The 56th Most Common Name

By Sakesushimaki

Chapter 1

- Justin’s POV -

Why am I here again?

This is completely fucked. I’m not having fun, my best friend Daphne who dragged me here without much of my knowledge is pissed

at me for not having fun and quid pro quo, now I am pissed at her for being pissed at me. Talk about mature.

This is so not my idea of a good time.

When she asked me to come up here for a visit, I didn’t think of the possibility of her trying to make up for my lack of partying during

the past two and a half years of college.

So here I am, sitting in a club in Boston Downtown between hundreds of college students, sulking into my third drink tonight.

Daphne says I’m anti-social. Truth is, I just can’t stand the average college person. Actually I can’t stand most people of my age. Is

that weird? Well, I guess so, but what am I supposed to do about it?

For the record, I did make efforts. I just always ended up rolling my eyes over lame sex jokes or started bitching around or throwing

snarky comments their way when people would start to annoy me. It’s funny really, you’d think that there were shitloads of interesting

people running around at my school, that is the Institute of Fine Arts. As I’ve come to notice though, all the artsy types are the same in

some crooked kind of way.

So, with the shimmering exception of Daphne of course, who’s been my best friend ever since I can remember, I don’t have many

friends. And don’t get me wrong, that is a condition that suits me just fine.

All the more frustrating now, that Daphne seems to take it upon herself to acquaint me with all the friends she made here and

constantly tries to fix me up with some ‘Look, that’s Jason/Aaron/David, he’s totally hot AND GAY!’-guy. Ts, as if I didn’t have

enough queers running around at Art School.

I love her unconditionally, but sometimes she’s just such a dork. I mean, how does she imagine this to work? She points out a random

gay guy and I am automatically attracted to him? Uhm, sorry to disappoint you. Though clearly having a more limited choice in the

pool of possible mates than heteros, it doesn’t mean that we go with the first chance that presents itself.

Would I try fixing her up with every hetero guy that comes our way? I guess she just overdoes her attempts at being the best fag hag

from time to time.

Thinking of the devil, I see Daphne speeding into my direction. Her cheeriness is off the goddamn charts, seriously.

Oh wait, I wanted to be pissed at her! Oh well, whatever. I know she means good.

I mentally kick myself and muster up a halfway decent smile for her.

“So, how’s it going?” She asks, plopping down on the armrest of the weirdly shaped, overstuffed chair I’m occupying.

“Good!” I say, waving the little umbrella that came with my girly drink for emphasis.

She gives a dramatic sigh and rolls her eyes. Guess I’m not that good an actor as I thought.

Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? She practically forced me into here, knowing full well how I generally hate these…

‘gatherings’. See? Even my vocabulary defends itself against additions of words conveying the meaning of ‘party’.

Daphne starts softly giggling as she throws her arms around me and buries her head in my shoulder. “And here I thought I could make

you lay off your ‘wet blanket’ approach to life for one day.”

“I’m sorry, Daph.” I nuzzle her hair. I take the drink umbrella and stick it in the fountain of curls on her head.

“I really should’ve learned by now, shouldn’t I? At least after you didn’t even let me take you out to celebrate your first show.” She

smiles up at me, remembering the night a few months ago.

“Oof!” She puffs, heaving herself of the right side of my body and getting up. “So, I guess I’ll decline Jeremy’s offer to take us to his

older brother’s party then?” She asks as she straightens out her clothes.

“Would you?” I ask hopingly. I don’t think I’ve ever loved her more.

“Of course.” She bends forward and pecks my cheek. “I wouldn’t want you spending New Year’s doing something you hate.

Especially since we don’t get to see each other often anymore. Let’s go buy some junk food and rent a couple of bad horror movies

and bunk in my dorm room.”

I smile adoringly up at her.

“Let me just go say bye to everyone and we’ll be out of here.”

For the next five minutes I busy myself with downing the too sweet drink and watching Daphne making rounds out of the corner of

my eye.

Eww! So there’s where all the bitter stuff went. I grimace and shake my head in attempt to soothe the bitterness.

Borderline disgusted, I wipe my mouth and put the empty glass down.

As I turn, I see Daphne standing with a guy, her head slightly hanging.

As my radar locates the hint of sadness in her demeanor, I immediately feel a jolt of angry protectiveness rushing through me. What is

this guy saying to her?

I concentrate and finally I’m able to make out chops of the conversation.

“…was looking forward to partying into the new year with you. I sort of hoped you…”

“I would’ve loved…” Comes Daphne’s cut-off voice. “…can’t…”

Shit, so now they’re turning the music up again. The last thing my best friend says can be well heard though. “I’m sorry, Jeremy. See

you.”

She finally turns so I can get a good look at her face. Oh God, she looks really sad or something.

As she notices me staring at her, she quickly masks it and transforms her facial expression into a smile.

Wait… Jeremy? Oh shit, Jeremy! The guy she’s been gushing about for months now!

And now that he’s invited her and obviously likes her too, she can’t go because I am visiting and am raising the standards for party-

pooperness!

I am the worst best friend ever.

As she reaches me, trying so hard not to let me see how much she wanted to participate in this New Year’s bash, I feel an unwelcomed

but strong emotion burning my insides. What’s that again? Ah, yes. Guilt.

She’s always been amazing to me and I’m beyond grateful to have her in my life and now I’m ruining the perfect start of her little

romance.

I could tell her to just go, I’ll be fine on my own. Her dorm isn’t far away and besides, I wanted to take the 1am train back home

anyway.

But knowing Daphne, she won’t go for that. I’ve come here to be with her, after all.

Alright, plan dismissed.

“You ready to go?” She winks at me, taking the little paper umbrella out of her hair and setting it beside my empty drink.

Damn it, there really is only one way to restore her happiness.

Having fought the realization till now, I sigh dejectedly.

“You know what, Daph? Let’s check out that party you were talking about.”

“Come again?” She huffs.

“Yeah, I mean… my train leaves in what, four hours anyway. We could go get my things now, pack them in your car and after

midnight you quickly drive me to the train station and go back to the party or something.”

Huh, that didn’t sound half bad, I think.

Oh-kay, waiting for her response… She’s only blinking and staring at me.

Finally she opens her mouth. “I thought you wanted to take the 11am tomorrow?”

“Well, no. I just thought it’d be more comfortable that way. Now it will merely feel like a little wait for you to get me to the station.” I

shrug my shoulders.

Suddenly she shakes her head, “No Justin, no! I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I won’t have you sulking around in a corner. I

can’t enjoy myself if I know that you don’t want to be there.”

“Daph, I promise I’ll try to have a good time. Maybe I won’t even have to pretend, who knows?” I try to lighten the mood.

“Are you sure?”

Grrr, now how fucked is that? Me actually having to convince her to go to that party. The world has come to its end, right?

Staring into her big brown eyes though, - What am I thinking? She’s not a goddamn puppy! - I know that I’d do anything to make my

Daph happy.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

She starts bouncing like an excited toddler. She is positively glowing and suddenly I have my arms full of Daphne.

“Thank you, thank you!” She squeals while hugging me to death.

“Alright alright!” I laugh. “Now go tell your boyfriend that we’ll be meeting him at that party.”

“Ssshhh!” She admonishes, quickly checking if no one has heard that. “He is not my boyfriend!” and gives me a little shove.

“Oooh but you so want him to be!” I tease.

“Ssshhhhhhhhh!” She hisses forcefully, turning a nice shade of pink.

Her antics never failed to amuse me. “You practically jumped me one minute ago and now you’re worried about someone hearing that

I used the word boyfriend without even hinting as to who the guy in question might be?”

“God, you can be such a butthead!”

“Butthead?” I half-snort half-laugh. “I feel like we’re back in grade school.”

She glares at me while fanning around her face and willing the colour to subside.

After finally managing to convince her that there isn’t one red particle left on her skin, she happily flits over to Jeremy, whom I

suspect of having witnessed our little sketch. Oooh, but I’ll be damned if I tell Daphne about that.

I watch her smiling dreamily as Jeremy writes what I assume is the address on her hand.

The guy gives me a little wave and I nod back. Yeah, I’m cool.

Hey, maybe I’ll finally get to deliver that ‘If you hurt her, I’ll kill you’ speech! But then again, I’m not exactly the type to pull it off.

She all but hops back and presses her lips to my cheek for good measure again, before taking my hand and dragging me away.

“You’re much too pretty to be a couch potato anyway!” She states matter of factly as we exit the club.

***

- Brian’s POV -

This has to be the most tedious party I have ever been to.

And I am taking Mikey’s couple dinners into account, believe me. At those occasions you can at least laugh at the people when it all

comes down to it, but here… Ts!

Every person in this room has an aura of ‘stupid!’ or ‘boring!’ surrounding them.

So why am I here? Good question. Ah, yes. The client.

I wanted nothing but go home after a couple of exhausting days in this student-riddled city.

But noooo, that goddamn client who’s been making me jump through hoops (more like hoops set on fire… held over a thorn field) for

the last days is now also “expecting my presence” at this bad excuse for a booze-up.

If he pulls one more fucking thing, I’m gone. The hell with the million dollar campaign. Me and Kinnetik will survive, we always do.

Gracefully, if I may add so myself.

Smirking, I chase down the piss that the closet case behind the bar wanted to sell me as Beam. Who was he trying to fool? If there are

three things I have a firm grasp on, it is sex, advertising and whiskey. And Jim, that’s not you, is it? I silently ask my glass, or more

the content of it.

Well I guess they’re not used to passing out real drinks. In all the time I spent here I haven’t seen more than a few drinks not

presenting a ridiculous colour and/or featuring a paper umbrella leaving the bar. Checking back with my watch I’m certain that time

works against me.

I guess the fact that I’m looking every two minutes doesn’t exactly help my situation.

Sure enough, the client, namely Eric A. Rosenberg walks up.

‘A’ for ‘Asshole’, unquestionably. I give him a faux grin and as I witness him ordering a Mai Tai, I bite my tongue. Hard.

“So, Brian,” he starts. Shit, now he actually wants to talk. The combination of his slimy voice together with the whiskey muck have

my insides striving towards a revolution.

Oh yeah, he’s talking. “…noticed you avoiding the crowd all evening and making a slightly troubled impression. Something wrong?”

Huh, you want that list alphabetized or…?

“Nah,” I respond instead. “Nothing the two-dollar whiskey couldn’t solve.” I stake my point by holding up the glass and motioning for

another one to the bartender.

Why do I keep drinking this shit anyway? I bet you can’t even reach any halfway decent level of drunkenness through that swill.

Rosenberg laughs and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Come over when you’re done here, I want to introduce you to the host.”

Before I can even answer he walks off towards his original group of people. Suit yourself, buddy, at least I can’t be hold accountable

for lying afterwards. Oh and take that tropical nightmare of a beverage with you.

It is just about now that I realize I’m set on a dry spell.

I turn back to the bartender. “Hey Pablo, where’s my drink?”

“Uh sorry, sir, coming right up. And my name is Miguel, actually.”

“Whatever.” I reply, taking the glass from him.

Suddenly some guy storms to the bar, demanding, “Whiskey, straight up.”

Well there you go, finally someone who knows how to drink. He doesn’t look older than 16 in my opinion and I’d usually have him

down as one of those umbrella drink fans, but hey, welcome to the men’s club.

I watch his profile as he shakes his blond hair from his eyes and sets the glass to his lips.

He chases it down and grimaces right away, inspecting the now empty glass.

I can hardly suppress my grin at the sight. Huh, guess his little adventure to ‘big boy drink land’ is over.

“Fuck!” He exclaims in a deeper voice than I’d have expected, slamming the glass back on the counter. “What did you do, piss into

my glass?” He directs at the bartender.

Ha ha! Poor Pablo. Together, blond guy and moi might put him off the service industry forever.

I might like Blond Boy, especially since he seems to be enjoying this little soirée just about as much as I do.

Yeah, I might have let my eyes follow him from time to time since he entered the room. So what?

I am painfully aware now that I still haven’t fully seen his face, just always his side or his backside, which, by the way, seems to be

one of his good features.

He lets out an exasperated sigh and starts turning around.

What the fuck, who turned this thing into slow-mo all of the sudden?

Wham! All I see is a big flash as his face is suddenly illuminated by a big streak of light and his eyes come to curtly rest on mine.

And then it’s gone again.

As he casually leans his back against the counter, I’m still in the process of rearranging my colour memory, confident that new

standards for blue have just been established.

Shit. Now I actually have to collect myself and stop that irritated blinking.

Goddamn it, Kinney! Get a grip!

Pretty Blond Guy (Oh, so now I’m adding another adjective?) isn’t even remotely affected and you act like a total retard.

Wait a sec…Why isn’t he affected? I mean, hands down, I’m hot!

Fuck, my gaydar must be off track. I fully blame this on Pablo, who presumably polluted my otherwise impeccably working gay

instincts with his thinned cat piss.

I take the chance to shoot the bartender an angry glare, reminding him how he’s still standing under my disfavour. Just in case he

forgot, which I highly doubt.

Then again, what about this curly-haired girl that’s been buzzing around Blondie? They strike me as the more or less classic fag’n’hag

image, particularly since she seemed to be attached to that other guy.

So what if he is gay after all?

Ts, then this would have to be some warped up version of a dream, ‘cause I am absofuckinglutely certain that reality wouldn’t dare

treat me this way.

Someone in the room says “Okay, let’s get the Karaoke started!” into the microphone.

I groan loudly, surprised to hear the same coming from Pretty Blond Boy. We even simultaneously slumped against the bar.

We exchange quick looks, and I’m wondering why the hell I’m feeling happy when I notice the small smile playing on the corner of

his mouth.

I think he’s about to say something. God, yes! Talk to me!

I ignore my inner voices calling me a ‘loser’ and fix my eyes on his mouth that now opens.

“I –“

“Oh my Goooooood!” I’m rudely brought back from my reverie by a shrill voice.

Shit, his hag is all over him again.

“Daph, what the hell?” He asks, combing through her hair in order to get his essential need of breathing met.

I’ve got to hand it to him, he did recover significantly quicker than me from our little… whatever the hell it was.

“You totally have to sing ‘Build me up Buttercup’ with me! I already checked if they have it!” The girl squeals.

“Are you mad?” He inquires, eyeing her suspiciously.

“What? Come oooon! We used to sing it all the time.”

“Yah, when we were like, ten!”

He laughs and I find myself smiling along.

Okay, now who slipped me that big chunk of ‘pathetic’ with dinner?

Frustrated, I choke down the ‘whiskey’ and put the glass back on the counter.

I gotta get out of here. I need a nicotine fix, stat, if I am to stay here till after midnight.

Is it make-believe or are his eyes following me as I sneak out?

Whatever, I decide to shake it off.

Now, about that balcony I saw earlier?

Chapter 2

- Justin’s POV -

Shit, where did he go?

“Justin? Justin!” Daphne’s voice demands attention.

“I’m sorry, uhm, what were you saying?” I try to concentrate.

“I said, have you at least checked out some guys?”

“Not really, no.” I deny. Though maybe…

“Damn it, you’re supposed to be my fabulous gay best friend! Don’t you have any romantic or sexual drive?” She asks flustered and a

tad too loudly for my liking.

“I do, but lately no one seems worth the effort to put my gear stick out of ‘park’.” I shrug.

“Lately? Jesus, Justin, I think the last time I’ve heard of you getting laid or even anything inclined that way was during your first

semester! And you could practically have anyone! Only, you don’t notice it since you don’t do anything but studying – I still don’t get

why it has to be a double major - painting and listening to me bitch and moan on the phone.”

…Which I thoroughly enjoy, by the way. I grin at her. Daphne on a rant is just about one of the funniest things on earth. Gotta love

how she can get all worked up over nothing.

Back to serious, though. I know what she wants me to do but once again I have to remind her, “You know that I don’t want just

anyone.”

So please, let’s not overanalyze all that again. We’ve been there. Several times.

“Something has to be done! I’m the best friend, so here goes.”

What is she talking about?

“Hey there!” She happily greets the bartender. “Could you get me two glasses of bubbly?”

“Daph, what are you doing?” I try to remain calm. She knows that I don’t like that sparkling stuff.

“I know that you’re most probably going to sneak out when the big midnight celebration starts and I won’t find you, so we’ll settle

this right now.” She thanks the man who hands her the two champagne flutes and passes one two me.

“Okay,” she starts and I sigh, already having a hunch as to where this is going. “New Year’s resolution…” She proclaims and clinks

our glasses. “We’ll find you a man!”

What? Hell, no! There’s no way I’m –

“Let’s fine tune that!” She interrupts my mental outburst. “We’re going to find one to meet your standards. Intellectually, as well as

emotionally and visually. Here’s to you, my best friend in the whole wide world. I love you.” She tells and kisses my cheek.

Well, fuck me. I can’t even be mad at her now, can I?

“I love you too, Daph.” I say genuinely and kiss her cheek in reciprocation.

She beams at me before saying, “Now off with you, I know that you’re itching for a smoke.” She lightly slaps my ass and scurries

back to her soon-to be boyfriend.

Sigh, she’s right. My addicted subconscious is longing for a fag.

Gruesome pun.

I wonder where that gorgeous guy from before went. I hope he’s coming back.

Wow. Is this really the first time since… ever…that I feel a slight rush of attraction towards someone?

Okay, so now I really want him to get back.

I only hope that Daphne hasn’t just jinxed everything with her resolution impromptu.

What am I thinking; the guy’s probably straight as an arrow. (For lack of a better comparison.)

But God, was he hot! That sleek suit on him looked amazing. It seems safe to assume that no Milan fashion show model could pull

that look off as good as him.

And his face… the proportions of a Greek god.

I’m glad I took that acting class last semester or I’d have drooled all over him.

Also, thank you Daphne, that you made me at least wear my casual suit jacket. Otherwise I would’ve felt destroyingly underdressed

standing there next to him.

Aww shit, they’re starting karaoke, for real now. High time that I got out of here.

Didn’t I see a balcony leading off the stairs somewhere when we came up here?

I think I did.

