms only I use. And I can’t even get to my callbacks until the database is back in shape.  It could take hours.”

“Keep at it,” Brian decided, left for Cynthia’s desk.  “Cynthia.  I need to see you in my office.”  Justin, you’ll have to take what you get.

Justin, in his pinstriped dress shirt and jeans, sat at the kitchen table, reviewed his notes and sipped red wine.  He checked his watch, scratched behind an ear, crossed his ankles one way.  Then the other.  Then back.  I hafta do this right.  He heard a heavy engine rumble, bolted up, dashed to the window and glimpsed a Post Gazette van behind the Lexus.  “Shit.  They’re early.”

On the front walk, Sylvie Duncan and a Photographer ogled the view.  “What a place,” she commented.  “Be sure you get a wide-angle shot.”  Then smiled at Justin stepping out the door.  “Mr. Taylor.  This is just spectacular.  Are you planning to leave New York?”

“No.  This is Britin Manor.  And we’re planning to make it a retreat, mainly for accomplished artists and writers who need a place to kick back.”  Justin cast a nervous glance at the road.  Come ON, Ted.  Don’t let me hang.  I need to play off you to steer this conversation.

Sylvie jotted on a notepad. “That’s interesting.  You said ‘we’?  Who else?”

“My partner.  Brian Kinney.”  He craned a look at her pad, corrected, “That’s K-i-n-n-E-y.  He’s the CEO for Kinnetik Advertising Agency in Downtown Pittsburgh, and he’s incredibly supportive of the Arts.  You may want to mention that,” he hinted, “Since it’s a Pittsburgh agency.  And also that he’s -”  Justin saw the Vette turn onto the drive and choked a brittle, “Here.”  Fuck.  FUCK.  You’re not supposed to BE here!

“I’m sorry?” Sylvie questioned, missing something.

Justin thought fast – it’s a one shot thing.  You planned it, rehearsed it, and it’s gonna happen whether Brian likes it or not – reclaimed his social cool and continued, “Let me introduce you to Mr. Kinney.”  And he led her to the car as it parked behind the van.

Expecting to be background dressing, Brian stepped out, saw the approaching entourage and automatically introduced himself.  “Ms. Duncan.  I’m Brian Kinney and I’m assisting Mr. Taylor during his stay at Britin Manor,” then to Justin, “Mr. Schmidt was detained.”  You look a little stiff and white.  Relax.  I know enough shit to help.

Sylvie sparkled, “CEO and Art enthusiast…I’m very pleased to meet you,” and extended her hand.

Brian shook it with a suspect side-glance at Justin.  Why is she talking about ME?  Then he beguiled Sylvie with wide eyes, “Have you seen Mr. Taylor’s latest work yet?”

Justin cut in, “We were just about to go inside,” and motioned Sylvie to the house. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”  Maybe I can send Brian on a mission.

“Oh, no thank you.  We just had lunch.”

Shit, Justin smiled wider.

She asked a couple straightforward questions about his life in New York.  He answered comfortably as they entered the living room, but kept aware of Brian’s moves to stay distant yet in range.

Brian watched proudly as Justin showed and explained his work, even scoring points by mentioning that the Post Gazette was the first to see it.  He saw Justin ace the photo shoot with his ever-winning smile.  You were born to be famous.

Sylvie continued, “So when are you planning to show this new series in New York?”

“Oh…these aren’t for sale.  They’re Brian Kinney’s private collection which I hope he’ll keep on permanent display here, at Britin Gallery.”  Justin kept eyes only on Sylvie.

“You mean…Britin Manor will also have a Gallery?”

“With some of my exclusive work.  Hopefully expand to include other local artists.”

“That’s a generous endeavor.  And you certainly have a wonderful place to show them.  Why here and not New York?”

“Brian chose the location because he understands creativity.  If it wasn’t for his help…” Justin gazed at Brian standing beside the door, “…it might have taken me a lot more years to reach this point in my career,” knew that Brian was forcing a smile while steaming to drive a turbine.

“Have you set a date for the Grand Opening?”

“Not yet.  But when we do, we’ll both be here and you’ll be invited to join us.”

“That sounds exciting.  It’s not very often that artists who succeed in major cities make this kind of gesture.  Very commendable.  Now if you don’t mind, before we leave I’d like to get one more shot of the two of you on the front step.”

Bonus!  Justin beamed as they headed for the door.

Brian stepped aside and declined low to Sylvie, “I don’t think it’s really necessary for me to -”

“You’re partners, aren’t you?” she furrowed her brow.

Brian faked another convincing smile.  Justin obviously had said something.  Not knowing what, or in what context…no graceful way out.  “All right.”  The editors will probably chop it anyway.

Standing slightly apart in front of the door, they watched Sylvie and the Photographer discuss the angle.  Justin whispered through a tense smile, “I guess you’ll hafta rush back to work.  We can talk about this later.”

Brian held a brighter smile over a threatening, “After they leave…You.  Inside.  And not in the fun sense.”

“Stand a little closer,” Sylvie called and motioned with her hands.  “And SMILE!”

Snap.

Showdown time.

