Brian, feeling up to a little quid-quo-pro tonight, was prowling for another respectable top-Scott Turner-in the northwestern Burbs, general hangout for the last of the hunky steel workers. A repeat, but with two years gone by, an eligible recyclable.

“Never the same one twice” was realistic only to a certain point. Unlike a Chicago or New York City, which morphed and renewed itself with new blood often, Pittsburgh prided itself on its stability. Where else could you find a guy happy to be celebrating his 35^th year of being a waiter in the same fucking restaurant.

Besides, Brian needed a break from all the haunts that coupled him to Justin’s hip, at least until he could notice faces other than just the blond-headed, pouty-lipped ones. He wasn't running away, merely taking a vacation. So he told himself.

Just after sunset and twenty miles out of the city, Brian parked his Jeep on a side street near Morrel’s Hardware. Since the original bathhouse above the main restaurant was raided and shut down in the 80’s, there had been a gradual, discreet rebirth in the hardware store. Brian swung out, locked his car, hiked to the front door on Main Street and let himself in.

Inside Morrel’s, a door buzzer got the attention of a tall, graying, pot-bellied roughneck reading a flyer on nail guns.

“Brian Kinney. Well, fuck me!”

“In your dreams, Lake. It’s good to see you’re becoming literate. Scott upstairs?”

“I think so. C’mon.” Laker moved from behind the counter, out to the back of the showroom, “What’s it been? Least a couple years now, hunh?”

“About that.”

Laker held his hand open palm up, flicked his fingers in a fill-er-up motion.

” I see nothing’s changed much,” Brian pulled out his wallet, sifted through the bills, fingered a fifty and slapped it into Laker’s hand.

Laker grinned his thank-you, turned and led Brian to the main store showroom.

They stopped beside a row of display shower stalls. Laker opened one stall, stepped onto a piece of cardboard inside, pushed on a back panel that opened to a stairway.

A loud crash came from the front along with the tinkling of shattered glass.

“Aw. This is the third fucking time!” Laker winced.

Both men ran back, stared wide-eyed at the ragged hole of a front window and craned looks at closed shops along the nearly deserted street. Brian gaped at Laker, who shook his head with complacent routine.

“Somebody’s Drive-By rejected lover. Been tormenting me all week.”

“With bricks through the window?”

“A little less subtle.” Laker reached down, lifted and waved a full-size shovel for Brian’s benefit. “I got an alarm rings loud upstairs, silent down here. Police oughtta be by in about five minutes.” Laker turned to set the shovel behind the counter.

“Enough time for the mayor to make it out the back fire escape.” Brian brushed a patch of glass off the counter and leaned an elbow there, watched Laker’s back. “So what’s the going fetish these days?”

“We can douse you with gasoline and burn you to the ground.”

“THAT’S kinky,” Brian twisted a grin.

Laker’s whitened face turned. He waved the note he’d read. “No. This is serious. It was wrapped around the shovel handle. First time I ever got anything like it.”

A police car pulled up in front, letting out two of the Borough’s finest. They entered the store, crunching glass along the way as they scanned the damage.

“Laker,” Officer One nodded, then tossed a nod at Brian. “Either of you guys see who did this?”

“No. We were in back at the time,” Laker stated.

Officer Two eyed Brian. “You from around here?”

“Just stopped in to pick up a male receptacle.”

“You mean female receptacle. There’s no such thing as a male receptacle,” Officer Two smiled. “ I know a little about hardware.”

And little about anything else. Brian grinned, raised a brow.

Laker held the threat note out to Officer One. “I got a piece of evidence here.”

“And a shovel for the rest of it, too,” Brian added as he rose off the counter and headed for the door. “Laker. Tell Scott I stopped by.”

Leaving Laker crying on the cops’ shoulders, Brian strolled back to the Jeep. He slowed pace at the sight of lamplight reflecting off the shaggy brown hair of a denim-clad athletic god propped against his car.

“Thought this was your Jeep, you white-collar sonuvabich,” Scott grinned,“What the hell’re you doin’ in the Borough?”

“Your place. Now.” Brian grabbed Scott’s jean jacket lapel, tugged him toward the passenger door.

Scott hooked a finger into the front of Brian’s waistband and pulled back. “I’m driving. You drove last time.”

They were eye-to-eye smiling wide. Brian gripped Scott’s hand and pulled it free. “We’ll both drive. I’ll follow you.”