Moving down the narrow staircase, I inwardly bitch about the many people I have to outmanoeuvre on my way.

I finally reach the aimed-for door and already start feeling around in my pockets.

Yeah, so I’m an addict, shut up!

“Shit!” I hiss, frantically grabbing for my lighter.

As I step out onto the balcony, I’m searching through my other pockets. As I realize though, to no avail.

“What a charming entrée.”

I freeze at the solid voice. Okay, Justin, whoever that is, you might as well look them in the face.

I lift my head and have to fight my flight instinct. Oh God.

“H-ey.” Is all I get out. ‘Smooth one, Justin.’ I congratulate myself.

Come on, time to work the coolness.

I put on what I hope is a lazy grin and walk towards the railing that the guy is leaning against. Sidebar, this is one big balcony.

I try my hardest not to openly admire him as he takes a long drag of his cigarette.

Score one for shared addiction.

So, how to open?

‘You come here often?’ Ha ha, no, better not.

Maybe I could pull out the old ‘Beautiful night.’ while gazing upwards, hoping that the weather is playing along.

Alas, I’m not a romance-lusting housewife in her mid-thirties and this is not a trash novel.

Maybe I should go with ‘Nice party, huh?’

Even ignoring the fact that this would go down as plain lying, it’s still pathetic.

Daphne would be laughing her ass off if she saw me right now. I usually have a witty or cynical comeback to everything, intelligent

and sarcastic at my best.

Now, I feel like the biggest dork alive, walking on wobbly legs.

Please God, make that it doesn’t show in my demeanour.

Oh-kay, reaching the rail.

I tighten my grip on the cigarette pack in my hand.

Of course! Why haven’t I thought of this before?

I clear my throat. “Got light?” I ask, trying my hardest to sound casual while plucking one of the cigarettes from my pack.

He smiles at me and I’m glad to have the railing offering support.

I suspect him to be a good seven years older than me. Not that anything in his face would give that fact away, it is more his

appearance that indicates an amazingly hot kind of maturity.

I take the cigarette between my lips, never before having to spend so much attention to the very task. Yeah, I’ve only done it a

thousand times.

He sets to lighting my cigarette and I have to resist the urge to grab his hand as he draws back.

I inhale deeply. Hopefully the fix will do the trick to relax me.

Another bout of shrill karaoke singing starts and wafts towards where we’re standing.

For some reason I find myself not even minding that or the freezing cold out here all too much anymore.

The reason for that throws his head back in a groan as the strains of George Michael’s ‘Faith’ resound.

“Fuck. And here I thought this party couldn’t get any worse.” He says, giving me a long time to admire his stretched neck.

I huff. “Just wait till midnight when everybody goes nuts. Shit, I hope no one is wearing those stupid hats.”

He rights his head and seems amused. “They started passing them out when I left the room. I almost ran the girls over.” He says.

God, I wouldn’t mind being run over by you. What? Does that even make sense?

“How’d you get away?” I inquire, before saying something far more embarrassing.

He scoffs. “Do I look like someone who’s wearing a party hat to you?”

I guess not. Then again… “How am I supposed to know what kinks you’re into?”

Oh. my. God. I did not just say that, did I? Shit, I did. I can read it on his face, it shows clear signs of surprise.

“Again, do I strike you as the kind of guy who gets off on ridiculous hats?” He raises an elegant eyebrow at me and my stupid

question.

“Uh… no.” I admit.

He seems satisfied with that answer and starts the next round.

“So if you obviously aren’t too fond of this little celebration, why are you here?”

“Best friend duty. What about you?” I ask and there is so much more inclined in that question.

What’s your name? Are you gay? How do you drink your coffee? What’s your favourite colour? Do you want me to get down on my

knees and service you?

“Ass kissing duty.” He replies.

Huh?

Oh yes, I posed a question. Darn, what was it?

Noticing my irritation, he takes pity on me and my limited retentiveness and elaborates, “I’m here with a client.”

“Ah yes. Gotta get the job done, right?”

What the fuck, Justin? Can you honestly not think of a better thing to say?

But thank you, client, whoever you are! Remind me to send you a wedding invitation.

Mustn’t forget next step, though: find out if he’s even gay!

What if he isn’t attracted to me?

Who could blame him? I’m pretty certain that I haven’t come off as the cleverest guy so far.

I feel so… so… inadequate.

This is new. And it doesn’t feel all too good.

‘Please let him like me!’ I pray to the gods of all teenage girls.

***

- Brian’s POV -

I watch as he bites his lower lip, fascinated by the tiny imprints his teeth leave.

Despite the fact that I’d be perfectly content to just stand here and observe him, I have to move this conversation along. I want to

know more about him.

“I’m Brian.” I declare, holding out my hand. “Just in case you wanted to track me down later when we’re able to flee this party.”

I swear this sounded funny just a moment ago in my head.

He smiles brightly anyway. Wow, he should do nothing but that.

“I hardly think I’d be able to. That is the twentieth most common first name in the United States.” Mister smartypants responds.

Finally he shakes my hand.

Once again I’m convinced that I am captivated in a parallel universe, because that was not the thought of ‘never wanting to let go’

crossing my mind!

I’ll be damned if I’m the first to pull my hand back, though.

I think he’s still chewing on his nerdy remark. Either that or he feels that strange sizzle emanating from our joined palms too.

I’m usually not into nerds, but what do you know, if they’re generally as hot as him, sign me up for chess club!

I can’t bring myself to look up right now. Besides, I’m still processing this odd feeling I get from his hand in mine.

Wait, what?

Part of my brain is appalled by this sissy display of what, emotion? But I decide to ignore it.

No one knows me here anyway.

Oh man, I’d never hear the end of it if the guys at home saw me right now.

I’m so much out of my element here, I don’t have the slightest clue what I’m doing. And that has to say something.

At least I can count on my survival-communication skills to kick in for most of the time.

Huh, he’s obviously not too keen on withdrawing either.

I look up and only fragments of a second later, he does too.

Meeting my gaze with his fierce blue eyes, they seem to be clouded with confusion.

Believe me, I know the feeling.

Plus, if he’s confused too, it means I’m not imagining things, right?

He looks down again and I feel his hand leaving mine.

I literally have to resist the urge to tighten my grip as I feel him slowly slipping away.

Shit, what was that? Could one actually get off on a handshake?

Feeling irritation start seeping through my veins more forcefully again, I take a step back.

When I realize he’s done the same though, I’m not much for tactic ‘distance’ anymore.

Awkward silence, nervous glances.

Look at what you’ve become, Kinney. A high school girl.

I’m suddenly aware that I still don’t know his name. I’m going to find out.

“So, -“

I’m interrupted by a loud voice blaring from the speakers in the room above us.

“I’m Daphne and this is Jeremy. We’re…”

I watch as my balcony companion palms his face after hearing his friend ramble into the microphone.

I stub out my cigarette on the wrought-iron railing and watch him shaking his pretty blond head.

He starts chuckling and I note relieved that this might have been just the kind of thing to bring us out of this embarrassing post-

handshake funk.

“I bet you a thousand dollars that she’s making him sing ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’.” He says, though obviously, it was intended

a rhetorical thing.

“I’m intrigued.” I counter nevertheless. “Two thousand and ‘I Got You Babe’.”

I can’t resist a challenge, even if it’s over something as stupid as this and wasn’t even meant to be one.

He smirks at me and steps closer again.

“Three thousand and as much crappy whiskey as you can get down.”

I have no idea why I participate in this ridiculous bet, but before I can stop myself I throw in,

“Four k and a blowjob.”

Aaahhh! Kinney, you stupid ass! You don’t even know for sure if he’s gay!

Shock is clearly written all over his face.

Normally I wouldn’t care or even enjoy that reaction but now, I am beyond pissed with myself.

But there’s no going back. I would just dig myself deeper.

So, what’s he going to do? Even if he were gay, he could be totally turned off by the lame come-on and my chances would plummet to

zero.

And deep down I know that this is what has me panicking the most.

Okay, I didn’t expect that… He steps even closer to me and the left corner of his mouth shows clear intention of turning upwards, or

so I see it.

His gaze bores into mine as I am awaiting his reply, breathing rapidly, which I’m relatively certain I can mask.

But what do I know, if the last fifteen minutes have taught me anything, it is that I’m not certain of a damn thing anymore.

I suddenly feel him grab my hand loosely again and combining that gesture with the small smile, my gaydar starts pinging like mad.

Something else inside me is buzzing too, but I can’t fully locate the source.

I wait for the equivalent ping. Ah, there it is. It even swings on the same frequency as mine, if that makes sense.

“You’re on.” He all but whispers, aiming for closing the remaining inches of air between us.

Never breaking away from our visual connection, I start to lower my head.

I must’ve kissed more than five hundred men over the last fifteen years and yet I feel like a complete newcomer to all of it at the

moment.

And to think I more or less offered a blowjob a few minutes ago… Ts.

His scent starts invading my senses and it has to be the best odour I’ve ever come to know.

Yeah, my guard, my romance-bullshit wall has evaporated somewhere between “I’m Brian.” and “You’re on.”

It is now that I realize how much I’ve been wanting to kiss him since I first caught a glimpse of his lips.

The sizzling in my body intensifies with the closing distance. I should be scared or something right now but I decide to just go with it

for the warm buzzing feels at least just as amazing as it feels strange.

I have no idea why everything is back to slow motion again.

This is it. I actually feel my eyes going shut.

I –

“Brian!”

Huh?

“Brian? Where are you?”

I blink myself into full reality again and start looking around, wanting to make out the caller.

As I try to shake off the lingering light-headedness, my eyes come to rest on an equally irritated man.

A window bursts open and as I look up I see my fucking client waving at me.

“Brian! Remember Collins I told you about? He wants to talk to you!”

I turn back to my blond guy, not believing how this perfect… well, admittedly, kitschy, but perfect set up was blown by goddamn

Rosenberg.

“Coming, Eric!” I shout back, having recovered more quickly than I’d have thought.

This fucking asshole ruined it. God, I’m going to kick his ass. Right after he wired me the money for the campaign.

“I – “ I have to clear my throat. “I’ll be right back.” I say, wanting nothing more than stay put and get that kiss.

What the hell’s happening to me?

I’ve known him for what, half an hour and now I have to tear myself away?

This can’t be healthy… Right?

He looks up at me through his amazingly blue eyes and I realize how I inwardly panic at the thought of leaving him.

I’ve always been one of the first to complain about cheesy blue-eyes lines and now I can’t seem to stop these thoughts.

Okay, let’s try logic here. The quicker I leave, the quicker I’ll be back.

But in this theory he isn’t still holding onto my hand. Oh God.

I lean forward and say, “Hold that thought,” before willing my feet to execute big steps towards the door to the staircase.

I have to be back before he starts thinking things over. …Or before I can convince myself of the absurdity and out of characterness of

it all.

Chapter 3

- Justin’s POV -

Oh.my.God.

Did I really just almost kiss the most gorgeous guy on the planet?

Someone whack me, please. I think I need it.

Oh my God oh my God oh my Goooood! I start cackling like a madman.

This so can not be happening!

I can’t believe how retarded I must’ve come off all this time. But hey, he didn’t seem particularly turned off, so…yay!

Ha, and what was that, did he actually think I am straight?

Shit, even if I hadn’t been before, I’d certainly go fag for him. Yes, make me your bitch!

I lean back against the railing, the presumably ice cold winter air roaring through my hair. I say presumably, because all I’m feeling is

a mild breeze.

I pull out my cell phone to check the time.

It’s 11:45 already? And here I thought time would never go by tonight.

Okay, so now it’s waiting.

I hope he comes back soon. I hope he still wants to kiss me. I hope he’s not an asshole. I hope I won’t embarrass myself entirely. I

hope he is a good kisser. Most of all, I hope this is not a dream.

I push my hands through my hair, for the first time realizing how cold they really are.

My hands… I yank them back and in front of my face to stare at them. Ok, let’s make this official: I am never going to wash my right

hand ever again.

I can still feel the smooth pressure of Brian’s palm on mine. I wonder if he felt that tingling too.

Brian, that’s his name. One in twenty men is named just the same and yet it seems to be the most exquisite title I could imagine.

If that’s what a simple handshake did, I wonder what feelings his lips on mine will bring.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like this before. How can a handshake, a look and an almost kiss be more intense than the most

kinky fucks I’ve had?

Damned if I know.

He didn’t seem too used to a situation like this either, right?

Okay, stop this, Justin. You’re reading way too much into this.

Shit, maybe he doesn’t really want me. Maybe he’s just playing me.

What if he thinks I’m some naïve school boy, which I’m usually anything but?

Plus, he surely is older than me. What if he loses any kind of interest when he finds out that I’m only twenty?

Okay, enough! Fuck this! Self doubt is not my style.

This guy shakes me to my very foundations. Now I know how insecurity feels.

I could’ve lived without the first hand experience.

Maybe another smoke would be in order. Then again, the nicotine didn’t do much for my nerves before.

Besides, aren’t I waiting for the prince to come back and kiss me away to cloud no.9?

That’s right, so I opt for the exact opposite of having a cigarette. I search around in my pockets for chewing gum.

Yes! I found a pack. Fortunately, gum has always had a fixed spot on my list of neuroses.

Eww, I must’ve forgotten that in here a long time ago.

When did I wear this jacket last time? I guess it would have to be that award ceremony at my school… Fuck, half a year ago.

Well, I have to take what I get. I’m just going to chew a little harder.

The look on my cell watch tells me that it is 11:56. …Where is he?

He didn’t ditch me, did he? Oh God, and I’m standing around here waiting for Mr. Perfect to return to me. I feel like a girl on prom

night. Except for the part that I’m freezing my balls off and gnawing on a gum that apparently had enough time and the perfect

climatic conditions in my pocket to petrify.

11:57.

Welcome back to reality, Mr. Taylor. Do you need help with your (emotional) baggage?

I feel stupid. Like, really stupid. What was I thinking? Things like that do not happen. Not outside of Hollywood filming studios

anyway.

And especially not with a guy that handsome and interesting.

Shit, when was the last time I found someone really interesting?

Sigh.

‘11:58’, my cell phone mocks me.

I should just go.

So why don’t I?

Man, can you believe I actually had images of him and me kissing with the cheesy fireworks background going through my head?

Soon enough everybody will start that stupid countdown.

Daphne will get her first kiss from Jeremy and a bunch of other people will also ring in the New Year by kissing their person of the

day.

Guess that’s not in the cards for me. Figures.

That’s alright. Some people just aren’t cut out for this romance bullshit.

Judging by the shrieks coming from the main room, I can tell that it’s close to midnight.

Sure enough, the counting starts.

“10…”

Well, at least I’ll have new fuel for my cynical rants.

“9…”

Oh shut up, you people!

“8…”

I’ve got to concentrate on school and my art anyway, right?

“7…”

Shit. My palm will be marked forever.

“6…”

No, it was nothing.

“5…”

Then, why did it feel like… so much?

“4…”

I hope that at least Daphne gets what she wants.

“3…”

I’ll be –

“I really want that kiss now.”

Huh?

No, it can’t be.

I turn around.

“2...”

I almost choke on my gum slash mint-flavoured lump of rock when Brian quickly strides into my direction, crossing the balcony.

I quickly gulp the foreign object in my throat down, all the while trying to get some air into my lungs and preventing the panic from

spreading.

“1…”

Oh God, he’s - ... and then I don’t think anymore.

His lips are firmly but softly pressing against mine.

As much as I can locate, one of his arms is wrapped around my waist, the fingertips of his other hand resting on my face.

My whole body starts to tingle with the sensation and the realization.

Distantly, I can hear the cheering and the celebrations and I feel my insides party along. Albeit for slightly different reasons.

I finally enclose my arms around Brian’s lean body.

As he tentatively deepens the kiss, I hope to encourage him by running my fingers up and down his back, surprised at the fact that my

limbs are actually executing my commands.

Our mouths open wider and I can’t help the low moan escaping my throat as I feel his tongue slowly meeting mine.

Here I am, standing on a balcony, making out with Prince Charming, on a cold New Year’s night.

If this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.

This goes against my beliefs, principles and realism to such an extent, I don’t even know where to start.

Instead I tighten my grip on Brian’s back again and let myself fall.

Fall into such incomprehensible depths, I’m sure my butterflies-operated stomach will crash right next to my face on the cement floor

any moment now.

If I had to estimate the duration of the kiss I wouldn’t know how. What I do know though, is that this will go down as the corniest,

most ridiculous… and best kiss of my life.

All too soon I feel it ending, both of us slowly withdrawing.

Like the poor, pathetic sucker that I am, I find myself already missing him - his taste, his scent, his mouth, his tongue.

As I open my eyes – Wait, I had them closed the whole time? – and drift back into reality, I notice how close our bodies still are.

It is only now that I realize how other, more primal body parts obviously aren’t immune to what just happened either.

My hard-on is conspicuously straining against the front of my jeans and thereby against Brian’s thigh.

I immediately feel the traitorous pink crawl up my cheeks.

I wait for realization to hit on his end too, but as his pupils focus, they bore into mine.

I hold my breath.

Will he say something? Should I say something?

I’m just about to embarrass myself through a stupid comment, when…

“There you are!”

Oh no!

- Brian’s POV -

Huh?

I shake myself and witness how he quickly presses his eyes shut and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip.

“Jeez, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

I turn my head in time to see the girl from before bursting through the door.

I loosen my vice-like grip on him – Fuck me, what was I thinking? – and wait for the situation to clear itself up.

He lifts his head again and once more I feel the air sucked out of me.

“Daph…” He starts, not really making sense.

Feeling in no coherent enough state to call him on that myself, I just keep staring at him.

He clears his throat. “That’s Daphne, my friend.”

Uhm… okay?

“Yep, that’s me! You alright, guys?” The girl giggles as she takes in our appearances.

I guess the amusing weirdness finally takes the best of both of us and as I see those lips turn upward, I feel my own face mimicking

his actions.

The girl rolls her eyes and stomps towards us, as I see out of the corners of my eyes.