First inside, Justin thudded through the living room then dining room.  I know you’re pissed, but it’s MY decision and it was right.  Ornery as you get sometimes, I love you so much I piss ME off.

Shadowing Justin, Brian strained a calm, “What the fuck was that all about?” stopped in the kitchen and watched Justin grab a beer bottle from the fridge.

Justin uncapped the brew, answered with a civil smile, “You may have my power of attorney but this house is still half mine.  And if I want a gallery, then that’s the way it’ll be,” and casually took a drink.

Don’t blow smoke, Brian fumed, closed in.  “This has nothing to do with a gallery.  Do you realize what you just did?  You linked your reputation to mine.  That’s exactly what was NOT supposed to happen.” 

Standing firm, Justin slammed the beer down on the table.  “All I did was tell the truth about you.  I don’t know why it always has to be a big fucking secret.  And if I want to paint for you, cook for you or stake my fucking reputation on you, I can, and you can’t stop me!”

“I CAN!” Brian blasted, clenched Justin’s shoulders and shoved him back against the refrigerator, eyed his startled defiance and softened to a near whisper, “But I won’t.”  FUCK, you drive me crazy in a dozen ways at once. 

And in that moment, he locked arms around Justin’s waist and kissed him with a passion to swallow him whole. 

Justin responded with equal fire, raked his hands through Brian’s hair.  Then broke off, closed his eyes and lowered his forehead against Brian’s chin.  “If people are gonna read about you or look you up online, they should know the whole truth.”

Brian rested his forehead on Justin’s. You risked too much.  But it’s done.  We move on from here. “You could have told them I’m the hottest guy in Pittsburgh.” 

“That’s not news,” Justin wrinkled a smile.  “Shouldn’t you be getting back?”

“I’ll give Cynthia a few more moments of glory.  She’s a very self-sufficient woman.”

“So you’re calmed down now?”

“A drink would help.”  Brian twisted back, took Justin’s beer, grinned, “Cheers,” grabbed Justin’s waistband and poured a jigger down his crotch.

Off guard, Justin took the chilling shock with wide eyes and gaping mouth, jet both hands against Brian’s chest and rammed him back.  “You ASSHOLE!”

“That hit the spot,” Brian smiled evil.  “Don’t worry I intend to clean it up.”

“Yeah?  Try it,” Justin challenge-grinned, heating up already.

For Brian, this revenge would be sweet.  Not like the past when they held too much back and parted hostile or hurt.  I don’t agree with what you did but…fuck it.  You were never one to stand by and do nothing.  And I’ll never condemn you for being who you are.  

Later over pasta at the Loft dining table…

Brian mentioned how backed up Kinnetik had gotten during Ted’s system fritz, and plans to wow some designers who sold unisex clothing online.  “The target market is eighteen to thirty.  What’s the new blue these days?” 

Justin described calls from Richard planning next week’s interview, and Yuka pissed that a co-worker had lost a lawsuit for rights to a photo he’d taken for the magazine.  “They want to start their own magazine and want me in on it.  What do you think?”

In the shower…

Brian lathered up his hair.  Justin, hair thick with suds, washed Brian’s back.

Brian felt Justin’s hands running circles on his ass.  “Are you hinting?”

“I can admire a hot guy’s ass if I want.  It’s one of those things that told me I was gay.  What tipped YOU off?”

Brian spun around, swept Justin’s hair into a Cupie curl.  “I liked playing with dolls.”  He palmed Justin’s cock.  “And submarines.”

“Perfect,” Justin arched his brows, turned around, pressed crack to cock.  “I’ll admire your ass while you dive.”

After the shower…

Brian in his dark silk robe, hair still damp, crossed his bare feet on the coffee table and watched Justin, in a white terry robe, cue the DVD player.  “What did you get?  Brando?  Judy?  Swedish porn?”

“Ice Age!” Justin plopped on the couch enough to shake Brian.

ICE Age? “A cartoon?”

“Animated film?” Justin corrected, pulled his legs onto the cushion, pressed full-body against Brian’s side. “I like the Mammoth.  Reminds me of you,” he leaned close to Brian’s ear, whispered sneaky soft, “…and two of the dinosaurs are gay.”

Brian looked at Justin’s tongue peeking through a smile, his sparkly eyes.  So little time together to not say the important things.  “Don’t ever lose that.”

“What?”

“The kid in you.”

“I won’t if YOU don’t.”

Brian kissed him, nuzzled his neck, eyed the crass, hairy beast on TV and lost his smile.  “That reminds you of ME?”

Justin laughed, shifted to a snug seat and stretched his own legs alongside Brian’s.  There isn’t much time.  We need to laugh so we’ll remember it’s part of us.

In the dark bedroom…

On their sides and facing each other close without touching, Brian asked, “So what are your plans for tomorrow?”

“Finish one more painting and close up shop.  How late are you working?”

“If you meet me at the Diner around six, we can have dinner…critique the food… annoy the new waiter…” Brian softened, “…then go to the Jazz Club,” and added matter-of-fact, “Unless you have any other ideas.”

Justin mulled it over.  “We’ll see how the day goes.”

Hm.  Thought you’d jump at that. “Okay.  We’ll play it by ear.”  Brian kissed him then they rolled a comfortable distance apart to settle in for the night.