“Silver-”

“Half-ton Chevy Truck,” Brian finished. “Don’t make me wait.”

Watching Brian disappear into his front seat, Scott ran his tongue over his lips, anticipating at least two lusty, wild rides.

Brian checked out Scott’s departure in the rear-view mirror, face blanching for a split-second when he could’ve sworn he saw Justin walking away in a prom tux. He blinked his eyes. Looked again and saw an empty street. He crunched his eyes closed, leaned his forehead on his steering wheel and forced himself to imagine what ways he and Scott would thrill each other tonight.

Light from a street lamp glimmered off his hair as Justin, straddling a chair beside the open window, leaned his forehead against the chair back and tried to focus on the violin CD playing in the background. He knew Ethan had a late practice, but christ. It was dark out and dinner was cold hours ago. And there was one more little thing to discuss.

Then the front door opened. Justin raised his head.

“Justin? You here?” Ethan stepped inside, cautiously maneuvered to the couch.

“Where else would I be?”

“I told you I’d be late. What’s with the lights?” Ethan set down his violin, tugged at the lamp switch. Nothing.

“We have one lamp and the kitchen light,” Justin sighed. “The ballast went in the fluorescent, and the lamp bulb just burned out. I figured I could crawl around and hunt for a bulb or wait till you got home.”

“I don’t have any spares. We’ll get a couple tomorrow.”

“Glad I didn’t look.”

Ethan’s eyes having adjusted to the dim streetlight, he made his way over, wrapped his arms around Justin and nuzzled his neck.

“Don’t be that way now. Let’s think of this mysterrrrious darkness as terribly sexy…and powerfully romantic.” Ethan kissed his neck.

Justin gave in, smiled, reached up and locked his arms around Ethan’ neck. “Okay. But how sexy and romantic is cold pasta in the dark?”

“I stopped out, so don’t worry about me.” Ethan kissed Justin’s lips and didn’t notice the chilly response. “Did you feed Wolfram?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re a good person. I’m so lucky to have you,” Ethan kissed him again.

Justin slid his arms away, a moot point since Ethan had already disengaged to head for the bathroom. He hadn’t chosen Ethan so he could sit around and wait for no one to show, then have to eat alone. Justin stood up and stretched.

“Ethan.”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to my duvet?”

Ethan flipped on the bathroom light so that he became a dark silhouette standing in the doorframe.

“I took it to the cleaners.”

“You what?” Justin dipped his chin and rolled his eyes up, watched Ethan’s image cross arms and lean a shoulder on the doorframe.

“I took it to the cleaners. Thought that’s what you’d want.” Ethan was more defensive than sympathetic.

“You had no right to do that.”

“Why?”

Justin paced through the light pattern from the bathroom, motioned to areas of the room. “There’s like, a ton of shit here that could be cleaned. But it’s all still here.”

“But it’s free of old ghosts. Thought I was doing us both a favor.” Ethan backed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

His light source gone, Justin stumbled in the dark, “Ow! Shit!” scraped a shin against a wooden skid sticking past the bed mattress.

Alarmed by Justin’s shouts, Ethan swung the bathroom door open, throwing a blast of light. Justin took advantage of the moment to grab his jacket off a chair. The move more annoyed than bewildered Ethan.

“Where are you going?”

“Out to buy a fucking light bulb,” Justin snarled, stormed to the front door. He stopped, ran a hand through his hair and toned down. “ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…never mind.” Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.

Ethan took a long deep breath, let it out slowly. Wolfram padded from some unknown spot in the room and rubbed against Ethan’s legs. Ethan reached down and stroked his purring roommate.

“Guess I should have asked first, hunh? Well, he’s just a little pissed right now. He’ll thank me for it later.”

Ethan finished brushing his teeth, secure in his decision to oust any piece of Brian Asshole Kinney from anywhere near them, whether Justin liked it or not. He left the bathroom, moved to the window, and watched Justin stop by a lamppost to light a cigarette.

Outside, Justin leaned against the lamppost, took a deep drag of smoke, jet it out. The last time he’d stood like that was two years ago. But back then he was scared and hopeful, had never been in love, never had an enemy. What was he now? Older. He pitched the cig down, toe-mashed it out and started walking.

Justin walks away; Ethan watches from their third floor window.

Song: “Electrical Storm” by U2

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