To my unqualified shock, she grabs his hand and starts pulling him away.

“Come on, loverboy, we have to go!”

What? Why?

Noticing her friend’s hesitance, she insists, “Hurry! It’s late!”

Late? What the fuck, it’s just after midnight!

I watch in horror as she drags him away. She-She can’t do that, can she?

He reluctantly stumbles along behind her, looking back at me every few seconds.

“You’re not on a curfew, are you?” I manage to get out in halfway decent sarcastic tone, hopefully disguising the note of panic I can

hear in there myself.

He smiles again and shakes his head.

Just then she starts blabbering something about ‘train stations’, ‘Jeremy’ and ‘Don’t go breaking my heart’.

Wait a second… I roll my lips in and bite down hard to keep from laughing out loud. His answering grin is threatening to develop a

life of its own, it’s so broad.

Seems I’ve lost a bet.

Then again, ‘losing’ seems like such a strong word on that particular count.

I’m not granted much time to enjoy the little private joke as I’m suddenly aware that the two have reached the door.

The weird mixture of dread and remorse seeps up but for nothing in the world will I be seen running after them. Or well, him.

Wait! He still hasn’t told me his name, has he?

“Hey, so what if I wanted to track you down?” I shout after them before processing the thought, realizing how I just re-unrolled that

downright stupid remark I delivered with my introduction.

A huge grin takes over his face again. “I’m no. 56!”

And that’s all I get.

I must’ve been standing there, rooted to the spot for quite some time. I don’t know for how long.

Well, fuck. Me.

What the hell was that?

I… he… I don’t… wha-… Shit.

Okay, now where’s the camera? Or where’s that annoying beeping of my alarm clock bringing me back?

Nothing.

I slowly stroll over to the wall, leaning my back against it and staring up into the cold winter night.

Fuck, it’s cold. Why haven’t I noticed this before?

I wonder if it’s too early to leave.

I’d rather sit around in the airport lounge, getting some work done than stay here.

I fish for my cell phone to check the time, I left my goddamn watch in the hotel.

Shit! Why didn’t I ask for his phone number, the city he lives in even?

I’ll tell you why, because I never want numbers or any personal info.

Till now, that is.

How is one supposed to operate when they want to see someone again?

I mean, could I – What’s with the insecurity? I don’t do insecure, damn it!

Ok, enough. Fuck this. I will stop thinking about this whole thing, most of all, about him. Right fucking now. This is ridiculous.

I’ll go back to the hotel, get my things and I’m out of this city.

…

Three hours later, I realize that my half-baked plan sucks ass.

Apparently, the airport lounges are closed at this time of the night, there is no earlier flight available, the coffee from the vending

machine tastes awful and I can’t concentrate for shit.

I close my laptop, which, of course, doesn’t get a wireless signal no matter how much I try, and sink back in the inconceivably

uncomfortable chair.

‘Two more hours to kill.’ I remind myself while my mind drifts off on its own volition again.

‘I’m no. 56!’ He said.

What do I make of this? No. 56? He’s not a robot, is he?

I guess we’re both not big on casual introductions. Me pulling out this lame ‘in case you wanted to track me down’ line, twice, and

him babbling something about name ranking and –

…Okay, there’s no way I am really that thick.

God, I swear I am this close to slapping myself.

Of course he’d equivalently use the same gag twice.

I grab my notebook again, confident that my pal Google will help me out.

Fuck! No internet connection! Fuck fuck fuck!

Should I just wait till I get home?

Yeah, probably.

But… that would be at least four hours.

I quickly dig out my cell phone.

…Pick up!

“Yeah…?” Comes the groggy answer.

“Fire up your computer and get me some information online.”

“Huh? Brian, it’s four in the morning, wha-“

“-Now, Theodore!”

“Jesus, Brian…” He says, but I hear definite keyboard clipping.

“What are you doing in bed anyway? It’s fucking New Year’s! Even you should be able to get laid tonight.”

He snorts and grumbles something about twelve-step programs and job descriptions before announcing, “Okay, I’m online. What are

we searching for?”

I clear my throat, I can’t give him anything. “Find some sort of statistic of the most common male first names in the States.”

“Uh…” I can almost see his retarded expression.

“Just do it, Ted!” Shit, that might’ve sounded just a tad desperate.

“Most common first names...” I hear him typing.

Not so patiently I ask, “Got something?”

“Wait a sec, will you?” Ts, the guy’s got some nerve.

“Okay, I think I have something here, but it seems the most recent list is from the late ‘90s.”

Shit! How do I know what specific statistic my guy (My guy?) had running through that blond head of his?

“I’m sorry, but the only other things I got are the most popular baby names of the past years.”

No, no! Goddamn it!

Out of a last humiliating effort, I almost advise Ted to punch in some random search criteria like ‘blond’, ‘killer smile’, ‘Boston’ and

‘bluest eyes on the planet’,.

There goes my only chance to find this guy.

Well, there’s that. Over before it even began.

I seriously don’t think I’ve ever been so disappointed.

But let’s be realistic, it’s probably better this way.

“Alright. Thanks, Ted.” I say, wanting to end the call as quickly as possible.

“Did you just thank me? Wow, and all I had to do is hunt for some mysterious, surely not work-related name listing in the middle of

the night.”

“Don’t push it, Theodore.” I warn.

Hey, but what if –

“Ted, can you get onto that ‘90s list again?”

“…Sure, just… yeah, here it is.”

“Check rank 20, what name does that say?”

Okay, I’m almost shouting into the phone now. And not out of anger but out of excitement. Well, that’s a first.

If – through any divine grace – no. 20 would happen to be the same, it would mean that no. 56 would have to be the thing, right?

…Right?

“That’s funny, it’s you. Did you know?”

Oh yeah, Ted. What?

He quickly adds, “I mean, it’s ‘Brian’. The twentieth most common male first name, according to this list, is ‘Brian’.”

Hallefuckinglujah!

Deep, calming breaths now... Naaahh, fuck it!

“What’s the 56th?” I blurt out. “No. 56, Theodore! What name?”

“…It’s –“

“Check it again, Ted. Double and triple check it.” I insist. I won’t have any fuck-ups on this.

“I did.”

“So?” I’m certain that my ass will be on the floor any second now if I scoot forward one more centimetre.

“It’s ‘Justin’.”

…

“You still there?” Comes the inquiry from the other end of the line.

“Yeah.”

A moment of silence before the protest starts. “Brian, what was that all ab-“

I flip my phone shut and lean back in the chair. Smiling.

Justin.

Chapter 4a

- Justin’s POV -

Remind me why I didn’t want to fly to Boston and back, because I honestly can’t remember.

Thirteen hours on a train didn’t sound that long a couple of weeks back when I decided what my method of travel would be.

I was probably thinking along the lines of sleeping during the ride since it’s partly in the night or whatever.

I am now thoroughly convinced that the extra hundred dollars for a plane ticket would’ve been worth it.

I also didn’t calculate with potential ‘make it even worse’-factors apparently.

The kid a few rows behind me has started to scream when we were passing through Hartford. We’ve almost reached New York now

and the brat still adds considerably to the noise level in the wagon.

Not even my headphones can fully dull that.

Admittedly, for some periods of time I didn’t even notice it, having repeatedly lost control of my infantuated, newly dewy-eyed mind

which seems to wander off on its complete own accord.

The dominant thought casts through my brain again. ‘I’m such an idiot.’

Why didn’t I give him my last name, for Christ’s sake?

And who knows if he even finds out my first name? How is he supposed to find that particular, by the by, old statistic I’ve read in

some stupid magazine four years ago?

The train will be reaching Central Station in a couple of minutes, I have to get out and change for glorious Pittsburgh.

My first NYC experiences and all I get to see is the train station, having just enough time to find a bathroom and search for my

platform.

Only nine more hours to go, yay!

It officially sucks to go home.

…

It’s 5.30 am and I haven’t closed an eye yet.

Additionally, I’m developing such an unhealthy aversion to this train, it is frightening.

At least there’s only one more passenger in my compartment now and the guy seems to be in a comatose sort of sleep.

Lucky bastard.

What the hell, I’m gonna break up my last bag of chips now.

…might as well get fat if I’ll never get to see Mr. Perfect again.

Darn it, I’m actually craving something chocolaty now.

Where is that old lady with the trolley from the Harry Potter movie?

Shit, I must be really tired.

I guess I’ll be trading the planned head start on my new painting for ten hours of sleep when I get home.

I’m really looking forward to getting started on it, though. I have a quite prestigious company commissioning a big-sized canvas and

all they wanted to specify was a slight colour scheme, which is awesome by me.

I’m anything but humble about my talent, but I’m not that out of touch with reality to not realize that this is not a regular occurrence in

my field.

I mean, all I’ve done outside of school is one show, a group show even, in town, and people are already willing to pay me for my stuff.

And the money involved in this specific project is no knick-knack either, let me tell you that much.

I root for my sketchbook in my bag. Maybe I can at least put down an outline of what direction I want the painting to be going to keep

me occupied.

Flipping to an empty page, I come across the drawing I did earlier.

There he is again. Staring at me from my own sketchbook. Brian.

I haven’t done anything portrait-like in forever, focusing my attention on other things, more or less having lost interest in human

forms.

How the hell should I be able to get this guy out of my head?

I rub my eyes, thankful that the guy sitting across from me doesn’t actively witness my assumingly extremely varied mimic.

I’m sure I’d come off as one of those people you don’t want to sit next to, fearing for your well-being.

Okay, I know how this will sound now, but the more I think it through, I feel the need to go with my grandma’s saying on this

particular topic.

…What was it again?

‘Fate will find its way’ or something like that?

Great. If I ever needed one of those completely irrational bywords, it would be right now.

Anyway, I know the rough meaning I was going for and this will be enough to keep me sane.

Hopefully.

***

- Brian’s POV -

Merely ten hours ago I couldn’t wait to get home, now I’m feeling strangely ambivalent about it.

I don’t like staring out of the window while on a plane, usually opting for setting up my laptop to work, but today I can’t help myself.

I watched when the sun bid its corny Good Morning, I watched when the wing cut through the clouds on its way upward and I

watched when the sky suddenly cleared and there was nothing but crystal blue sky.

Justin. The 56th most common name.

I did the calculations already, yet I constantly find myself going over them again and again.

There are 300 million people living in the United States, 135 million of which are men. Ballpoint figure.

Every 56th man’s name is ‘Justin’.

135 million divided by 56 generates an outcome of 2.4 million.

Only… that calculation is for shit of course.

Damn it, didn’t I take a statistics course in college?

But I’m sure there must be close to half a million Justins running around in the US.

…Only one of which I want.

I’m afraid any further calculations, just as the probability of finding him, wouldn’t look too good.

At least I can scratch Boston from the list of possible residences.

Apart from the fact that he obviously needed to catch a train I just know that he doesn’t live there.

But then, what the hell was he doing there?

Maybe he was visiting the girl? No, that’s too easy.

Then again, from what it sounded like, the girl wasn’t about to really come with him, possibly just seeing him off.

What was her name again?

Maybe she does live there, at least for a limited time, it is a college city after all.

‘That’s Daphne, my friend.’ Yeah, that’s what he said. After that mind-blowing kiss we shared.

Don’t think I didn’t notice the rock-hard bulge in his pants that was forming an echo in my own slacks.

Just like now… Guh. I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to call up that image.

The way his eyes had that glaze over them and how his parted lips were…-

Huh-hum. I cross my legs and try to redirect my blood flow.

So, if… if I ever were to search for him – which I’m not – I suppose ‘Daphne’, ‘student’ in ‘Boston’, could be a starting point.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” The flight attendant startles me.

“I’m good.”

He flashes a smile and moves away to tend to the other first class passengers.

I briefly wonder why I declined his Mile High Club offer earlier.

He is moderately hot and the washroom striked me as exceptionally spacious.

Plus, fucking someone who’s used to serving people might have its perks.

Oh yeah, I remember now. I wasn’t inclined to pull out my dick and get it on because as of recently I prefer staring out of airplane

windows watching the sun rise and reminisce midnight balcony kisses!

Shit.

I rub my forehead.

I really need to come out of this.

Kissing into the new year, how hetero-dull is that? And more, even liking it? Enjoying it? Still thinking about the guy’s mouth seven

hours later?

I always used to ring in… well, to fuck in the new year in the backroom of Babylon, proceed with maybe getting high afterwards,

letting Mikey drive me home and waking up when the whole turmoil is done with and the world is back in its unexciting trot.

Right now, I don’t even mind my sex-free start into the year all too much.

It was something else.

But why can’t I just leave this shit behind? You know, in Boston?

It’s not like I could ever find him.

‘If it’s meant to be, it will be.’ – that’s something Debbie used to say when Mikey and I were kids. I figure it had to do with our

general impatience back then.

I hate that line. It always put me in such a passive position. As if I had no real saying in what’s to happen, as if there’s some higher

power controlling everything.

If I were to interpret the thing from the point of my weird encounter, it would stand for Justin and me somehow meeting again if it

really meant something.

Jesus, what am I thinking?

The captain’s voice comes over the speakers. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now starting our descent on Pittsburgh. We’ll be landing

ten minutes ahead of time. Our crew will…”

Well, here we are then, back in the Pitts.

Woo-hoo.

***

Twenty-two hours after my plane touched home ground, I walk into Kinnetik.

“Cynthia, get me Jacob on the phone!”

As usual, my assistant acts unimpressed by my appearance and lightly retorts, “Welcome back, boss. I hope you had a nice stay up in

the elitist north?”

“Elitist my ass. People in Boston are just as stupid as anywhere else. I have it on good authority that the epicentre of dumbness would

unquestionably be located somewhere along our latitude, though. Jacob on line one in five minutes.” I add as I steer towards my

office.

“Jacob is on leave this week.”

Duh?

“I know. That’s why I asked you to get him on the phone. Otherwise I would be kicking his ass in person right now.”

She stares at me, not batting an eye.

I really don’t have time for her pseudo-power games.

“Cynthia. Call Jacob. Put him on line one. If I’m not speaking to my art director in five minutes, you will be held responsible for me

picking a random person from the art department and blaming that person, whoever it may be, for the recent fuck-ups.”

She starts panting angrily, turning a nice shade of wrath-red. “You unbelievable –“

– That’s my door clinking shut and drowning out the noise.

On second thought, I press the intercom on my desk. “Oh and Cyn, I’ll have a cup of coffee to go with that.”

…

You wouldn’t believe how much work piles up if you’re away for five days, three of which were non-working days. Technically.

But, luckily, my empire seems safe for the time being.

Was it really only thirty-two hours ago that I – Ah, here I go again.

When the fuck did I start counting hours? When the hell will this stupid funk I’m in start to wear off?

Okay, work.

Work is good, work is efficient, work isn’t irrational.

Oh, come to think of it… I get up and head to Ted’s office.

I open the door after performing sort of a half-knock. Seriously, what good is it if I won’t wait to be invited in anyway?

Theodore’s used to my course of acting.

“Hey, Bri!”

If someone asked me, I’d tell a blatant lie. Truth is, Ted’s doing great work.

He really does.

He may be a number-juggling nerd but he’s damn good at it.

And his accounting abilities, as well as other competencies, have clearly shown in the six weeks that he’s been working for me now.

Fact.

“Theodore, I was wondering if you managed to get hold of this artist I wanted to do something for the lobby.”

“Oh yeah! As a matter of fact, I just read an email he must’ve sent a couple of days ago, agreeing to our terms.”

I am immensely pleased with that.

“That’s good.” I say. “And he also knows about the colour scheme I want?”

“Agreed to that too.”

I nod.

Excellent.

I don’t even know who this guy is, but I flipped through one of Lindsay’s exhibition catalogues when I was over there for some father-

son bonding time and was instantly intrigued by a couple of paintings from said guy.

I couldn’t recall his name if my life depended on it right now, though.

Huh. Well.

“I’m heading out to the Diner for lunch in a bit, you coming?”

Ted smiles.

Shit, did I say something nice?

“I’ll be done here in five.”

I nod and leave his office. It’s kind of… lame in there.

Alright then, off to the glamorous Liberty Diner.

Deb and the guys will surely manage to get my mind off of Justin.

…Even though I’m inwardly hoping that our paths will cross again some time.

Preferably soon.

Chapter 4b

- Justin’s POV -

It’s been a week since I came back from Boston and I still am anything but acclimated.

Funny, you’d think that process wasn’t hard given the fact that I’ve been living here my whole life and haven’t been away for any

longer periods of time than maybe two weeks at once.

Daphne assured me I’d be able to put things into perspective by now and put the Boston incident behind.

Truth is, I spent the better part of my first days home searching for some halfway-decent reason to go back up there.

And believe me, if it wasn’t for Daphne’s cogency as to him probably being a city-outsider himself, I’d be visiting the Boston Winter

Flower Show right now.

I even put her up to pump Jeremy for some information about my perfect almost-stranger but apparently, he didn’t know what to make

of it at all.

Yeah well, ditto.

I stuff my hands in my pockets, willing them to warm up as I make my way down Liberty Avenue.

In the history of sucky Mondays, this one just about reaches for the trophy.

I had an early class to which I already was late when my car decided to die on me, unquestionably having received the finishing stroke

from the freezing cold.

I guess I should’ve expected this, after all it’s a miracle that the shabby old Honda I call my transportation has made it that long.

The fact that mom had left ten minutes prior cancelled the option of her driving me.

‘The bus it is’, I decided, throwing on an additional layer of clothing and grabbing my iPod on the way.

By that time my estimation was by missing at least the first hour of my class, which was pretty bad since it was only two hours total

and the Prof was already on my ass because I ditched a couple of times in favour of getting things ready for my show.

Anyway, after forty minutes on a bus that took the most ludicrous detour through the city, I finally made it to the classroom, only to

find it being cancelled due to illness of the teacher.

Yes. All for nothing.

I could’ve slept in instead and after an unhurried start into the day I would’ve been able to put the finishing touches to my

commissioned painting.