Early morning, they left the building together, briefly kissed and on spontaneous sarcastic whim, falsetto’d, “Bye, Honey” at the exact same time.  Justin laughed at Brian’s flinch as they split to separate cars.

Fastening his seatbelt in the Lexus, big grin, Justin gazed ahead at Brian’s shadow in the Vette.  I know how much you love couply shit.  Bet you’re burning inside out. 

Brian adjusted his rearview mirror and could see a lot of teeth on Justin’s shadowed face.  Okay, you little shit.  Your round.  Then he geared into first, squeezed into traffic and pondered what was so unsettling.  That they’d said the same thing in the same way at the same time?  Or that it came so natural.  Or that for some reason he enjoyed it.

All business at Kinnetik, Brian paced his office and talked into his headset.  At Britin, Justin studied his camera view screen to guide his brush on canvas.

In the Conference Room with Cynthia’s assist, Brian flipped presentation boards for three Women Designers.  Justin, right hand wrapped in a bandage, robbed another shower curtain ring for his last painting.

Brian, still on the phone, checked his clock.  Five-thirty.  “Does that answer your question?”  He rested his forehead on a raised hand, smiled through grit teeth,  “Yeah.  Go right ahead.”

In his studio, Justin snapped two pictures of his finished painting, checked his watch. “Shit.  It’s five-thirty.” 

He set the camera on the workbench, unwrapped his hand as he raced to the bedroom.  There he emptied his few remaining things into his duffel, zipped it shut, ran it halfway down the stairs and tossed it to the floor.  Then he dashed back to the studio.  Grabbing the painting, he rushed it downstairs and hung it in the foyer. One final run – lock the doors and windows, no faucets dripping, everything off but the fridge.

It was almost six when Brian, finishing an email, stopped and made a cell call. “I’m running a few minutes late.”

Outside the house, Justin had one hand on the open trunk lid, the other holding his phone.  “Me, too.  I’m just about to leave.  If you get there first, go ahead and order for me.”

“Take your time.”  Brian closed his phone and turned back to his computer.

Justin slid his phone away, panned Britin with mild sadness.  Next time I’m back…it’ll all be different.  The same, but different.  Can’t dwell on that, Justin decided.  Before slamming the trunk, he did a quick inventory.  Duffel.  Prada shoebox.  And a carton of white candles.

At the Diner…

Brian stepped inside and scanned the noisy crowd.  Saw Kiki reaming a new guy who looked like Hunter but cared even less. 

Then he saw Justin, alone toward the back and homed in on his beacon smile.  “Did you wait long?” Brian sat down, grabbed a menu.

“Just got here.  Debbie’s off but I know the cook, so hopefully we won’t hafta wait as long as them.”

Brian followed Justin’s nod toward New Kid, two booths down with a frustrated pair watching him use a menu to copy their orders to his checkpad.

Brian raised a brow, went back to his menu.  “Have you thought about where you’d like to go after this?”

“Yeah,” Justin nodded with a steamy blink.

Babylon.

Just to dance.  In the dizzying, driving gay atmosphere where he’d first found Mr. Imperfect.  Mr. Wrong.  All the shit other people saw.  But not me, Justin smiled.  I saw more than you let on.

Brian touched him, held him, spun him, kissed him.  Didn’t notice the cruisers, studs, call of the Back Room or the haunts of violent history.  When you smile like that, nothing else is worth seeing.  “What made you decide on here tonight?”

“Not all gay men are gardeners.  And some gardeners even like a choice.”

Brian blinked warm approval.  You get it.

They held each other and moved to a private rhythm while the Club scene whirled around them in all its pleasure and infamy.

Back from Babylon, Brian shoved the Loft door open for Justin to carry two boxes in, flicked on a light and followed with the duffel. 

Justin trudged to the bedroom, set his haul on the bed platform, plopped to a seat on the mattress edge and pulled off his tee.  “I’ll be so glad to get out of these clothes.”

“So will I,” Brian grinned, dropped the duffel on the floor near the boxes, noticed the candle carton and opened it.  “You brought these?” ALL of them? 

Shirt hanging open, Justin leaned on an arm, “Yeah.  I’m taking them back with me,” saw Brian’s puzzled expression and added a quiet, “In case of a power failure.”

They sell candles in New York.  So you figured it out.  “They’re for you anyway.”  Before Justin asked questions, Brian tipped a nod at the bathroom.  “Do you want in first?”

“No, go ahead.”  Justin watched Brian disappear and close the door, guessed he’d be awhile.  So he emptied the duffel to prepare for tomorrow’s reload.  In the bottom was the blue legal pad.  He held it for a moment – can’t believe how fast these two weeks went – ripped his sketches off, dropped them back in the bag and carefully set the pad on Brian’s dresser.  Heard the toilet flush and shower start.  But the door stayed closed.

After a few minutes, Justin drifted to the door.  Oh god.  If you’re hiding something wrong again…  He exhaled long, pounded three times.

Finishing a quick scrub, Brian shouted, “Door’s open!”

Anxiety quelled, Justin trooped in, a little ticked to see Brian step from the shower and towel off.  “You started without me?”