But then I figured, while I’m out, I might as well go get that book I need for one of my classes, so I hop on a bus down to the Strip

District and to where the book store is located on Liberty Avenue.

Of fucking course the store is closed today.

This brings us back to my current state and the reason why I’m stomping down Liberty Avenue on my way to the bus station at noon

on a Monday.

And did I mention the goddamn freezing cold?

At least my iPod doesn’t let me down; I probably would’ve gone on the rampage if I had to listen to the talking of all the bus people.

I am passing the Liberty Diner and briefly marvel at the amount of people in there.

Oh yeah, lunch crowd.

Should I go in and grab something to eat? They have a killer hamburger in there, plus that red-headed waitress always slips me a not

ordered milkshake without adding it to my check.

That’s the reason she owns the privilege of calling me ‘Sunshine’, even though I generally despise any sort of nicknames.

Frankly, I have no idea why she would find that name fitting, especially since I’m anything but cheery or even nice or display any

other sunshine-like attributes.

Well, ok, I guess I’m being nice to her, but she really makes it impossible not to be.

I almost go back just to say hello, but think better of it as I remember all the people and continue my frustrated walk.

I wonder what Brian might be doing right now.

And where he could be.

I’m halting at a crosswalk and look around while waiting on the light to switch to green.

Since when does everything around here look so unwelcoming and cold?

And I’m not even talking about the ten degrees.

A new song starts to play on my iPod and I find myself oddly attached to the lyrics that find their way into my mind.

“My city’s still breathing (but barely it’s true),

through buildings gone missing like teeth.”

Right on cue I walk by the debris of a recently torn down building that’s supposed to make way for another supermarket or something.

“The sidewalks are watching me think about you…”

Ain’t that the truth.

And the more time goes by, the more desperate I get.

The ‘What if’s’ and ‘What could’ve been’s’ are starting to drive me insane.

I know it’s silly after only one kiss, but I simply can’t shake the feeling that we could’ve been great together.

But it all ended before it even began.

Poof!

I’m afraid I have no other choice but let the cynical and rational me kick back in.

If only I could forget this… this glimpse of… of… well, shit!

“I’m back with scars to show,

back with the streets I know.”

Okay, this is just a tad too close to home.

Next song please.

Oh, I almost forgot, I need to call Ted. He’s the guy I’ve been dealing with concerning the painting I’m working on.

He seems to be really nice and I promised to inform him about the progress I’m making.

Apparently, his boss is kind of anal about the whole thing.

But I guess he can afford to be, from what I’ve heard he is this advertising mogul and of course I know of his agency.

I mean duh, you cannot live in the greater Pittsburgh area and not know Kinnetik, right?

The aforementioned owner is Brian Kinney, extremely successful business man and according to the rumours, gay sex god and a

notoriously promiscuous anti-relationship guy.

I have no idea what he looks like but this casual resume sounds quite intriguing.

I kind of look forward to meeting him, just to see for myself.

Then again, he might not even consider clearing a couple of minutes to meet the little college artist who is supposed to polish up his

company’s lobby.

Either way it’s an amazing opportunity I am granted and I’d like to thank him in person.

Huh. We’ll see.

When I got back from Boston and had to call Kinnetik for the first time and remembered the name of the CEO, I had a total ‘Oh my

God, he could be my Brian!’ moment.

Yeah, I know. Stupid.

Like that would happen.

I dig out my cell phone and will the red icicles that are attached to my palms to press the right buttons for the call.

…”Hey, Ted! It’s Justin.”

***

- Brian’s POV -

“Deb, do you think we could get some service anytime before my 10am tomorrow?”

She just shoots me a glare over the counter.

I have to admit that it’s unusually busy today.

Not that I need one, but for the record: another reason not to fucking come here.

A disturbing habit has been developing over the past weeks, namely Ted and me going to the Diner together. Every fucking day.

On top of that, Mikey seems to make a point of making my life living hell.

As it is, I got myself liquored up four nights back and started rambling about my blond guy to Mikey.

‘Mistake’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Never have I more regretted getting drunk. Never.

Considering that he has the attention span of a two-year-old, I expected – Well, I hoped he’d forget my slip over the weekend, but no

such luck.

God, this Monday sucks.

I still have no idea what I’m going to do about Justin.

With his jerky behaviour, Mikey only confirmed the overall ridiculous note on that thing with Justin.

Damn it, what thing? There is no thing!

The problem is, that I know myself and my repression mechanisms well enough to know that there’s not much chance of effectively

brushing this off.

Plus, sometimes I feel like I don’t even want to.

I find myself incredibly annoyed by the ringing of Ted’s cell phone, interrupting my thoughts.

The fucker even holds it away from him for a few moments longer without answering as he’s currently discussing the goddamn menu

with Emmett.

Just as I’m about to explode, he picks up.

“Ted Schmidt.”

Okay, I guess I can drown him and everyone else out again and let my mind drift back to –

“Hey, Justin!”

I can’t help it.

I feel a jolt go through my whole body at that and my head jerks upwards to stare at Ted.

Theodore covers the speaker and tells me, “It’s our lobby artist, Justin Taylor. He wants to come in Wednesday and show us the

finished painting.”

I shrug my shoulders and mentally punch myself for the foolish disappointment I’m feeling yet again.

My radical reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by Mikey and my fucking best friend is not only grinning like the idiot he is, he’s practically

laughing at me.

That’s it. That’s fucking it!

I get up and bid my adieu, before I realize how I’m pulling out the drama queen and thereby probably validate his point.

“Brian, wait! I’m sorry!”

Well, too late.

I toss a bill for my coffee on the table and quickly glance at Emmett who seems too concentrated on the interaction between us two for

my liking.

Has Mikey let anything on?

Playing the situation down, I say, “Don’t worry, Mikey. I just have a shitload of things to do at work.” And hope it sounds convincing.

“Do you wanna go to Babylon later? It’s Chest of Death tonight!”

Actually, I don’t.

But it might be a good idea, so I give Mikey a nod.

Nothing like anonymous sex to put your troubles aside.

I’m gonna try to fuck him out of my system. Nothing else helped.

“Ladies.” I close and head out, feeling pissed, hungry and disappointed.

***

1 a.m. finds me in the backroom of Babylon, right according to plan.

I shove my third trick du jour against the wall, already fishing for a condom in my pants.

I quickly take a look around, the whole scenery striking me as oddly filthy today.

Not that I’ve been at any time under the impression that it was clean around here, but tonight the whole atmosphere seems really off.

Seems as though I’m the only one here to mind.

As I slide into the trick, he lets out a moan and I can’t help but wonder what sounds Justin would make if I went into him.

I brace both my palms against the wall as I stroke in and out of the willing ass.

Technically, the fuck isn’t bad.

The last two weren’t either, but for some reason that fact doesn’t seem to do much for me.

I groan, albeit not for the reason the trick assumes when he pants, “…Yeah.”

Flashes of blond shaggy hair invade my mind again.

I close my eyes and increase the pace in which I am pushing into the trick, unintentionally recalling the picture of Justin’s eyes and

lips right after our kiss for the hundredth time.

A jolt of electricity chases through me when I start reliving the kiss in my head.

The trick’s moans grow louder and become harder to block out and I vaguely register his own hand jerking back and forth in front of

him.

I press my eyes shut again and rest my forehead on the trick’s shoulder as I pound into him.

What I see instead, is Justin lying under me in my bed, his whole body moving to meet my thrusts.

His lips parted, his –

With a rumble deep in my throat I come, surprised by how the trick’s ass clamps down on me when he shoots his load.

After, I give both of us only a few moments to recover before I pull out of the guy and get rid of the condom.

Without granting him another look, I’m very gentleman that way, I leave the backroom and – with a brief stop to say bye to Mikey –

Babylon.

Getting into my car, I put my forehead on the steering wheel.

Third attempt at fucking the images and thoughts of Justin away.

Third failure.

Shit.

Chapter 5

- Justin’s POV -

“Of course I’m not nervous!” I huff into the phone. “Why would I be? … Daph, you know me. When have I ever been nervous?”

I decide that a certain pre-midnight balcony scene doesn’t count.

But seriously, I know that the painting turned out exquisite and since a lot about the colour was agreed in advance, there won’t be that

much of a surprise effect.

I just hope that my friend Sean will keep his promise and get the canvas to Kinnetik fifteen minutes before my appointment. He’d

agreed to drive it in his van for it being much too big for my car.

I recognize a woman across the street and opt for ending the call. ”You know what, I’ll call you back after my meeting at Kinnetik,

which won’t be for another two hours. …Yeah, later!”

I use the current mini-traffic jam to quickly cross the street between the cars.

“Lindsay, hi!” I call out.

The blond woman turns around and greets me with a smile.

Oh, I didn’t notice the toddler with her.

“Hey there, Gus!” I squat down. “Do you remember me?”

“Jus’n!” The little boy giggles.

He is so cute, he almost makes me forget that I’m no children person.

I lightly ruffle his hair before getting up again.

“What has you guys out and about? You’re not at the gallery today?”

See, I can make small talk. I just mostly choose not to.

But Lindsay is really nice and she actually played a big part in putting my show together.

“Oh,” she sighs. “Gus’s day care is closed today, so I’m hypothetically taking the day.” She pauses but indicates that there’s more.

“But of course there has to be some crisis and Sidney begged me to come in for an hour. We’re on our way to the Diner, by the way,

do you want to join us? I promised Gus a milkshake if he is good at the gallery.”

She smiles down at her son whose hand is still clutching on her coat but has his head tilted back to follow the conversation of the two

adults. Well, as much as he can anyway.

“Our car is right around the corner, if you like –“

Lindsay is interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone.

She quickly apologizes before answering it and I try not to watch and listen in on her obviously dealing with her boss.

“…No I cannot supervise it! I have my son to take care of and this would be a minefield for him!... Sidney…”

I clear my throat and address Gus, “Those are really neat shoes you got there.”

“Daddy buyed them wif me.” He declares proudly after inspecting them himself.

Daddy? Oh so there’s a father too! I only ever met Lindsay and Melanie and thereby somehow figured that the biological father

wouldn’t play any role in Gus’s life.

“Justin?” Lindsay’s voice interrupts my thoughts. She holds the phone away from her and covers the speaker with her hand. “I know

this is a huge imposition, but would you watch Gus for two hours later in the day?”

Uhm ok, I didn’t see that one coming. Plus, there surely has to be someone more qualified.

“I have an appointment at three.” I remember.

“And afterwards? Maybe from five to seven? You’d just have to come to our house and keep an eye on him, he’s really easy-care that

time of the day.”

She looks at me pleadingly.

“I guess I could…”

“Oh thank you so much!” She gives me a quick hug before speaking into the phone again. “Sidney? Yeah, I’ll be there around five.

…Bye.”

Oh-oh.

***

- Brian’s POV -

The way I see it there are only two conclusions.

I’m either very clever or I’m a complete pussy.

No grey area.

I once again glance at the computer screen, looking at the results of my plan and let my mind replay the starting point.

Sometime around noon yesterday, I found myself slumping into the couch in my office.

Ten minutes prior I had verbally abused my whole art department for their apparent inability to choose an intense, sparkling blue for a

mock-up, my comparative value being someone’s eyes for God’s sake!

After that, I decided that something had to be done.

This was driving me insane and it was time to get active.

Only women believe in fate anyway.

What followed were a series of phone calls, some quick designs on my computer and a substantial amount of money being transferred.

One day later I don’t feel so convinced of my actions anymore, therefore the clever vs. pussy questioning.

How the hell did I suddenly figure that it would be a good idea to start in Boston?

Hadn’t I decided that he doesn’t live there?

Oh Shit, oh no!

I’ve got to get out of here before I call Boston for the fucking tenth time in the past 24 hours and blow the whole thing off.

Besides, it’s too late anyway; they already confirmed execution of the job half an hour ago.

I storm out of my office, pulling on my coat as I go, when Ted interferes with my quick-getaway plans.

“Brian? Where are you going? The artist is supposed to be here in thirty minutes.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Theodore.”

He blinks before he starts to babble, “I was just… the appointment…Taylor.”

Oh yeah. I sort of really wanted to meet the guy but hey, I’ve got far more important things to do!

Namely, finding Justin and trying not to throw a fit over my methods.

I tell Ted so.

Well, I leave the Justin/fit part out.

I remember something as I adjust the collar of my coat.

“Oh and Cynthia?”

She comes forth from behind the wall where I suspected her of listening.

“Yes, your highness?”

“If any calls come in from Boston or the greater area, redirect them to my cell.”

Fuck, how would she know if someone calls from there?

“Just ask whoever you don’t know where they’re calling from.”

I’m tempted to add an importance note but think better of it.

She usually knows how to handle everything the right way.

For my own sake, I refuse to believe it’s because she can see through me.

Rushing through the exit I come face to face with the shabby rear of an old van.

I promptly word my thoughts.

“What the fuck is this ugly-ass thing doing in front of my building?”

Just then someone leans out the window.

“Hey there!” A dishevelled looking guy waves in what I guess is a friendly manner.

I wouldn’t know, I’m too disgusted by the scene.

The guy chuckles and elaborates, “I’m just waiting for someone. I’m a little too early.”

As if that would explain anything!

I’m about to tell him to fucking wait somewhere else when Ted comes out.

When I realize that he’s obviously in on this, I wave his explanatory attempt off and leave to let him deal with this.

Okay, now where shall I let my flight instinct take me?

I’m thinking the gym. What better place to get rid of all the anxiety?

***

- Justin’s POV -

If someone had asked me what I’d be doing later today, I definitely wouldn’t have listed this.

I’m sitting on the floor in Lindsay and Melanie’s house, drawing crayon doodles at the coffee table.

Seems like my art education isn’t going to waste after all.

I’m amazed that I’m still not fed up with the kid. In fact, I could think of many worse ways to spend an evening.

My appointment at Kinnetik went great, even though I was a little bummed that the boss wasn’t there in person.

According to Ted and Sean I missed him by five minutes.

Is he really the asshole everyone holds him for?

Possibly.

“Jus’n look!” Gus starts suddenly.

I inspect the sheet of paper he holds in front of my face.

“That looks really nice, Gus.” I praise the stick-figure surrounded by a couple of other objects.

“That’s my Daddy!” He exclaims and starts pointing at all the things in his drawing. “And his office. And his table where he does his

work. And his phone with a lots of buttons.”

He’s definitely working the cute child cliché right now, but what the hell, I’m totally falling for it.

He seems totally fixated on his dad for some reason.

Well, maybe I’d be too if my dad had given me that gorgeous brown hair colour.

I mean, Gus can’t really have it from Mel, right?

Oh, what a revelation, I’m finally able to narrow the possible reasons why I don’t get along with my father down to two.

It’s either the hair colour thing or the fact that he told me I wasn’t his son any longer if I chose to live as a homosexual.

Huh.

Gus’s voice brings me back.

“He looks exaxtly like Daddy!” He insists, still holding up that drawing.

I smile. “I’m sure he does.”

“I show you!” He decides and scampers off to God knows where.

“Uhm, Gus?”

I’m not even on my feet when he comes running back and presents me a framed picture.

“Gus, I believe you that you drew him exactly how he looks in real, you don’t have to –“

I all but wrench the frame from him.

I stare at the photo.

My pulse races.

There’s just no way…

Okay, stay calm. It’s not the kid’s fault that you’re having a nervous breakdown.

I shake myself and turn back to Gus who watches me through huge eyes.

“Gus?” I start. “This is your dad?” It’s my turn to point.

Gus nods, but still mainly stares at me.

Shit, I hope I didn’t scare the boy too much, but Oh My God! It is him! My Brian is in this very photo!

I try again. “Do you know his full name?”

“His name is Bw- Brian… and I forget the other name.”

Fuck. Well I know that Gus’s last name is Peterson, I saw Lindsay filling out some form, and that’s her name.

“Do you know where he lives? Does he live here in Pittsburgh?”

Of all the places on earth, could he?

Gus nods emphatically and a giant jolt rushes through my body.

“He lives behind a big door.”

“In Pittsburgh?”

He shrugs his shoulders at that. Oh no.

“Mommy says he lives in Fuckpad, but all the others say he lives in Loft.”

Ha ha, okay, that’s damn funny really, but I have to focus.

Different approach.

“Um, when you go to see your dad, do you have to drive long in the car? Or do you even have to sit on an airplane?”

I have no idea if my wording really does make it easier for him to understand.

He thinks about that for a moment, then gives me a big smile.

“If all the lights are green, fifteen minutes!”

I slump back against the armchair that’s situated behind me.

Holy shit.

…

I’m barely out of the door when I call Daphne.

Thankfully, she picks up after the second ring and I limit myself to squealing into the phone.

“What’s the matter with you?” She squeals back, immediately infected by my excitement.

God, I love her.

Hell, I love the whole world right now.

“Weren’t you supposed to call me after your appointment?” She demands.

“Yeah yeah, sorry, but listen! I was sitting Lindsay’s son and you’ll never guess –“

“- You babysat? But you don’t like kids!”

How can she interrupt in such a moment?

“Yeah well, this one is cool. Anyway, the kid starts talking about his father and how he drew him and runs off to get a photo of him.

And the man in the photo is Brian! And he lives in fucking goddamn Pittsburgh!”

I think my voice just went about five octaves higher.

There’s silence on her end of the line.

“Daph?”

“Y-You mean the guy you’ve been obsessing about? The balcony kiss? The blowjob bet? New Year’s Guy?”

“Waaaahhhhhh!”

“Oh my Gooooood!” She screams into the phone. “What are you gonna do now?”

Then it hits me.

“I have no idea.”

What if he doesn’t even remember me? What if he doesn’t want to see me again? What if he’s completely different from what I’ve

been speculating?

Of course I was in too much shock – with a decent dash of ‘coward’ – to ask Lindsay about him tonight.

“Do you think I should ask her about him? Maybe get his number or something?”

Again she’s too quiet for my liking. “Daphne? Hello? Best friend crisis here!”

“Huh, yah, sorry.” Her obvious distraction doesn’t change things for the better.