Brian hung the towel, slipped on his robe, gripped Justin’s shoulders and whispered against his ear, “We started that way the last few times.  I was thinking more…” he licked the edge of Justin’s ear, causing a flinch, “…only lower.”

Justin lit a smile, toed up and kissed him.  Watched him blink, turn and saunter out, closing the door behind him.  He’s letting me know he’s going for a rim.  Not just a hit and run.  A pre-meditated, long-range killer.

In the bedroom, Brian sly-eyed a smile at the door, knew Justin would take extra time to prep.  I still plan to rim you blind.  First, some atmosphere.

Finished, fresh and ready, Justin tied his robe and stepped into the bedroom.  Slowed when he realized how dark it was.  Seemed like all the lights were out except for a flickering glow from the TV area.  And the mellow sound of smooth jazz playing low.  “Okay,” Justin announced as he moved toward the light. “What’re we watching?  Brando?  Judy?  Swedish -”  Then he froze with a mixed smile.  They’re candles, but… “What’s that?”

Seated on a hip against a large pillow on the white futon cushion, Brian answered as if anyone should know.  “It’s a fireplace.”

“A fireplace.” Justin knelt beside Brian, stared amused and touched by the freestanding long mirror on its side behind lit candles staggered in two rows – four up front in ashtrays, two back and higher on rocks glasses –  mirror reflecting twice the flame in a makeshift hearth.  Unbelievable. “You made a fireplace.”

Brian shrugged off, “Even NON-gardeners have their moments of choice.”

Bracing on his arms, Justin leaned forward and kissed Brian’s lips.  No need for any words. 

Brian shifted to his knees, took Justin’s face in his hands and kissed a longer return. Then eased off and let his robe slip down over the pillow, smoothed it and moved the pillow between them. 

Justin had barely gotten his belt untied when Brian took his shoulders and pulled him forward until he was comfortably prone hips high, the side of his face in the soft cushion, eyes on the partial mirror view of them between the candles.

Brian curled his fingers into the neck of Justin’s robe, slid it gently down as if unveiling a masterpiece in white marble that got him hard just from the sight.  He tossed the robe aside and began a flow of touch and kisses.  Hair.  Neck.  Shoulders.  Back.  Neck.  No rushing this one.

Justin curved an arm under his head.  Felt his skin heat and cock thicken.  There was added sensual thrill in feeling AND seeing Brian’s tongue trace his spine, hands spread his legs, lean body fold into position.  Didn’t realize you still look at me the same even when we’re not face to face..

Brian closed his range down.  Nipped, kissed, licked and dallied on the lower curve of Justin’s ass.  Making him want more.  Making him need more.  So that when Brian finally opened full exposure, relief and new excitement would push the edge again.  Thumbs pulling skin taut and up, Brian put tension on Justin’s hole and made available the sensitive spots near the veins under Justin’s sac.

Breathing heavier, Justin realized he was missing moments each time he closed his eyes and moaned.  Wet tongue ringing his hole sparked heat that was soon chilled by a light breath.  The tease of entry drove him close, but backed him off each time it didn’t happen.  Cock swollen and weeping, he couldn’t cum.  Brian had a way with that.

Brian, cue’d by heat and vocal tones, pushed the level up.  He dipped his tongue dead center and got a shaking groan.  It was getting tough to control his own edge along with Justin’s.  A few more invasive hits broke a sweat down Justin’s back.  In seconds, Brian had his own pleading cock in rubber and lube.  The push and pull to the brink could build up to a massive rush.  But going too long could raise frustration and reverse the high from superior to just good.

Going critical, Justin was close to yelling, FUCK me already! when he saw and felt Brian stretch over him, press cock to spot, set a hand on his, lean close and kiss his shoulder.  All the sensations sent his blood drumming.  Goddamit, NOW.  I’m dying.

Brian drove in only half his length.  Stopped.  Rammed the last inches over the trigger.  Felt Justin clench his hand hard enough to touch bone and had to grit his own teeth to hold the urge to pound.  Pulled out halfway, slammed in again.

Justin burst into spasms and moans.  The kind of super peak that tore through every sense when pressure was so high that splitting open and spilling out brought delirious euphoria to the fainting point.

Brian upped pace and intensity.  It was like driving into a coiling snake.  Half in, stop, punch it.  Out, in, punch it.  Shaving the length of each stroke until the last three pounded in…In…IN.  And all sound blanked.  Time froze.  Nerves sizzled.  Thought became a giant firework bursting on the sky then drifting back to earth like bits of candle flame.

Brian settled his head on Justin’s and saw candles.  Saw his body pressed against Justin’s, on their sides and off the pillow.  They were staring at themselves, wrapped in a glow beyond the candlelight glisten on sweat.  This had to be the one, Brian wordlessly told Justin’s mirrored eyes.  Tomorrow we would have been only half into it.  Half distracted.  I couldn’t leave you with that.  Or myself, for that matter.  If you haven’t already, someday you may figure it out – I won’t fuck you right before you leave.

Friday morning.

At the Diner counter…

Debbie hung over Emmett’s shoulder as they read the Gazette Arts & Leisure section – mainly for a brief article and two color photos.  Emmett glowed, “Doesn’t our Baby shine next to all that color?” Debbie pointed, “And that one.  It’s a wonder they got that close without being all over each other.” 

In Ted’s office…

Cynthia kibitzed with Ted, “Brian certainly knows how to splash up interest.”  Ted beamed, “Yeah.  What an announcement.  Would you believe Justin adding a Gallery?  And the house looks great.”

At the Big Q…

Flippy showed the paper to his Mate.  “So what.  As long as he keeps Babylon open.”

But in Brian’s office…

Dissatisfaction.  Justin stood beside Brian and viewed the open paper on the desk.  “I can’t believe they did that.  It was supposed to be in Sunday’s paper.  That gets a lot more coverage.”

Brian had a different gripe.  “Wasn’t this supposed to be about YOU?  Of all the photos they took, there’s only one of your work.”  There’s too fucking much on ME.

“I have another interview lined up,” Justin consoled himself.

Brian shut the paper, folded and set it aside.  “I trust you’ll leave me out of it.”

“That’s MY call,” Justin wrinkled a face, watched Brian’s chin drop under furtive brows.

Cynthia’s knock on the doorframe interrupted.  “Brian?  We’re waiting to start the meeting.  And Emmett Hunnicutt is here to see you.  He says it’s urgent.”

Brian exchanged a concerned glance with Justin then ok’d, “Send him in.”

Cynthia nodded, disappeared and Emmett waltzed over with a cheery smile. “Justin!  Fabulous picture in the paper.  And I’m so glad I caught you two together.”

Urgent?  Brian flattened, “Why the fuck are you here?”

“Now don’t fuck the messenger,” Emmett lightly warned.  “I was just on my way to pick up Michael at the Airport?  And I told Deb I’d personally pass on an invitation to her party tonight.  Carl got the day off, Michael’s back,” he stared at Justin, “…and you’re leaving tomorrow, so she’s throwing together a dinner just for the immediate family… which includes us, of course,” he smiled, scanned the room again.  “You know, you really ought to change these walls?  That color looks like mold on mildew.”

Slightly steamed, Brian grit, “That was so urgent?”

“Well…it’s at six tonight, and that isn’t much notice,” Emmett justified.

Emmett Logic.  Brian rounded the desk, grabbed Emmett’s shoulder and rushed him out.  “How thoughtful.  Now if you don’t mind…”

Justin gave a drab, “Thanks, Em.  We’ll be there.”

“Don’t forget to tell Teddy,” Emmett trilled from the hall, “I tried?  But he’s in an important meeting.”

Brian called out the door, “I’ll put it at the top of my list,” turned back and almost bumped into Justin.

“You’re busy, so I’ll just head over to the Diner for awhile and meet you at the Loft.”

Detecting the mood change, Brian gripped Justin’s shoulder and stopped him from brushing past.  “Hey.  We can leave early.”  If that’s the problem.

Justin turned up a smile, pecked a kiss and walked away.  It’s for Deb, even if I have to put up with Michael.  As for a last night with Brian…that’ll be the hardest part.

Brian watched him go until Cynthia appeared with a sing-song, “The natives are getting restless.”  So he hiked beside her, took another glance down the hall.  Something seems off.

Six PM.

At Debbie and Horvath’s, the small back yard was decked in mixed chairs around two card tables draped in colored vinyl and food - for that exception to blue collar straight-male cooking ineptitude – the backyard barbecue.

At one table, Michael set out more plastic cups, heard Ted and Blake dissing anti-Gay Marriage phobes while they iced the beer cooler.  He stole a peek at Ben slicing tomatoes beside him and caught a darting glance away and back to his task.  Still feuding.

Horvath, in his white King-Of-The-Grill apron, flipped a couple burgers and one-arm hugged Debbie in her rainbow Queen-Of-The-Grill garb as she handed him a lemonade.

“Thanks, Sweetheart.”  He kissed Debbie just as Emmett paraded in with a platter of 12x4 inch foil wrap.

“Aren’t YOU two the Pitt-Jolie!” and to Deb, ““Sweetie…LOOOVE that apron.”

“Thank you, Honey, I made it myself.  And yes, I’ll make one for you.”

“If you insist,” Emmett wrinkled a smile,  “It must be nice to have a man cook for YOU for a change…aside from me, of course.”

Horvath brightened, “There’s nothing like an open fire, fat juicy burgers, hot dogs, baked beans…a real man’s meal.”

“That’s nice.  Now can you make a little bitty space for this?” Emmett held up the platter.

Horvath took it.  “Yeah.  What is it?”

“Salmon.  Skin side down in a tiny bit of butter, with a garnish of lemon stars, just a whisper of fresh garlic and a baby sprig of dill.  And a dash of salt and white pepper.  Oh…and twenty minutes.  No more.”  Then he saw Calvin and swayed his way.

Debbie cackled a laugh at Horvath’s static stare, hugged his arm.  “You wanna switch aprons?” and chuckled at his knit brows. “Gimme that.” She took the plate to the other side of the grill where she moved dainty skewered veg and meat. “It’ll fit right next to Ben’s Thai Kabobs.”

Michael moved in, took the spatula from Horvath’s hand.  “Why don’t you and Mom take a break.”