“What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Downtown, I… uhm… Justin, this might sound strange, but… you didn’t by any chance tell your lame name statistic thing to anyone

lately, did you?”

I clear my throat. “I may have. Why?”

“Who did you tell?”

I don’t have a clue as to where she is getting with this.

Does she have to remind me?

I sigh. “The last one I can think of would be Brian. …And you know, a lot of people happen to find that name statistic really

interesting!” I defend myself. “I mean, you –“

“- Shut up.”

Huh?

“I’m sorry.” She adds. “Just… hold on, I’ll send you a picture.”

I hear that weird clicking tones and a minute later I receive a MMS.

“Did you get it?” Comes Daphne’s voice.

“Daph, what the hell, you know I hate those things!”

I really do, by the way.

Cell phones are for making calls and maybe for sending text messages.

Every additional function is useless and annoying, in my opinion.

“Jeez, just look at the damn picture, grandpa!”

Alright alright! “Can I do that while you’re on?”

“I just took the photo and sent it to you, didn’t I?”

Smartass.

Okay, let’s see. … ‘Show picture’ doesn’t sound bad. So I press the adequate key and voilà!

I turn Daphne on loudspeaker while I stare at the picture.

“Daph? Is this an actual photo? …You’re shitting me, right?”

“Justin, I swear by Harry Potter that I’m not.”

Oh my God.

“But-But…wait, I’m still not getting it.” I read the words in the image again. “Where did you take this? W-What is it?”

“Wait, I’ll get you another shot where you can see it better.” She says.

Ten seconds later I receive the second photo and can only just stare again.

“Is this what I think it is?” I gasp.

She squeals into the phone.

“It’s a fucking giant billboard, Justin!”

CLICK CLICK

I think I don’t say anything for a good three minutes. I let Daphne do the talking instead.

“…and what a stroke of luck that I’m here to see it! You never would’ve come to know this otherwise…”

How does he expect me to react?

Do I call Kinnetik – the same agency I just sold a painting to, how weird – and ask if they recently did a job including a billboard in

Boston and a seemingly disturbed message on it?

“…any idea how much money that must’ve cost! Renting such a billboard…the agency

surely costs no trifle…”

Wham!

…Unless you own the agency.

Oh God.

Brian.

Pittsburgh.

Kinnetik.

Brian Kinney.

***

- Brian’s POV -

“It’s almost eight.” Cynthia says while stepping into my office, her coat slung over her arm.

“Thanks, I can read the clock by myself.”

“Go home, Brian! You can’t keep this up. Coming in at seven and staying here till nine or ten every day isn’t healthy.”

As much as I hate to admit it, she does have a point.

For the past weeks I’ve been exhausted to such a degree that I slept every one of my Saturdays away.

“So, no calls from Boston today, huh?” I ask, too tired to care how I sound already.

She shakes her head no.

What the hell was I thinking?

Ah yes, I remember.

Something funny, though getting the motive across.

Something private, though random enough to leave everyone else clueless.

Something proactive, though leaving the next move to him.

What a ludicrous idea.

Seriously, was I tripping?

Cynthia comes closer and tosses a magazine on my desk.

I quickly scan the cover.

“Why would I want to read this?” I ask validly. “I don’t really have a thing for art.”

“Whatever.” She waves me off. “But you have a thing for money and for enhancement in value.”

Okay, she may have me intrigued.

Cynthia flips a few pages and stops at a lengthy article which she taps her manicured finger on.

All I see is words. Font size ‘minus three’.

She expects me to read this?

“We got that painting for the lobby for a bargain.”

Uh, come again?

“The artist, Justin Taylor – who is an impossible cutie, by the way – is growing to be some real star in the scene and this article proves

it.

His paintings are expected to increase in value ten times and that is only over the next couple of months!”

“Well, then Theodore will be happy to know that we’ve made a good investment.”

“I think he knows. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that.”

I flip through two more double pages before closing the magazine.

Wait a sec –

I frantically search for the page I had open ten seconds ago.

There it is.

My Guy stares back at me from page eleven!

I feel myself blink in disbelief. I must look like a retard.

“He’s hot, don’t you think?” Cynthia grins.

“Yeah… I – hey wait, you know that guy?”

She lets out a deep sigh. “I just told you about him! Remember, the value enhancement?”

What is she talking – No… No… that’s…

“This is our artist?” I point my finger at the picture of him.

“Yah.” Cynthia puts her coat on.

“That guy… was here today?” I make a somewhat sweeping gesture, though I highly doubt that it is coming off smoothly.

“…Yes…” She eyes me oddly.

I throw myself back into my Herman Miller office chair and palm my face while giving a growl of utter frustration.

Would you believe that?

“Is he from here?” I mumble the inquiry.

“Born and raised in our very own Pittsburgh and still living here. He attends the Institute of Fine Arts.”

Oh God, I forgot about how young the artist we hired is.

“He goes to school?”

He’s a child?

I’m going to puke.

“No, he goes to college, Brian! And he’s at least twenty.”

I lean forward again and glance at the magazine.

Fuck, he does look hot.

Shit, it’s Justin.

Justin Taylor.

And he’s been around the whole time.

Right under my nose.

Chapter 6

- Justin’s POV -

For the third time this week, I find myself walking down Liberty Avenue.

Only this time, I have no idea what got me here.

I mean, sure, I’m hunger-driven for the most part right now, but I could’ve just as well gotten some groceries, have something

delivered even.

So why don’t I?

That’s where we’re getting back to the ‘no idea’ thing.

It was yesterday night when I found out the identity of my mysterious guy, and I actually found myself wishing I hadn’t, a couple of

times since then.

Brian Fucking Kinney.

God, this is so… weird.

I simply can’t get my act together and decide how to handle this.

If only half of the rumours were true, I’d come out of this badly in any case.

I must’ve called Daphne seven times minimum over the course of last night and today.

And probably another fifteen times total over the past week, all calls revolving solely around the Brian theme of course.

I suppose I really owe her one.

But –

“Hey, watch it!”

I turn sideways to see that I almost ran over the crazy bowl lady who’s been selling her stuff on that very street corner ever since I can

remember.

I quickly apologize and move on, thankful that I didn’t smash any of her uhm… unfortunately formed handiwork, in which case I

probably would have to pay for it.

Shit, I can’t let this Brian thing kick me that much out of balance.

But who am I trying to kid, I’ve been in a twilight zoneish state ever since I came back.

Today feels especially weird though, as I have no idea what I did from the time I got up at eight after a good one and a half hours of

sleep till now, which is 7 p.m.

Well, I don’t know what I did other than thinking about Brian and how this will go on.

Somewhere around my fourth call to Daphne at 3 a.m. she made the valid point of him obviously wanting to see me again as well.

What with the billboard and all.

Oh God, can you believe that? He actually set up and paid for a giant billboard.

Okay, so it is in the wrong city, but still.

That’s some grand gesture, isn’t it?

Daphne had to cavil about the message though, that it should’ve been more romantic and whatnot.

Well, what should he do? Seriously, I mean, how lame would a “Searching for no. 56” be?

No no, that he did well. More than that.

But the motive is still blurry from my point of view.

The various scenarios I’ve been having running through my head are really making me go bonkers.

Inwardly, I know that the only way to find out the real meaning behind it all would be to go see him.

This is ridiculous.

For over a week I wanted nothing more, now the bare image of standing in front of him has my insides go rebel on me.

Plus, who knows if he even has a hunch as to who I am yet? He put up that billboard in Boston after all.

Another thing that’s been eating me, is how bits and bits of my conversation with Melanie come floating back.

When I was watching Gus and stayed for a cup of coffee afterwards – while in fact I couldn’t wait to call Daphne –, I told Melanie and

Lindsay about my appointment at Kinnetik and how unfortunately, I didn’t get to meet Mr. Kinney.

Sidebar: How stupid was I?

Well anyway, after I somehow got across that I was actually keen on meeting him, or at least quickly thank him for the opportunity,

Mel breaks off a rant about him all of the sudden.

At a time where I hadn’t made the connection yet, remember?

My Brian had nothing to do with Brian Kinney back then.

“Yeah well, that’s Brian Kinney for you.” She started. I remember it clearly now.

Lindsay tried to say something at that and Mel’s all “Don’t even try to defend him, you know just as well as I do that he’s a selfish

prick who cares about nothing but himself. …And his dick, of course.”

“Mel!” Came Lindsay’s appalled voice.

“What? It’s not my fault he screws anything with a heartbeat!”

“Justin, honey,” Lindsay turned to me. “You mustn’t take it personally that he didn’t want to see you. Brian is just...”

“An asshole?” Mel comes to the ‘rescue’.

Of course I was too preoccupied processing the newly learned facts about my Brian to start digging deeper into the Kinney

characterization and into how she would know that.

***

- Brian’s POV -

I think it’s been a good three months since I spent some quality time at home, just sitting around, smoking weed and pondering life.

As a result, I’m fully indulging in it tonight.

I made myself leave the office at a really decent time today, I believe it’s the first time in forever that I find myself checking the time

with the clock saying “7 p.m.” while not revising some boards, go through some files or set up some concepts.

Around the same time yesterday, I became acquainted with the not so secret identity of Justin.

I still have no idea if he knows mine.

Does he by any chance realize that he did the painting for me?

When I came in this morning, they were already hanging it and I just stood there, watching in awe.

The thing looks absolutely brilliant, and we all know that I’m not one to dish out compliments lightly.

But still, he’s in college. He could validly be no older than twenty.

Shit, that’s ten years age difference.

Okay, so twelve. Shut up.

I –

There’s a knock on my door.

‘Please let this be nobody annoying,’ I think while I slide the door open to my visitor.

Fuck, so much for that hope.

“Hi, Mikey.”

And he brought food. Ugh.

I receive a peck on the mouth and a rebuke to ease up on the weed, before he waltzes in and starts his one-man show of rambling.

Something about Ben and Hunter of course, the comic shop, Ted at Kinnetik and billboards.

Wait… WHAT?

I quickly throw away the disgusting piece of chicken I’ve been gnawing on without even noticing.

I stare at him.

“The last part, could you repeat that?” I ask.

He grins at me. And I don’t like it one bit.

“I was saying,” he starts dramatically. “That I went over to Kinnetik at six, with the intention of dragging you home since I know what

crazy amount of hours you put in lately.”

‘Get to the fucking point!’ My mind screams.

“Anyway, Ted told me that you apparently left at a decent hour for once and we started talking a bit.”

Oh no, oh God.

But… what could Theodore know?

His grin is getting even wider when Mikey answers my thoughts, “It seems like your little project went through Kinnetik and

therefore, Ted received some seemingly odd invoice of a billboard order in Boston.”

I run a hand through my hair and squeeze my eyes shut.

I fucking told those nimrods to send the invoice directly to me!

I’m so screwed.

As I open my eyes again to brave the patheticness I’m getting thrown back into my face, my best friend starts giggling.

He just got himself into the top ranks on my black list.

“I can’t believe you’re actually out to search for this guy.”

Yeah well, that makes two of us.

There’s probably a good million ways I could react to this.

And despite that fact, I find myself slumping back against my stainless countertops.

I almost hear his surprised gasp.

“Are you serious about this?”

My reply sounds rather weak. “Fuck you, Mikey. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh my God, you are!”

“No…”

“Shut up, you so are!” His jaw hangs about level with his knees.

Shit. I don’t even know it myself. I just…

“Oh my God,” he goes on. “I mean, I’ve seen you over the past week and… This is huge! It’s just like Captain Astro in volume one,

issue ten when he discovers he …”

God, why?

He stops and the sudden pause makes me look up again.

“Brian? You do realize that this may be a good thing?”

Uhm…

“No, seriously.” He actually rounds the counter at that.

“If this guy makes you… I don’t know, want more than sex, it’s – okay, just give me a moment here to grasp the monumentality of

this situation…”

…the fuck?

“Why the hell would you think that I want more than sex?”

“Ooooh, because you so do!”

I angrily shove him aside to throw myself on the sofa.

What are you doing, Kinney?

But there he is again. Mikey plops down next to me.

I give him a half-hearted glare but of course he proceeds nevertheless.

“Brian. Listen to me. This – whatever it may be – could be a good thing. I’ve never seen you like this and now it suddenly all makes

sense!”

Hmpf.

“So… what are you gonna do? Did you find anything out yet? I mean, do you know where he lives or what he does?”

“Kinda.”

“Well great! How –“

We’re interrupted by the Superman theme wafting through my sacred loft. Mikey’s cell phone.

Obviously, Ben has a late class that came up unexpectedly and Mikey has to get the little Hustler from somewhere.

“Okay, I have to go, but Brian, we should really talk about this.”

He gets up and shuffles towards the door.

Suddenly he turns around again and gives me a hug.

“I’m happy for you.”

Okay, so now I’m ultimately offended.

“Call me anytime you want to discuss this, okay? We’re gonna plan how to proceed!”

What is this? A group therapy?

And why the hell is he so positive about this?

“Out with you!” I snark.

He giggles again and he’s off.

So uhm…

He said it may be a good thing?

***

- Justin’s POV -

“Hey Debbie!” I greet as I enter the Liberty Diner, determined to put all Brian-related thinking aside for at least a couple of hours.

“Sunshine!” She comes over and pinches my cheek. “What brings you here?”

“Well, my mom’s out of town and I was in need of something decent to eat after having lived off of Cheerios for the last two days.”

She laughs. “You came to the right place then. Go find yourself somewhere to sit; I’ll be right with you.”

Huh, easier said than done. There’s not one booth left where I could fully revel in my anti-socialness.

“Justin, hey!”

I turn around to see Ted sitting a few feet away, occupying a booth with another guy.

It might be slightly weird to deal with Ted in any other context than work, but hey, he’s always been really nice and funny and I can

see myself getting along with him well.

I walk over there and ask if I can join them, to which they both agree immediately.

The other guy introduces himself as Emmett Fantabula Honeycutt – I wonder if even one of those names is true – and he starts the

questioning right away.

I’m usually not too fond of queeny routines, but he pulls it off with dignity and I find myself liking him right away. Additionally, one

of the first things coming out of his mouth was how gorgeous I am, so he had some kind of bonus from the start.

Debbie comes to take my order and seems oddly happy that I opt for the hamburger with extra works.

As she comes back with my meal, she scoots in next to me but points her brightly red painted finger at Ted and Emmett.

“Don’t you two forget dinner tomorrow!”

“Why Deb, we’d never!” Emmett feigns a gasp.

They start talking about someone else, ‘Michael’ or something and how ‘the girls’ can’t make it to dinner, when it suddenly hits me.

Oh my God.

Ted knows Brian!

He works for Brian! Maybe I could ask him –

The finger suddenly is in my face.

“And you are coming too!”

“Huh?”

“To my house for dinner. Tomorrow, eight sharp! I won’t have you starving away somewhere.”

The combo of her finger and intense gaze leaves not much room for discussion.

“Uhm… okay?”

She promptly brightens up. “Good! Remind me to give you the address when you leave.”

I turn back to Ted and Emmett who just grin at me.

Okay, seems I got myself some Friday night plans.

***

Okay, something isn’t right here.

I can’t remember one single occasion on which I got along so well with everyone.

Debbie’s direct and overly hearty manner might take some time getting used to - as well as the general ‘louder’ tone around here - and

the people are nothing like the ones I usually deal with, but nevertheless I feel extremely comfortable among the bunch.

We have Emmett, Ted, Ben, Michael, Hunter and Debbie of course.

Oh and ‘the girls’ Debbie was talking about at the Diner? The ones she mentioned couldn’t attend dinner?

Turns out she meant no others than Lindsay and Melanie!

How weird is that? They all fit together somehow.

Ben is a professor at Carnegie Mellon and I actually heard of him before. He teaches Gay Studies and is extremely popular within the

student crowd.

We hit it off right away.

I don’t see myself having much in common with Michael, Debbie’s son, but he seems nice enough and even though he comes across

geeky and a little slow at times, he is pretty likable too.

Debbie summons us to the table but everyone grabs a pot of the thousand things she prepared and sets them on the table before sitting

down.

She dramatizes the act of checking her rainbow coloured watch and puffs, “Where is that asshole? I even called him to make sure he’d

come. And on time!”

Who is she talking about?

Michael answers, “You know how he is, Ma. Let’s not be too hard on him, he hasn’t been having the easiest time lately. Working like

an animal, other things…”

His mother pets his cheek. “You don’t always have to jump to his defense, sweetie. And I know that he seemed a little off lately, all

the more reason why he should be with his family.”

“And make fun of them.” Ted interjects.

So what, does Debbie have another son?

I decide to put that question off as everyone starts to help themselves on the food, Debbie instructing the whole thing.

I’m still mulling over how in hell I’m going to be able to eat all she put on my plate, when the doorbell rings.

Debbie puts the big dipper she uses to serve the various kinds of cannelloni down and gets up to open the door.

Oh, new people?

Hell, wheel them in! I’m feeling particularly social today.

Her opening the door and affectionate greetings can be heard.

“Look who decided to grace us with their presence after all?” Debbie cheers.

Mel and Linds! Ha! How funny!

After the explanatory part as to why I am here and how I know them is more or less done with, Debbie clasps at her chest.

“We need more food!”

Lindsay quickly says, “No no no! Deb, you make way too much food as it is, I’m sure this is more than enough for all of us.”

“I’m gonna dash to that store around the corner and get some more pasta.” Debbie declares, ignoring Lindsay’s point.

Before thinking it through, I offer, “I could go!”

“Would you, Sunshine? That’d be great! Get me two packs of cannelloni, will ya?”

“Sure.” I wave her attempt at giving me money off and I’m out the door.

***

- Brian’s POV -

This is ridiculous.

Ever since Debbie broke the news to me a couple of hours ago, I’m emotionally fidgeting like some teenage drama queen.

After she berated me pre-emptively for coming late tonight, she also told that I should behave as she invited someone else to join our

freak circle.

“His name is Justin, and he’s this cute artist stuff…”

And the way fate’s been playing lately, I just knew that it had to be him she was talking about.

Can you believe that I was almost in front of the house before my senses made their belated come back?

‘Kinney, have you completely lost your mind now?’ They were screaming at me. The senses, I mean. ‘You haven’t even thought of

what you want to tell him yet!’

I hit the break so hard, I’ll have to check the tread later.

What followed was a prompt U-turn and that’s how I ended up at this unglamorous place.

This is it, no more stalling around. I’m going back home.

At a resolute pace I’m aiming for the exit, wanting to leave the -

- Oh. my. fucking…

I pause mid stride.

The sliding doors have opened to none other than Justin Fucking Taylor.

I literally feel the energy in the stuffy air change as he slowly turns to look at me.

He blinks astonished, staring at me, our gazes meeting.

I notice the Indian sales clerk who’s been eyeing me the whole time I’ve been in here, aimlessly roaming the aisles, coming around his

counter and saying something.

Just as I tear my eyes away from Justin, someone else enters the weird movie-like scene.

“Hey Justin! Ma decided she needs two extra gallon of cream and I –“ Mikey stops when he sees me. “Brian! What are you doing

here?”

I don’t answer. I’m still feeling tongue-tied.

Michael looks back and forth between us, obviously not knowing what to make of the situation. “Um, Brian this is –“

“Justin.” I finish, surprised that I can get a word out.

“Oh, so you two already met!” Michael concludes. I feel his eyes bore into the side of my face. I hope he’s not onto me here.

Fuck, I don’t believe this.

All this time… and after I actually tried to avoid him tonight? And now… here?

“Yes.” Justin says and reaches out his hand.

Wow, kudos for coherency.

Shit, he looks great.

I grab his hand and immediately feel that strong sizzling.

The exact same I remember from our balcony scene, if not stronger.

I quickly pull my hand away, too freaked out by the situation.

Fuck! I’m never this unsettled! I don’t do nervous for Christ’s sake!

“Yeah um, so what do you say we get back?” Mikey says, suddenly holding pasta and cream in his hands.

We must’ve both agreed or something, because my best friend heads for the register and we follow him like zombies.

The short walk to Novotny central is done without much of my conscious knowledge and when we arrive, the first thing I say is “I’m

heading out for a smoke,” while already halfway out to the backyard.

“Hey, what about dinner?” Debbie’s high-pitched voice follows me out of the house.

What the hell is happening?

It’s him! It’s fucking him and he’s here with my friends?

There’s just no way, I could - …Fuck.

If I were to do this it would have to be on some at least partway neutral ground and not here!

Oh yeah, I’m supposed to be smoking.

I fumble in my pockets, glad that I didn’t leave the necessary supplies in the car.

Oh fuck, my car! It’s still parked in front of that stupid shop down the street.

I drop the lighter. Christ!

“Are you ok?” Comes the inquiry from the back door.

“I’m fine, Michael. Just go back inside.”

“Yeah right!” He mocks and stomps down the stairs. “It’s him, isn’t it? That kid is your Justin.”

I hear apprehension resonating.

Yeah well, he’s not so keen on hooking me up when the guy in question is right in front of his face, is he?

“No best friend advice there, Mikey?” I ask, and if I’m honest with myself it’s not a hundred percent sarcastic.

I throw down my cigarette and put it out with my foot, though not even half of it is burnt down yet.

“I don’t know, I mean… he seems like a cool guy, but I don’t exactly have advice material at hand. …Albeit I do feel a little stupid

next to him when he starts talking.” He ponders.

Oh God, they know him better than I do!

Mikey convinces me to go back inside and I’m a few seconds behind him when… I run into Justin.

In the tiny laundry room that leads from the kitchen to the backyard.

What a setting.

Again, we just stare at each other.

I’m actually quite certain that we both dispose of higher developed verbal skills than we’ve been presenting whenever we were within

metres of each other so far.

…Which has been the case in a total of two times!

Shit, how can I be so obsessed without even knowing him? I mean –

He starts to smile and it suddenly feels as if all my questions have been answered.

Would you listen to me? How cheesy did that just sound? Even in my head!

I clear my throat.

“Justin, listen…”

His smile widens. “So you found out my name, huh?”

I smile back and actually feel comfortable standing between centuries old washing machines and dirty laundry.

“Yeah, no. 56 according to the most popular statistics from the 90ies was either ‘Justin’ or ‘Enrique’ and I decided to go with the first

option.”

“Good choice.” He answers before taking a deep breath. “Look, I know this all seems a little crazy and I swear I had no idea that these

people are related to you and frankly, I still don’t know what to do here. I only found out who you are two days ago by total accident

and I had no clue as to how I should approach you and then the thing with Kinnetik and I didn’t even know if you wanted to see me

again and I had…”

Oha, a nervous rambler.

“...but I just couldn’t stop thinking about you and this is completely out of character for me and all, but I hoped that maybe you would

feel something similar and…Oh God, I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Huh.

I suppose this would be the part where I whip out some kind of declaration of my own.

Because frankly, all he just said mirrors my own mess of feelings.

And strangely, I somehow take comfort in that.

He stares up at me and I know that I was right to give the art department shit over their inability to find the perfect blue.

I realize that he’s waiting for me to say or do something, so I react in the only way I can think of.

I kiss him.

I cradle the back of his head in my hand, his blond hair waving through my fingers just like I imagined it for the last one and a half

weeks.

His body moulds into mine and once again, I find myself marvel at the feelings the kiss triggers.

I feel his unique taste on my tongue as I acquaint myself with his mouth, intending to claim it.

I feel goosebumps crawling up my skin as one of his hands snakes under my sweater and travels up my bare back.

I feel a flutter in my stomach as his other hand strokes my neck.

I feel so good it’s actually frightening.

I don’t know how to proceed though.

As I slowly break the mind-blowing kiss and leave another few soft ones on his jaw line before ultimately pulling back, I feel the

explicit need to take him away.

I want him for myself and I think for once, my primary thought isn’t sex.

Therefore, I feel like walking on highly unstable ground when I ask, “You wanna take this somewhere else?”

His eyes snap open widely and he stares at me bewildered.

What...? Why...?

Panic spreads through my body, clogging my veins like Debbie’s cream-based sauces.

“I think we should go back in.” He says, looking down.

I feel him withdraw in such a harsh manner, it is petrifying.

All I can do, is helplessly stare after him as he storms out of the laundry room while readjusting his shirt.

...

What the fuck just happened?

Chapter 7

- Brian’s POV -

I could slap myself.

What was I thinking?

Well, not much, obviously.

I’m still standing in that goddamn laundry room, staring blankly ahead in the spot that was occupied with Justin’s head two minutes

ago.

How can something feel so right one second and punch you in the gut in the next?

I thought we were on the same page, in the same book at least.

I thought…

Get yourself together, Kinney!

Call me a bad loser, but something just doesn’t feel right about this.

And I mean, aside from the fact that I got a serious case of rejection thrown into my face.

Didn’t all signs on his field blink “yes” as well?

Am I really that delusional that I plain imagined him enjoying that kiss as much as I did?

Well anyway, I’ve got to go back in there without letting anything on.

My best friend Jim will love to come out and discuss the topic later on.

Okay, here we go.

I’m barely seated at the only vacant chair when Debbie, conveniently sitting next to me, snatches my plate and starts loading the carb

fest disguised as ‘traditional Italian cuisine’ on there.

I’ve long ago given up protest over it, opting for the nagging over my leftovers afterwards.

The familiarity of the situation setting in, I finally feel confident enough to look to the other end of the table, where Justin is quickly

averting his gaze to Ben who appears to be on one of his analysis quests.

Emmett and Ted are seated next to me, and in their usual manière, cackling over some lame jokes.

Michael and Hunter are seemingly following the conversation between the dyke duo and Deb.

They’re all interacting across the table or otherwise, yet I feel the noise somehow drowned out as I watch Justin on my complimentary

position at the table.

I sense that Michael watches me, but strangely, I don’t care too much.

“Brian?” Emmett says to my left.

I hope this is the first time he addresses me.

I take a nip of my wine and turn to him, my uninterested look firmly in place.

“I was asking…” – Shit. – “…if you were at Babylon last night. Apparently someone was arrested.”

Even though he’s asking for gossip, he seems to observe my very action, which is really disconcerting.

Remembering my casual night at home, I shake my head no.

“So where were you? You left work quite early yesterday.” Ted decides to add his two cents.

I was about to tell him to mind his own business, when –

“Getting his dick sucked, as usual.” Comes from across the table.

I didn’t even know anyone other than Ted and Emmett was listening.

Anger curses through me at that.

For it always being me who gets admonished for rude behaviour, there’s an awful big amount of times where someone else starts the

digging.

I set to telling the butch lezzie off, when I catch a glance at Justin.

He looks down and seems extremely uncomfortable in the chair next to her.

His eyes quickly dart up, but that tiny glance already lets me go cold.

Of course.

Someone told him about me and my sex life.

That’s why he left me standing there.

And by the way he forces his gaze down but slightly turns to Mel, I get the sneaking suspicion that it was her doing.

I gulp down the bitterness and my intended comeback and settle for letting the anger and disappointment consume me in silence.

“Thank you, Melanie.” I say, not sure why, and don’t take my eyes off of Justin.

I guess everyone’s a little disturbed at that and hectically starts to pick up previous conversations.

Thank you, Mel, indeed. For prematurely killing whatever thing that could’ve been between Justin and me.

Who knows, maybe it really is better this way.

I wait till Justin lifts his head and meets my gaze sadly.

I know that my stark look conveys disappointment; I don’t even bother to hide it.

If it wouldn’t come off so embarrassingly dramatic, I’d make a jump for the door and get out of here.

I knew it wasn’t a good idea to come here.

As I let my eyes travel longingly to the door, Emmett’s face comes into my field of vision.

What the fuck, is he still monitoring me?

I look down on my plate; I haven’t eaten one bite yet.

I grab the fork that seems inexplicably heavy tonight and impale a couple of vegetables.

At least I can return to my normal pre-name statistic searching, non-dewy-eyed life after tonight.

It’s always better to know something just won’t work out than always wonder.

Out of the corner of my eyes I notice Emmett still watching me.

I can’t wait for this dinner to be over.

***

- Justin’s POV -

God, I feel terrible.

Luckily, dinner is over and everyone’s taking their leave.

Brian was the first to say goodbye, giving me one last intense look that had me loosing my sense of orientation for a couple of

minutes.

I need at least one gallon of ice cream and a three hour phone call to Daphne to make up for tonight.

All evening I forced myself to not fall back into believing that I might be different to him.

And he was sitting right across from me, looking oh so amazing.

I just can’t get Melanie’s words and all the things I heard about him out of my head, especially since Mel upped the ante.

Okay, time to move on, Justin.

I pull my scarf tightly around my neck, knowing how much of a gamble it is whether the heating in my car works or not.

I’m the last to go and turn back once more to thank Debbie for the invitation, when I suddenly notice Emmett watching me closely.

“I could practically hear you think.” He explains.

“Uh, yeah well…”

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.” He grabs his jacket from the rack.

“Do you need a ride home?” I offer.

He smiles. “Oh no no, sweety, I live here.”

He does?

Emmett pushes me out the door, telling Debbie that he’ll be back in a minute.

As we start the hundred meter walk to my car, he seems reluctant to start.

Well, I sure as hell am not prompting him! I’ve got my own shit to handle right now.

“You know,” he begins. “I’ve been watching you.”

Uhm, okay, getting a little spooky here. ‘Watching’ as in, sitting in the bushes in front of my mother’s house?

He sees my irritation and adds, “You and Brian, I mean.”

There’s a definite hitch in my step but I continue walking.

What could he have seen? What could he know? Brian doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would go tell everyone about our…

our… arrgh!

I decide to jump in at the deep end and ask, “Did someone tell you anything about me or…? Did Brian…?”

He chuckles, “Honey, of course not! We’re talking Mr. Stonewall here!”

I don’t know if I’m relieved or if my feelings take a complete other direction.

We’ve almost reached the car, but I’m relatively certain that this won’t stop Emmett in whatever he wants to say.

“I figured it out on my own. It was a bit of work, but tonight it suddenly all came together. At least roughly.”

We stop at my car and I stare at him.

“How did you…?” I unintelligently get out.

“Ah you know, from some things Michael said, from some things Ted mentioned, the way Brian has been behaving lately,… but of

course I only made the connection today when I saw how you two stared at each other, by the way Michael threw concerned looks at

Brian and finally, by the fact that you ignored my telling you that the bathroom is upstairs and instead headed out to the backyard,

returning a whole ten minutes later.”

“Oh…” I think I’m blushing. Shit, does that mean that everybody –

“Don’t worry, the others didn’t really notice. Mel was recounting one of her court dramas.”

Relieved, I let out the air I’ve been holding in.

“So, Mel’s comment and, I assume, everything you’ve heard about Brian freaked you out a bit, huh?”

I’m surprised at his insight but nod, looking down.

I feel vulnerable and uncertain. Both being emotions that I’m not particularly fond of or used to, the combination has me in an almost

desperate mood.

Where is this going?

Emmett has this weird, extremely sympathetic smiling look on his face.

“Look, I’m aware that you and I haven’t gotten to know each other well yet. And I won’t even pretend to fully understand the

dynamics that keep Brian together, believe me.”

He waves his hand at that and makes a short pause.

“And I don’t even know what exactly happened between you two, but it seems really different. He seems really different.”

Wow, uhm… is he serious?

As much as I try, I’m not able to stop the slight flutter my naïve stomach gives.

Luckily, Emmett feels comfortable doing this in a monologue-like style, and without any input from me, he proceeds, “I mean, I saw

the way he looked at you tonight and I can validly say that that was more emotion than I ever saw him display in the ten years that I’ve

known him.”

Shaking his head as if he remembers something he adds, “Jesus, I was regularly shocked by the way he handles his tricks. He kicks

them out right after they’re done, he doesn’t want names, he doesn’t even kiss, well at least for the past years, he won’t …”

My head shoots up.

Emmett babbles on, but my multitasking-challenged brain can only process one thought. He doesn’t kiss anyone?

A giant leap of hope takes hold of my insides again.

Hands up who recently got kissed by Brian Kinney!

I feel giddy.

And what kisses they were. Oh my God, my knees go weak just from remembering.

Damn it, I should’ve trusted my instincts!

Fuck me for letting other people get to me.

“So, what am I gonna do? Go see him?” I ask myself aloud.

I somehow have to apologize, I guess and um… and find out if I ruined my chances for good?

Jesus, how does this work?

Then I remember Emmett and turn to look at him.

Thinking the question was posed at him, he shrugs his shoulders saying, “Uhm… sure, why not?”

Could it be that simple?

What if he rejects me now?

I could go to Kinnetik on Monday and try to talk to him, see if there’s still a chance that we could… get together?

“Do you know where he lives?” I blurt out before rationalizing myself.

I guess my subconscious has already stepped ahead.

I have to clear things up quickly now.

I can only hope that I haven’t destroyed too much already.

Emmett’s mouth transforms into a giant grin. “That I do.”

…

I sit in my shabby car, looking out of the window from the parking spot I found just across the street from the address Emmett

scribbled down on my sketchpad.

The old warehouse building must’ve been turned into one of those fancy loft apartments.

My artist heart already envies the people living behind those beautiful, enormous windows. The light must be amazing.

I remember Emmett’s warning that Brian might not be at home. It is Friday night, after all.

Shit, I’ve never went after someone.

I have no idea how this has to go down. I just hope he won’t slam the door in my face.

Oh, there’s a guy nearing the building and fumbling with his keys.

I quickly get out of my car and cross the street, intent on using my chance to slip into the building unnoticed.

Top floor, Emmett said.

So, the elevator it is, I guess.

Shit, the tenant is taking the elevator.

Somehow I don’t think I’d be able to remain calm with this stranger riding up with me, so I decide to take the stairs.

I don’t remember the building having more than three stories anyway.

…

Okay, so I’m not in the best shape.

Wheezing, I climb the last steps to the top floor.

My heart barely has time to recover though as I see the door.

This is it.

The door to his home, the entry to him.

Duh, very profound.

The light grey feels equally alluring and terrifying.

I didn’t exactly come here to analyze the psychological effect of colour schemes, so I step forward and knock.

Only a short moment later I hear footsteps.

So he’s home. That’s good.

Shit, I don’t know what to say yet!

But it’s too late now, the door already slides open and I’m rooted to the spot, complete blankness filling my head.

And suddenly I’m staring into his eyes again, unable to shift my gaze away.

I brace myself for some kind of brush-off - I think I more than deserve it - angry comment or a plain door slam in my face.

But he just blinks at me and after a while, steps aside to signal permission to enter.

Relieved, I let my feet move me forward while my mind still occupies itself with the task of sorting my thoughts.

Strangely, the first thing I notice upon entering his spacious loft, is the full and – from what it looks like – still sealed bottle of

whiskey sitting on a counter.

I turn around quickly to start with “I’m sor-” when I realize how close Brian is.

Taking three tiny steps backwards, my back connects with the counter I’ve been staring at just a few seconds earlier.

“-ry.” I finish.

His eyes show a mixture of hesitation and intensity, the earlier surprise a mere memory.

“What are you sorry for?” He asks, and I envy him for being able to stay so calm.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry for assuming things about you, based solely on other people’s talking.” I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry

for leaving you standing there in the laundry room, for just jumping to conclusions after you asked me to go somewhere else.”

Yeah, I’m really sorry about that one. If it were up to me and he hadn’t said what he said, I would’ve been comfortable making out in

that laundry room for ten more hours.

He doesn’t reply and I feel myself slithering into drama ramble mode again.

Oh no! Please, Justin, don’t!

“I want this…” I wildly motion between us two. God, am I lame. “To be something. And and… and… I don’t… I mean…”

An amused smirk plays on his features.

He moves forward and I press myself against the counter harder.

Once again, the atmosphere shifts as his lips come down on mine.

So, he’s not a man of many words. Okay, got that memo.