Debbie chirped, “It’s okay, Sweetie, I’m -”

“Mom,” Michael insisted.

“Well…just until the salmon’s done.”

“When’s that?”

Horvath took Deb’s arm before she changed her mind, added quick to Michael, “Twenty minutes.  I’m sure we’ll be watching the time,” and nudged Debbie to the tables.

Michael smiled as he watched them go.  Until he saw Brian and Justin appear from the walkway.  A drippy burger crackled in a small blaze and yanked his focus to the grill.

Catching the flare across the yard, Brian spotted Michael.  Long time no hear from. 

Justin trained on Debbie rushing over, arms wide, “Britin Manor!  I’m so proud of you both!” and she hugged Justin while eyeing each. “Come on.  Grab a plate and eat.”

Brian touched Justin’s shoulder.  “Go ahead.  I’ll be around.”

Half listening to Debbie’s chatter, Justin watched Brian head toward Michael.  I’ll just hang back, Justin decided.  Got nothing to say to Michael anyway.  He smiled at Debbie then at Ted and Blake joining in.

Brian stopped at the grill as Michael turned kabobs.  “So how was San Diego?”

“Hot and crowded.  These are done.  While you’re here, can you grab that plate and take ‘em off?” Michael returned to the burgers, pressed one to drain out fat.  Another sizzle flare.  “I suppose you talked to Justin.”

“We have been known to do that on rare occasions.”  Brian gingerly moved skewers onto the plate, studied one and test bit.  Not bad.

“Just so you know, I didn’t mean it the way it came out,” Michael kept flipping the same burger, “About him running away from Pittsburgh.  I know he -”

“You told him what?” Brian threw his skewer in the coals, slapped the plate down.

Hearing the clack, Debbie looked up from her seat at the table, saw Brian glare and lean toward Michael, hand fisted on a hip.  And Michael mouthing something serious.  She jumped up, started toward them.  “What the fuck is going on over there?”

Brian raised his hands high, gave three loud claps, “Your attention everybody.  Mikey has an announcement to make about moving to Toronto!” then sliced low to Michael, “Did I get that right?”

Michael hissed a low, “Fuck you,” and turned to a group stunned still, except for Emmett creeping in from the fringe.

Ben sprang up to draw the fire.  “It’s true.  I convinced Michael to put a down payment on a house in Scarborough,” then louder over the murmurs and Debbie’s white-faced gasp, “But we decided to stay here.”  We, Michael, not just you.

Pleased by Ben’s revelation but still pissed, Michael glared at Brian, “There isn’t a day goes by I don’t miss seeing my daughter.”  THAT’S why I considered it.

Perceiving a low blow, Brian tensed his jaw.  Justin grunted loud.

Emmett swiped the spatula from Michael,  “Just…checking the grill,” and low to Brian, “I’m sure he means…like you miss Gus.”

Oh shit, Michael winced, clarified with a sincere, “Yeah.  I didn’t mean it in any bad way.”

Brian calmed,  “Point taken.”  But you’re not out of the fucking woods yet.

With that shaky truce, Michael faced the group.  “The fact is…Mel and Linz left because they didn’t feel safe, not because they’re wild about Canada.  I love it here, and I’m not leaving the responsibility of keeping it safe to Monty or Phil or you, Mom.  If I do, then everything I said on TV after the bombing means shit.”  He looked at Ben.  “And if anything ever happened to either of us, I know we can count on all of you.  We won’t find that anywhere else.”

Michael saw Justin stare down at his lap.  Felt Brian’s drilling stare.  “As for San Diego,” he lightened, “I must’ve talked to thirty artists, and nobody’s interested in doing Rage.  At least, not like Justin.  He’s the only one who really understands the purpose of the comic.”

Justin gazed at Michael.  Didn’t expect the tribute and felt some frost melt.

“But I understand that growing as an artist sometimes means going where you have to.  If it takes New York to mean something here…like giving us a first class Art Gallery…then you never really left.”  Careful not to overdo the warm fuzzies, he added, “But that doesn’t mean I still don’t need an artist.  Know of anybody?” he smiled at Justin.

“I’ll keep an eye open,” Justin nodded with reserve.

Emmett waved the spatula, held up a full platter,  “Now that we’re all caught up?  Would anyone care to dine while we’re…uh…while the FEAST is hot?” grinned at Calvin, “I know YOU do, Sweetie.”

Brian turned shoulder-to-shoulder with Michael and walked toward the tables, close but still peeved from the tiff  “I’m not sorry about blowing your cover.”

“I didn’t think you WOULD be,” Michael stiffly answered, “But I’ll watch the foot-in-mouth disease if you’ll cut me a little more slack.”

They paced back to Justin’s seat where Emmett was happily dishing food and gossip.

While Horvath took salmon watch, Debbie cut loose with Ted and Blake off to the side. “For a minute I thought we’d have a fucking replay of the Girls’ Anniversary Party.  And the NERVE of that kid,” she side-glared Michael, “Not telling his own MOTHER?”

Ted sipped his wine, tried a smoothing, “Well, he wasn’t sure, so -”

“You KNEW?” Debbie glowered.

“I uh…I uh…I -”

Blake touched her arm, gave his counselor smile.  “You know Ted wouldn’t tell you something that isn’t true.”  Then he hooked Ted’s arm.  “Come on.  I saved us a seat.”

Debbie watched them, thought a moment, cooled off and headed for the grill.

While Michael joined Ben for expected Q&A, Brian pulled his chair closer to Justin, gripped his shoulder, stared into his eyes with a wordless:  It was just Michael talking.  It’s fixed.  Now forget it.

Justin raised a little smile that slipped down when he turned away for his beer.  I got it.  He didn’t mean anything personal.  But there were other decent things he said.

By dusk, driven in by mosquitoes, the gang lounged in the living room.  Brian and Michael chatted, camaraderie restored with the help of beer and time. 

Emmett held a DVD Classic in each hand.  “Are we ready for Betty?” Words of discouragement from the group prompted, “Casablanca?”

Seated on the floor, back against the arm of Brian’s chair, Justin looked up. “I’ve seen those already.” Translation: Let’s get out of here.

Brian smiled down, “So have I,” rose from the chair and pulled Justin up.

Justin led Brian to find Debbie putzing in the kitchen.  “Hey Deb?  We’re gonna take off.  It was a great party.”  He moved close and hugged her tight as Brian slouched against the sink.

“Our door’s always open,” she almost sniffled, eyes glazing.  “Don’t wait so long to use it next time.”

Justin didn’t answer right away.  Didn’t know when.  “I’ll call.”

Debbie backed off, brushed an eye and toughened, “You better.  And send me a picture once in awhile.  I like to think I’m more special than the fucking Post Gazette.”

Justin chuckled, “I will,” then quieted.  Shit.  KNEW I forgot something.

Michael leaned in the kitchen doorway.  “Brian?  We’re all going over to Woody’s.  You and Justin wanna meet us there?  You, too, Mom.  You and Carl.”

While Debbie faked a cranky, “Thanks, but we had enough of you boys for one day,” Justin told Brian, “You go ahead.  I left my camera at the house.  I hafta go back.”

“I can send it.”

“I need it this weekend.”

Michael pressed, “Brian?”

No hesitation.  “We’ll take a rain check tonight.”

Britin in moonlight.  Vast and lonely.  In the parked Corvette, Justin looked out his window with a quiet, “I think I’ll miss this place.”

Brian cut the engine, sat staring at his hand on the steering wheel.  The simple word “miss” churned up silt on the past days’ clear stream.  You’re leaving tomorrow.

Justin opened his door.  “Stay here.  I’ll just take a minute.”

Brian regrouped his thoughts with a snarky, “Last time you said that, I grew a beard.”

“Like you were never fashionably late,” Justin made a face, got out and shut the door then jogged to the house with Brian a few steps behind.

In the Master, Justin found his camera on the worktable and searched for the case.

Brian stood at the last remaining work still on the easel.  The painting of them.  He had speculated that the background would be a roaring fireplace.  Or lush plants and flowers.  But it showed prelim lines and angles, hints of a doorway.  And a dark patch beyond it in which two shadow figures – repeats of the first - stood nude and embraced in pale stripes like streetlight through gathers in a sheer. “When do you plan to finish this?”

Justin zipped his camera case shut, moved close to Brian and tilted his head at the painting.  Felt his gut shrink.  It’s a work in constant progress.  “Not sure when I’ll be done with it.”  I hope not for a long time.

Sensing tension, Brian lightened, “Anything else before we leave?”

“I don’t -” Justin glanced around, saw the dark duvet on the floor with streaks of crusted white.  “Shit.  We can’t leave that here like this.”  He gathered up the bundle.  “Maybe you can take it to the cleaners.”

“And destroy a work of art?” Brian grinned, got Justin’s furtive eye-roll.  “I’ll check the other guest room,” he strode to the doorway. “Don’t forget…we had a horny teen in there.”

In the spare room, Brian spied a folded blanket and scooped it up.  Under it, a facedown paper.  He grabbed and viewed it, smiled and took it along.

Brian returned, set the blanket on a chair and watched Justin bent over, folding the duvet on the floor.  “Leo left a gift.”

“What?”  Justin stood, brushed hair aside and snatched the offered paper.  His address note was attached with a blank post-it to the center of the Famous Taylor Nude.  He stripped the note off, crunched it into a pocket, grateful that it wasn’t a Hope Chest souvenir like Brian’s jock. “At least I know he won’t be showing this,” he sighed then scrutinized the drawing.  “It’s different.  The Lion’s mane is darker.  And he changed the eyes from gold to…”  Justin slowly rolled his eyes to Brian, standing close.”  Hazel.

“Why am I always the beast?” Brian raised his brows.

Justin looked at the drawing with a casual, “Because you always are.  And proud of it,” scanned down.  “Interesting creative choice.  Adding a wine bottle.”

“And that?”  Brian touched another add.

Took only a split second to register.  One glass.  Justin set the drawing on the table, sat on the edge, plastered both hands over his face and groaned.  “You saw something that day,” he mumbled under his hands, feeling the heat in his face.