The energy now is different from our previous encounters and before I know it, my jacket, my sweater and my shirt are off, leaving an

illustrious trail on the hardwood, I’m fumbling at Brian’s belt and we’re making our way towards his bedroom, which is basically a

raised platform shielded by blinds.

His mouth has been focusing on my neck for quite some time now and as he pulls away to get rid of his upper body clothing as well, I

already miss the connection.

As I almost topple over he catches me and gently lowers me onto the bed.

In no time he is on top of me and our tongues and mouths fight for dominance while we are caressing each other’s bare skin.

God, I’ve been dreaming about being close to him so many times in the past two weeks and now that I am, I can barely contain the

happy flutter in my belly that is only overpowered by my yearning for him.

I faintly register him producing a tube of lube from somewhere and silently asking me if I’m okay, if this is okay.

I nod and moan my approval and a moment later I feel his fingertips prodding at my entrance and then two of his digits slipping

inside.

Ow. Shit, it’s been long.

But he takes his time opening me up, readying me for what’s to come and I can feel my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I don’t stifle the loud moan as his long, lubed fingers work me open rhythmically, already imagining the feel of his cock inside me.

He draws back and I vaguely register his hand disappearing under a pillow and coming forth with a condom.

Oh God, I can’t wait to feel him.

I’m surprised at how easily I seem to surrender to his claim of the top position.

I lunge forward, take the latex foil out of his hands and roll it down his rock-hard penis, unable to resist giving it a few pumps before I

lie back down and look up at him.

- Brian’s POV -

The moment I look down on him again, feel and see him there, a rush of nervousness envelops my mind.

Thank God I have the mechanics down to a science, otherwise it would probably show in my actions as well.

I still can’t believe he showed up at my doorstep.

Justin spreads his legs wide, offering himself to me. I wiggle into the generous V and rest my sheathed cock at his entrance.

Our eyes connect and we both take deep breaths before I start pressing inside.

I find earlier assumptions as to him not bottoming frequently confirmed as he clenches at the intrusion and bites his lower lip hard.

I stop but Justin’s whispered “Keep going” urges me to push further, guiding my cock into his unbelievable tightness.

Finally fully embedded in him, my eyes almost roll back in my head from the intense pleasure and his hard grip on me.

I lean down and press my upper body against Justin’s, wanting to give him time to adjust.

As I watch his every reaction closely, still not moving my hips, his eyes snap open suddenly.

He grabs my face with both hands and connects our sore mouths.

The combined sensation of his tongue’s probing and his ass pulsing around my cock causes me to moan into his mouth.

I slowly start moving my hips in shallow circles, my chest still flush against his, and his muffled moan against my lips shoots a bolt of

electricity down my spine.

I draw back, ignoring my body’s protest over leaving his and slowly push back in.

I gnash my teeth, not believing how perfect this feels, how amazingly we fit.

His tongue darts out and licks my lower lip as I’m trying to muster the strength to lift myself up and start fucking him in earnest.

I brace my arms on either side of his body and start stroking in and out of him, his tightness welcoming me every time.

Watching Justin, his neck forming a graceful curve with his head thrown back, and feeling his fingertips and nails pressing into the

skin of my back, I start picking up the pace. Or rather, finally allow my hips to fulfill my desire’s demand.

Justin meets my movements thrust by thrust and his legs wrap firmly around my middle, letting me sink even deeper into him.

I hear myself panting and grunting loudly, which makes me think I might have to sue my trainer for claiming I’m in top shape.

I pull my knees up and shift more of my weight onto my legs so I can get one of my arms free.

Still transfixed on his face and going crazy at the sight of his mouth repeatedly opening to release barely audible moans, I reach for his

cock blindly.

The wetness I find there I rub into his length, loving to hear his encouraging gasps.

I let my palm travel further down, cupping his balls and massaging them.

By the way they tighten and draw up I know that he must be close already.

I put my arm back next to his glistening chest for more leverage.

Slowing down my movements, I notice his mewls getting more desperate with my slacking tempo.

He starts thrashing underneath me, pushing his hips up more fervently in attempt to make me increase the speed of my thrusting again.

Believe me, it’s a hardship for me too, but I need to draw this out at least a little longer.

Justin starts clawing at my chest and his channel tightens even more around me.

A rush of air leaves my lungs as I will myself to not cross the brink yet.

I stop all movement and inhale deeply, his desperate “Briiiian!” sounding like music in my ears mirroring my own yearning for

release.

Pulling back, I slide out of him, change the angle of my hips and slam back in, provoking a loud “Aaaaaaah!” from him, as the tip of

my dick rams against his prostate.

I give myself a moment to collect before I draw back and press into Justin hard again, grazing the same spot inside of him.

Oh God. This is… Oh God.

I repeat the movements once, twice, and when I drive into him for the third time, his dick starts spewing come and his anal muscles

violently contract around my cock.

“Uuuuuuuh!” I fall forward, burying my head in his neck as I empty myself inside of him, weakly rutting against his body to let us

both ride out the final waves.

His hands in my hair, his nearly scalding hot breath in my ear, my heart rate slowly decreases, leaving me boneless as I try to recover

from the mightiest motherfucker of an orgasm I’ve had… ever since I can remember.

I feel his legs untangle from my waist and coming to rest alongside my own.

Justin starts kissing the side of my face, lingering at the corner of my mouth and I still can’t bring myself to open my eyes.

I finally pull away and shift onto my back to stare up at the ceiling.

Wow.

I’m hesitating to face him now.

This is the part where I not so discretely tell the person I just had sex with to get out.

Usually.

I hear the sheets rustle and a moment later I feel his front coming in contact with my side and his hand snakes out to lightly stroke my

chest.

Post-coital affection?

I can’t help the sharp breath I draw in.

I think he hears it for his body goes completely still.

I turn my head to look at him and he stares back through his big blue eyes.

“So…” I start, unsure of how I’m going to approach this.

He lays perfectly still and blinks at me.

“Are you gonna be here in the morning?” I ask, almost scared.

He resumes the caress of my chest.

Justin looks up at me. His eyes are tired but also, he’s smiling.

Relieved, I faintly smile back at him, feeling myself already dozing off.

As I hear him slide into an even breathing pattern and just before I drift off myself, I think, this all might be okay after all.

Chapter 8a

- Justin's POV -

My face squashed into the pillow, I reach my hand out from under the oddly soft blanketing and reach for the alarm clock which I

know will start blaring any minute.

Groping air for ten seconds, I resign myself to the fact that I’m going to have to open my eyes.

I shift laboriously to lie on my back while trying to come up with a way to activate ‘snooze’ without actually having to locate the

alarm clock.

When I was growing up I always told myself that I would not become one of those Monday morning cliché people, but alas, now I

find those anti-Monday apprehensions validated every single week.

I take a deep breath, trying to prepare my system for getting up.

Wait a sec.

The subtle scent, the unfamiliar softness against my skin and finally… oh god, the sting in my ass!

My eyes burst open and I stare at the ceiling as last night’s events come crashing in on me.

Dinner at Debbie’s. Store. Brian. Laundry room. Awkwardness. Emmett. Coming to Brian’s loft. Waking up at Brian’s loft.

‘Waking up at Brian’s loft?

Shit! I didn’t come home last night, my mom must be worried sick! I usually – Ah, mom’s out of town! Oh and Molly’s staying at a

friend’s place.

Score.

And I got the dinner invitation for Friday, so… today must be Saturday; hence no need to get up.

Score two.

And oh my God, Brian!

Slowly, I turn my head to the right to take a look and - ... I quickly shift back to stare up again, biting my lower lip.

I give the panelled ceiling my most blinding smile.

Score threefourfivesixseven!

…

The next time I slip into consciousness, I’m awakened by the movement of the bed.

Even before I orientate myself I feel the source of warmth leaving my right side.

Irritated, I blink my eyes open just in time to catch one last glimpse of Brian disappearing into the bathroom. Naked, of course.

Once again I have to tame my giddiness and keep it from overflowing. This is just too good to be true.

I wonder how Brian’s doing.

I mean, I couldn’t get around noticing how he almost developed an allergic reaction to my attempt at something that could be very

remotely described as ‘cuddling’.

I do get that it obviously was a big thing for him to ask me to stay overnight, in whatever words he actually used.

The flushing of the toilet can be heard and, in panic, I quickly shut my eyes again.

I don’t have time to mull over the reasons for that though as I feel the mattress dip and the warmth return to under the duvet.

I try to keep up my act while concentrating on listening to Brian’s every move.

I feel his breath hit the right side of my face and realize that he must be lying on his side, looking at me.

Is that creepy? Huh. Also, I feel a slight rush of self-consciousness coming up at the thought of him watching me closely.

A little puff of air hits my ear and I can’t help the smile forming on my lips.

“I knew you weren’t sleeping.”

My stomach goes brouhaha at that. I might just have to get used to the fact that it does that on a regular basis whenever Brian is nigh.

I realize that the smile on my face is expanding and I turn to look at him.

It should be a crime to look this good first thing in the morning. Between his bed hair and the lazy smirk, a specific part of my body is

instantly alert.

God, I want him. Again. And again. And then some more.

I’m about to reach for him, for once not caring about morning breath or the definite possibility of him not being a fan of some

g’mornin’ TLC, when Brian all but lurches on top of me.

He seems to like that position. Fine by me.

I grin and only have to stretch my neck a little to bring my lips against his.

Too soon for my liking he abandons my mouth in favour of my neck, which he seems particularly fond of, if I recall last night.

I put one of my hands on the back of his head, letting it roam in his hair and absent-mindedly try to smooth down a few strands that

stick out in every direction.

My other hand wanders to his bottom and I give it a light squeeze as I nuzzle my face into the side of his neck.

He wriggles around a little on top of me while placing kisses along my collarbone and I open my legs for him to get comfy between

them.

I have the feeling that I’ll be doing that a lot more often in the future.

I don’t know if I’m in for heavier action this fine morning, but I’d gladly fill the position of Brian Kinney’s personal slut if there’s still

an opening?

I feel his mouth travel lower and wonder what he’s up to.

But frankly, I don’t care. Do whatever you want with me.

I let out a happy sigh and surrender to my fate. I’m such a martyr.

“Ah!” His hand’s on my crotch which obviously anticipated him with yen. He just lets it rest there while focusing on my chest and

belly.

His tongue is licking around my navel and I feel my breathing speed up.

“I believe we still have a debt to settle.” He mumbles into my hip, closing his fingers around my dick.

Oh God.

His right hand waves through my pubic hair while he kisses down to my inner thigh.

I want to watch but as his mouth wanders up again, I’m reduced to moaning and throwing my head back.

His nose grazes my balls and as his mouth follows, I am fairly certain that this will put every single one of the blowjobs I’ve gotten to

shame.

After generously giving attention to my scrotum, his tongue finally travels higher to lap at my straining cock.

I moan and try my best to develop some kind of telepathic ability to tell him to take me in his mouth already.

I’m shortly fooled into thinking it worked as his lips move higher, pressing wet kisses onto my rock-hard shaft that is pointing straight

upwards against my abdomen.

I subconsciously lift my hips away from the mattress to get more contact.

Both his palms come to rub slow circles on my belly, lightly pressing me down as they do.

I think I could come just from that. Thank God I have developed some kind of self-restraint over the past years.

He obviously takes the view that the area around my cock should be his regard at the moment, but my frustrated “Guuuuh!” begs to

differ.

I lift my head and look down at him.

Meeting my gaze with an offensively smug smile, he asks, “Everything alright?”

“Umph.” I crash down onto the sheets again.

Asshole, I think, but have to grin.

I’ve got both my hands in his hair now, fisting the strands as he tortures me with his lips and tongue, maliciously avoiding direct

contact with my cock.

His arms come under my legs and I faintly register him ordering, “Pull your knees up a little.”

Huh?

I do as I am told and instantly feel all air leaving my lungs as he quickly bends down and starts sucking on the skin just behind my

balls.

Ah! I lift up my ass in response.

“Bri- Brian… do you – ah! Do you think we could transfer the – the sucking to – uuuhh! – my dick?”

I hear him chuckle and the air he puffs out hits my balls.

God, I can not come before I have been in his mouth. Seriously, I would be so pissed with myself.

“Hm…” He seems to ponder my request as he nuzzles my crotch.

He takes hold of my hips, holds them down hard and without a warning, bears down and I’m fully engulfed in his mouth.

Wha..? Oh ooooh!

Barely giving me time to adjust to the gloriously hot wetness that is his mouth, he starts sucking me for all I’m worth.

Holy shit, I’m not going to last sixty seconds if he keeps this up.

The insistent sucking, right after the slow teasing before, has me bidding adieu to all coherent thought.

His head bobs up and down on my dick and I clench my fists tightly in his hair.

My breathing comes in staccato bursts and I now realize that if it weren’t for both his hands holding me down, I’d probably choke

him, pumping my hips wildly up and down.

“Brian I’m –” I try to warn him, but he either ignores me or doesn’t care.

“Really, I’ma – Aaahhhhhhhh!”

My orgasm shoots through me and out of my cock.

I fight to regain my breath, the white spots in my vision clearing only slowly.

Oh my Gawwwwd.

Brian is still lapping at my slowly slacking penis and I realize that he must’ve swallowed my come.

Shit, that’s hot.

For some inexplicable reason I’ve never been comfortable with tricks swallowing, feeling some kind of eww-factor seeping up in

those cases, but now…

Brian crawls back up my body and rests his chin on my chest, staring up at me smiling and evidently pleased with himself.

After only a few moments, he braces both his arms next to me and pushes our crotches together.

I let out an involuntary moan as I feel his erection sliding up and down my exhausted cock.

My hands fly to his hips, not knowing if I want to encourage his movements or stop him.

“Brian!” I gasp laughingly. “Give me a minute to recover here, will you?”

“You are what, twenty? You don’t need recovery time.” He says matter of factly.

As I watch him sitting up and fish for the necessary items, my body apparently agrees.

His mouth crashes down on me all of the sudden and after the initial shock, I wind my arms around his neck.

Remembering where those lips have been not three minutes ago, I grin into the kiss as the lyric lines “It’s a sin to kiss and swallow”

pop into my head.

A sin indeed, I think and softly bite Brian’s lower lip.

And I am going to hell.

***

- Brian’s POV -

As I walk down Fuller street, I nurse my second cup of coffee today, more out of habit than actual need for caffeine though, if I’m

honest with myself.

Huh. Interesting.

I toss the half-full Styrofoam cup and round the corner.

I don’t think I’ve actually walked down here more than a couple of times, usually opting for a two minute car drive followed by a

fifteen minutes of parking spot hunt instead.

Well.

I stroll into my regular dry cleaner’s, gracing them with my presence like every Saturday.

Shit, I didn’t calculate on five suits being that heavy.

Already planning my departure to the diner as I drop off my dry cleaned clothing at the loft, I am suddenly reminded that I don’t know

when I’ll see Justin again.

What should be the next step? Fuck if I know.

Well, at least I think we’re heading into the same direction now.

Or are we?

If last night and this morning were any indication, we are fanfuckingtastic together.

Jesus Christ, I don’t even know how to compare the quality of this particular fuck fest to any events of the past.

Okay wait, scratch ‘fuck fest’. I feel oddly offended by the derogatory inadequacy of that term.

I jump into my car and try to remember the exact outcome of Mikey’s last week’s monologue during which he once again fought to

establish some sort of lunch schedule with Ted, Emmett and me.

So, what was it about the weekends? Saturday 1 pm? Or Sunday?

Never mind, I have to get some food anyway.

I halt at a traffic light and Christ, there it is again! One of these stupid little grins that have been forming on my face whenever my

mind would drift off to Justin.

And the worst part: I obviously have no control over them.

Great, so that’s why the old Mrs. Dasgupta from the dry cleaner’s eyed me even funnier than usual today.

I really have to find a way to see Justin again. Soon.

Preferably without making it look as if I tried too hard.

Do I even have his number? I don’t think so.

Okay, I suppose I could always log into Kinnetik’s network and find it out, he did a job for us after all.

Only… wouldn’t that clearly interfere with my plans of not trying too hard? I guess it would.

It’s Saturday, which means the boys will be up for Babylon tonight.

How could I lure him in there without actually doing so?

Aw fuck!

I hit the brake. I forgot that they’re doing construction works here on the weekends.

Damn it, now I have to take that tedious detour.

But you know what, even that doesn’t stop me from having one of those grins manifest itself only a minute later.

***

- Justin’s POV -

“Loretta, please! Don’t do this to me!” I lament.

Okay, one more time, I tell myself. There… theeere… Fuck! Nothing.

“Arrrrgh! You know I love you, but you are killing me!”

Dejected, I hide my face in my arms folded on the steering wheel.

Goddamn you, you stupid car!

You were supposed to take me to the store to get me some prepaid stock-up so that I can fling myself into bed at home and squeal to

Daphne like a mad school girl, blush and screech over her detailed questioning and make up some genius plan how to ‘run’ into Brian

again!

Is that too much to ask?

I quickly scan my surroundings, the breakdown spot a little off the road, before I slump forward again.

How did this day go from pure awesome to complete shit in less than two hours?

Why couldn’t you break down in front of Brian’s building, Loretta, huh? At least then I’d have a valid excuse for not leaving and we

could’ve spent the whole day in bed. …if he’d let me. And I have a feeling he would have.

Okay, so… who am I going to call now? With the eighty cents I have left of my phone credit.

I wonder how long I could survive on the granola bars I keep in my glove compartment.

I hear a tapping against the window and almost jump with shock.

The tapping transforms into a knock and as I turn, I realize that the window is misted up.

I rub my palm against the ice cold glass to clear my vision and … suddenly, the world is bright again.

I have to laugh, cause seriously, what are the odds?

“Someone call AAA?” He asks with amusement as I roll down the window.

Have more beautiful words ever been uttered?

Chapter 8b

- Brian’s POV -

“We should’ve never left the bed today,” he assesses while we veg out around the loft, our bodies matching the 90 degrees angle of

the sofa, his head resting on my thigh.