Brian took and reviewed the art.  “I wondered how he knew me.  I assumed it came from you.  I guess, in a sense, it DID.”  He heard Justin groan again.  Leaned close and lifted one finger off Justin’s eye.  “We never downloaded porn at his age?  I like to think we gave him something better to aspire to in his new gay young life.”

Justin slid his hands to his cheeks and took a more serious tone.  “It’s just that…I could’ve avoided this all if I hadn’t gotten so caught up in the business end.  I forgot the other side, and I’m not happy with myself about that.”

Brian softened, “Balancing both is a life-long thing.  And I don’t know too many experts at it.”  He handed Justin the drawing then rounded up the duvet and blanket. “I’ll take these down to the car.”

“I’ll get the lights and meet you there,” Justin answered, watched Brian leave.  He exhaled long, looked at the drawing one more time, walked it to the easel and stood it on the rack against his work.  Backed off and studied it.  The other side.  It’s not just a matter of gay interest.  He’s an artist.  With a big visual difference between what he thought he HAD to do…and what he felt strongly about.    

Sitting in the Vette on the front turnaround, Brian leaned back, draped a hand over the steering wheel and waited.  And waited.  Breathed out hard and craned a look at the darkened windows.  What the fuck is taking so long. 

Brian left the car, opened the front door and strolled across the living room, stopped when he noticed dim light from the dining room and loud night sounds of crickets and katydids.  Brian headed for the open French door, stood in the doorway and let his eyes adjust to the thinner moonlight.  The moon was angled enough to highlight Justin on the bench swing, elbow propped on the swing arm, hand to his chin and eyes to the tree line.  Motionless.

Brian considered a gruff comment about letting in mosquitoes.  But that sinking feeling came again.  The start of gone that would last for days and never really end.  So he eased back against the doorframe with only a soft, “Ready?”

“Um-hm,” Justin said to the trees.

“Well?” 

“I’m not going.”

A silence hung.  Then Brian followed Justin’s gaze.  “Do you want to stay here tonight instead of the Loft?”

“No.”

Brian exhaled.  Don’t do this. “Stay away too long and New York may forget about you.”

Justin let his hand settle, leaned his head back without changing focus.  “It’s my work they want.  I don’t have to be there to do it.”

“You don’t know that.”

Justin leaned forward, hands fidgeting on his thighs.  “You, Daphne, Michael, Ben…you’re all on the road for work at one time or another.  But you all get to do something I don’t.  You come home.”

“So will you.  After you give yourself a chance to decide where.  It’s only been a few months.”

“There are other reasons.”

Brian looked off again, a little torn, steady thump rising in his chest.  Please don’t say what I think is coming.  Or I’ll have to go back on my word…and close the spaces I keep for you, because they were meant for you, not me.  “Is it the bombing investigation?  Because that could go on for years.”

“Yeah, that’s part of it,” Justin answered honest and thoughtful.  Could sense Brian’s gut sink from the look in his eyes and sat straight.  “But not the main part.”  He looked back at the dark trees and spoke as if alone.  “Everything about my art comes from inside me.  But all that passion and the ideas…”  he sought Brian’s eyes.  You hafta know this.  “They get there when I’m involved in what I believe in and want to be a part of.  Being around people I care about, even the ones who piss me off…and being with someone I love.  Without that, I can put paint on canvas but it doesn’t flow.  Doesn’t mean anything.  If I want to last, I need to be where I can find purpose for everything I do.”

“Like Pittsburgh?” 

Justin stood up, smiled, “It really wouldn’t bother me if you were around even though you ARE a bitch to live with sometimes.”

Brian closed in slowly, grim eroding away.  “You really want to do this.”

“A lot of things have changed since I first met you.  Except one.  And I’m pretty sure it’ll stay that way.”  Justin stared up, rode his hands up Brian’s arms until they framed Brian’s face to hold attention.  “I know where I want to be.”

“Well then…” Brian breathed deep, pulled Justin close and kissed him.  Nothing earth-shattering.  Just enough to stall.  Then he turned Justin toward the moonlit woods, wrapped arms around him and lowered his chin onto Justin’s shoulder.  Closed his eyes in thought.  Some chances came only once in a lifetime.  Teasing just a hair out of reach. Wasn’t their relationship always like that…an ongoing cycle of resonating tones slightly out of sync with moments of total harmony that fell apart too soon.  Leaving a question of whether it really WAS that chance, or just one good thing to embrace for a while before it coursed its separate way.

Justin felt Brian’s quiet breaths on his ear.  “What.  No argument?”

Brian shook his head enough to mesh their hair and whispered, “No.”  Something pure and measured in your decision.  Reminds me that every goal you reach in life is just a step towards finding where you belong.  Fuck knows emotional shit’s a mudhole for me.  Because I can’t always tell real from not or right from not…except this time…

…this time…it’s right.  And for the best.

Can’t explain why.  I just know.

Song: “Saeglopur” by Sigur Ros

Lyrics (English)
The seafarer, alive
Comes home.
The diver, alive
Comes home

Thank you, QAF fans, for joining me on this last cyber extension of the Final screen Season.

The show may be done, fandoms may fade, but the spirit will always stay alive for those who are tolerant and understanding, enjoy life…and never give up on finding where they belong.

Eric London

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