In fact, that had been my primary thought all morning. If it hadn’t felt so outrageously unusual for me, I would’ve asked him to stay.

“Yeah,” I agree non-committally.

I fumble with the take-out containers from my favourite Thai place, determined to staple them together with only one hand free.

The other is resting on the back of the sofa and feels too heavy for me to engage it into the task.

A tiny part of my brain restrains me from relaxing and enjoying this a full hundred percent right now.

I guess the specific bunch of vessels in my brain is pretty much freaking out over how comfortable I feel in my current position, and

I’m not just talking about the physical one.

“I don’t think I have ever eaten such amazing take-out.” Justin starts pondering and I have to laugh. “Seriously, I mean, what was up

with that sauce on the shrimp noodles? That stuff tasted like five star cuisine.”

Well, he should know. He ate most of it. And most of the other things too, for that matter.

Admittedly, part of me feels jealous of the fact that he can eat like that and not look like a ton. Anything but, to be exact.

The really weird part? It also turned me on some to watch him eat. Then again, that was probably due to me focussing my attention on

his mouth.

He suddenly grabs for my hand resting on the back of the sofa and starts playing with my fingers.

Uhm. I shift around a little.

Oh wait, he asked a question.

I clear my throat. “I had them make that sauce for me since they always fucked the noodles up with some disgusting pineapple-cashew

mash.” I shudder in remembrance.

Justin places his own palm against mine and considers the pose from several angles.

I smile and am promptly reminded of that Tarzan scene.

Fuck, I seriously gotta get Gus some more other movies; this Disney shit boggles the mind.

Also, I recall one particular balcony incident where I was to no little part freaked out by how I felt my palm tingling at the first contact

with his.

God, don’t remind me. I acted so dorky, I – Okay, never mind.

I guess by now I’ve almost gotten used to the tingling and sizzling when it comes to him. Almost.

All of the sudden he turns his head dramatically, ripping me out of my thoughts.

He looks up at me as if I grew a second head. “You have your own sauce there?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“Like, you got to choose the exact ingredients and they whip it up for you whenever you order?”

Why does my little sauce arrangement sound so ludicrous when he says it like that?

“What’s the big deal?” I want to know.

“Oh God!” He splutters. “You are something else, Brian. This is a whole new level of luxury. Have a restaurant create your personal

sauce.”

It is? Huh. Maybe.

He shakes his head one more time and continues examining my hand.

There’s a way too… cosy feeling setting in and I have to stifle a yawn.

Looking around, attempting to outsmart the tiredness, I see a pack of my cigarettes sitting on the coffee table and I try to remember

when I had my last smoke.

Must’ve been at Debbie’s yesterday.

How strange is it that I practically had no longing for a cigarette since then?

Jesus. First, no coffee and now no smoking? I silently mourn my addictions.

Well, I suppose they’ll make a comeback in the not too distant future.

I let my upper body fall into the corner formed by the sofa and close my eyes.

Appalled, my eyelids snap back open.

“Christ Justin, tell me we are not napping!”

“Hell no, we’re not,” he mumbles and nuzzles his face into my thigh with evidently no intention of opening his eyes. “You do realize

that at some point I gotta get my car, right?”

Oh, yeah. That ugly-ass thing I rescued him from.

“Know what?” He makes a big show of sitting up. “I am going to call AAA right now – the real AAA – and tell them to meet me at

that breakdown spot.”

He gets up, grabs my take-out container pyramid and walks off to the kitchen where he throws the work of art away.

“Do you mind if I use your phone? I should probably call a taxi too to get me there.”

“Or I could drive you?” I offer and have no idea why.

***

Okay, just relax, Kinney, this is not the end of the world.

Hell, who am I kidding, it is! It is uncool, it is wrong it is… the burbs !

Fuck. Did someone order me a dose of reality, cause I’d like to send it back to the kitchen.

He lives with his mother. In a condo. In the suburbs.

Apparently, Justin has to bring his papers for when the repair guy comes to get his car, that’s why we’re having this horrible layover.

As we walk up the couple of stairs and path to the front door, he catches the look on my face.

The twat actually laughs at me.

“Relax, Brian. I’m going to college, that’s why I still live with my mother.”

And that was supposed to calm me?

“Besides, I’m moving into my own place in a couple of weeks.” He adds cheerily.

Now that’s good news. It’s ridiculous how relieved I am by that piece of information.

“Well,” he starts again, “not so much my own place as moving in with two guys from college whom I technically can’t stand, but what

the hell, right?”

Ah. Yes.

He starts laughing again. “Come on, not everyone can live in a gorgeous loft and have their own sauce at a restaurant.”

He grabs the sleeve of my leather jacket and pulls me towards the door.

“I can only put up a wild guesstimation as to what you made on your last commission, say, 2,350 dollars, completely random sum,” I

say and he laughs. “But, shouldn’t fees in that category enable you to really get your own place?”

He tilts his head to the side, blinking. “You do realize that I’m not an accomplished artist yet, right? I don’t get commissions like for

Kinnetik on a regular basis and the profits I made with my one show went right into my tuition fund. And really, we aren’t talking

about all that much here, you wouldn’t believe what cut-throats those gallery owners are.”

Oh. I guess, I just kind of assumed… well, never mind.

I’m suddenly aware that we’re already standing in the lobby.

“I’m just gonna go wait in the car,” I say, and already turn around.

“Shut up, I’ll be done in a minute. I told you, it’s not like my mom’s here or anyth –”

We hear giggling coming from the kitchen. “Oh you stop that!” the female voice resounds.

Okayyyy, I’m out of h- …Justin has already grabbed my sleeve again and drags me behind him.

“Mom?” he asks, almost chocking as we see the woman quickly straightening her clothes and revealing a guy. A much younger guy,

or so it seems.

I look between Justin and his mom and my discomfort skyrockets.

I watch in fascination though, as Justin’s face gets an angry, bitchy shade.

“Uhm, honey, this is Tucker,” the mother starts a little flustered. “We met at the realtor conference and he kindly offered to drive me

home since he lives in Pittsburgh as well.”

She turns to her guy. “Tucker, this is my son Justin I’ve been telling you about and…” Her eyes come to rest on me. “This is his…

friend?”

I have to grin at that. She is totally onto us. And even though the situation is awkward, I don’t feel any hostile vibes coming from her,

so I settle for amusement.

I sort of expect Justin to introduce me but he’s obviously too busy shooting daggers at his mother.

Tucker steps forward and shakes both our hands which Justin only reluctantly agrees to.

The guy is actually quite hot. If it weren’t for his attraction to middle-aged women I’d probably do him.

I’m fairly certain that Justin and I both note the uneasiness in him as his eyes dart back and forth between us.

Ever seen a pair of fags before, my friend?

Breaking the silence, Tucker says, “My uhm, colleague has a gardener who’s also gay.”

I move my right hand to my mouth as if to cover a cough, which in fact is a spluttering laugh.

Good for you, my friend. Or well, for your colleague.

“Oh yeah, cause we must know him from the meetings, right?” Justin scoffs.

Well, hello there, angry Justin. Nice to meet you. …I’ll have some of that.

How come no one’s laughing? That was hilarious! …And hot. I might have to take this out to the backseat of my car.

Okay, scratch that. I don’t have a backseat.

Seems Tucker really has no clue what to make of the joke. Or well, recognizing the joking character of Justin’s remark.

And just today I left my “Fabulous Fag to Breeder” dictionary at home. Bummer.

***

So guess what. Turns out Justin has to go accompany his mommy on some trip to the grandparents and that they have to go this

evening, so they can spend the whole Sunday with them.

And he tells me this after I forced my vocal cords into submission and asked him if he’d come out to Babylon tonight.

My coat checked with that weirdo at the entrance, I follow the intensifying thrumming into the heart of the club.

I shrug off the feeling of awkwardness and stalk straight towards the bar where I see Ted coming into vision.

What’s going on?

Tonight, as I make my way through the mass of bodies, the whole scene reminds me of those stylistic filters in movies. Where

everything but the main focal point, namely me, would blur and make the emphasized person stand out in some weird unsettling way.

Theodore catches sight of me and grinning, lifts up his beer bottle in greeting.

Not that this is anything new, but his grin strikes me as exceptionally stupid tonight.

Fuck, I forgot! Ted knows about the billboard!

I almost make a U-turn at that thought.

And oh my God, I, fucking idiot, called him, sending him for a name statistics hunt in the middle of the night.

Sigh. As much as I’d wish for it right now, he’s not dense. Well, most of the time anyway. He must’ve made the connection.

Maybe not to Justin yet, but – Oh, who am I kidding? Michael knows which most probably means he took it as his civil duty to inform

everyone.

As I reach Ted, the bartender is already pouring my first shot of the night.

Good man.

I lean back against the counter, grab the glass and toss it back.

Through the burn down my throat I say, “Don’t even think about letting out any of the bullshit forming in your head.”

Only briefly I let my eyes shift to Ted and see his smirk widen even more. Fucker.

We’re both staring straight ahead, the blur continuously lifting.

“Wasn’t gonna.”

Good.

Was it really only twenty-four hours ago that Justin knocked on my door?

Fuck, this is weird.

“Emmett and Michael are dancing,” Ted explains without any prompt to do so.

I’m almost tempted to go home right there, leave the kingdom to some other conqueror for the night.

It doesn’t seem to do anything for me. And if I only wanted to get drunk for no reason I might as well do it in the comfort of my own

home.

It’s not like any of the men in here ever made me come like Justin did.

Christ, it was mind-blowing. And that every single time.

I feel a strange body line up next to me and a couple of seconds later, a hot rush of breath reaches my ear.

“Wanna dance?”

No, I think.

Giving the trick a quick, routined once-over, I’m not more intrigued, even though he is hot.

Okay, strictly hypothetically now. Even if the thing with Justin feels like something… more, monogamy isn’t an option nor will it be

one in the foreseeable future.

Therefore, it would be ridiculous to refuse the possibility of a decent fuck just because…. I mean… No. Just no.

I hook a finger in his belt and drag him out onto the dance floor.

What the hell, right?

- Justin’s POV -

Why am I doing this again?

Ah, yes. Brian.

Instant smile.

Okay, so I talked my mom into going to see her parents alone.

Nothing as efficient as working the guilt machinery. I mean, at my tender age, this whole “mother has a young lover and I found them

giggling and probably making out in the kitchen” could have a lasting traumatising effect on my fragile mind, right?

So, I check my jacket, gulping down my insecurity about leaving it under the observation of that topless, glittery, tweaked-out looking

guy, and I’m off to where the beat comes from.

I’ve only been here once and didn’t like it all that much.

Too much superficiality, too much drugs, too many grabby hands.

I feel kind of stupid to be already following Brian around, but for some reason I figured he wouldn’t mind.

Is that too naïve?

Please, I’m not some little school girl gushing myself into believing I’m totally in love or anything, I just… I just know that our short

time together was amazing.

And while I think Brian might have a couple more problems with acknowledging that to himself, I saw the fleeting shadow of

disappointment washing over his eyes when mom mentioned the visit to my grandparents.

I can’t help but feel giddy as I enter the main part of Babylon through that decadent metal curtain.

Oh thank God, seems I’m in luck. I spot Ted by the bar and walk over there, relieved to have found someone I know.

Plus, he sure knows where I can find Brian.

“Ted, hi!”

“Justin! What are you doing here?” He asks with big eyes.

“Well, this establishment seems to be one of the main attractions around here for a queer boy. I’m a queer boy and I figured I’d take a

ride.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah well, I heard that’s what people come here for.”

Um. Okay. “So, is anyone else here? Emmett? …Brian maybe?”

He grins and I know that I must be totally obvious.

So what.

Now tell me where Brian is, damn it, so I can prepare for my appearance.

I have to laugh at myself.

He takes a sip of his beer but suddenly his face freezes.

“You alright?” I query.

“Err…”

I follow his gaze, still grinning and already planning a dramatic hello kiss.

Our eyes cut through the dance floor, the people magically moving just enough out of the way.

The excited smile on my face drops instantly.

There.

I found Brian.

Chapter 9

- Justin’s POV -

Of course I knew that sooner or later we’d have to deal with this, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t preferred later. And maybe not here.

And also without Ted throwing worried sideway glances at me every twenty seconds.

I wonder what exactly he knows about Brian and me.

I draw a long swallow from my beer and decide to ignore Ted for a while, hoping that my pout isn’t too visible.

Would it sound painfully pathetic if I sort of hoped that our past two intense days together sufficed to put him off fucking other guys?

I guess so.

Okay, so there’s obviously three ways I can handle this.

Either I go and make a scene right on the dance floor, with the definite potential of looking like the betrayed housewife. Optional

dramatic exit afterwards.

Or I could go the “leave disappointedly and won’t answer your calls till you get what I’m upset-about” way, with maybe Ted

volunteering in clearing the happenings up for Brian.

Right. Weak point here, I don’t know if he even has my phone number.

Or, I could pull it off all nonchalant, acting as if it doesn’t bother me. Which, of course, would be a lie, but at least this one doesn’t

seem so embarrassingly lame.

Sigh. I concentrate on the view of Brian and that slimy guy again.

Is it my imagination or does Brian really seem to not have that much fun out there?

Well, at the very least they’re not – Fuck, what’s the guy doing? Slobbering on Brian’s neck?

I bite my lower lip hard, directing my death glare at the innocent neck of my bottle. I can feel Ted’s eyes burning into the left side of

my face, my strained nerves blocking out all surrounding sounds.

As my eyes shift up again and cut through the slow-motion moving on the dance floor, I hold my breath.

The man’s bold mouth moves upward. He’s now reaching Brian’s chin and I don’t dare to blink, my eyes already stinging from the

dryness.

No! This is wrong! Please Brian, stop him.

But he doesn’t.

The bastard’s lips are now coming down on Brian’s. There.

I turn away. Might as well meet Ted’s anxious and worried look.

Surprisingly, Ted isn’t anticipating me turning to him, since he’s staring straight ahead and grinning. What the hell? He’s enjoying

this?

I shift my gaze back to confirm - … Is that Brian’s hand pressed flat against the insistent mouth? I almost drop my half-full beer. Oh

my God! He’s actually stopped the guy! Would anyone notice if I jumped and squealed around for a bit?

Suddenly Ted and I are smiling at each other again. Dang it, Ted, I knew you had to be one of the good guys!

And yes, he knows. Everything. And I know. And it’s alright.

I carelessly put the bottle on the counter behind me carelessly and the fullness of Babylon’s thrumming music and beat floods my

senses again.

Brian and the man are picking their dancing back up, if a little uneasy.

Sloppy-mouth guy seems to be happy to just grind against my man – did I just think that? – but it’s not like I could really blame him

for that.

Finally I feel stable enough to notice the fact that Mr. Kinney might not be the best of dancers. It’s not like he moves much at all, and

yet he pulls it all off with dignity. And much more than that. I wonder if he’s a secret ballroom connoisseur. Okay, whatever.

“Will you watch my beer, Ted?” I ask, unnecessarily.

He chuckles. “Sure.”

Alright then. Bring it on.

***

- Brian’s POV -

I’m thinking E might be the right choice tonight.

An even heavier, humpier kind of music starts and the guy lays the grinding on ludicrously thick now and I wonder if he really doesn’t

see my eye roll. I can’t say that it does nothing for me, I mean, it’s not like my dick is hundred percent non-responsive all of the

sudden, but it doesn’t do much for me.

I’m all but tempted to just shove him away and get the hell out of here but then what else should I be doing? Sitting at home, pining

over Justin? Tsk, like that would happen.

A certain presence invades my vision and I turn my head to see… Justin standing next to me.

Fuck, he’s here! Things are looking up. I’m stupidly overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him and –

“Hey!”

Shit! Fuck! The trick!

Justin raises an eyebrow and checks the guy out before his eyes shift back to meet mine. Bizarrely, I feel a rush of… of… nervousness

racing through me. What’s he gonna do?

His lips curve into a smirk and he starts dancing, moving his hips in rhythm with the music.

“Mind if I cut in?” All three of us know that it is not a question.

I grab him by the waist and press him as close as possible to my own body, grinning down on him.

The trick veers off angrily, muttering and most probably railing against us. I couldn’t care less.

A new song comes on and Justin starts cracking up at the lyrics of the 80s remake.

“Riding on the range,” the speakers blast and Justin flings himself at me, laughing into my chest. I must’ve heard this song a million

times already, but never found it that amusing. Sure, it is sort of ridiculous and all, but if I doubled over laughing at every nutty set of

lyrics I hear in here, I’d suffocate.

“I’ve got my hat – on.”

“I’ve got my boots –”

“Dusty,” I growl into his ear, both of us laughing now.

I move his face away from my chest and kiss him. Long and deep and right.

I press my forehead against his. “Wanna get out of here?”

…

I’m such an idiot.

I buy him a goddamn billboard and start a search party, and now that I have him I want to put some sort of distance between us?

Bringing the Corvette to a halt at a red traffic light, I continue the train of thought.

The emotional part of my brain might be even more fucked up than I assumed.

I didn’t know what to expect when he suddenly stood in front of me.

I bite back the constant almost-grin I’ve had going for the past thirty minutes, but I can’t help throwing an amused look at him.

Justin doesn’t notice though, as he is messing around with the CD player.

Mikey wasn’t allowed even touching the thing for a full year minimum. It doesn’t seem right to not even have Justin go through the

trial of proving himself worthy. Of handling the CD player, I mean.

He finally puts in a disc he chose from the collection in my glove compartment and goes to selecting a specific song. Unknowingly, he

puts on one of my favourites on the Greatest Hits album.

“‘So we meet again,’ and I offer my hand, all dry and English slow”

I have to grin at that. Dry and English? I don’t think so. His dance floor appearance earns him the highest marks in my book.

Although, it was weird when I first caught a glance of him. I didn’t expect to feel so caught and I didn’t expect to feel so bad. I did

however expect him to be angry or hurt.

And I certainly didn’t expect to feel … slightly disappointed, that he is neither.

Well, what counts is that I have him here in my car, taking him home, despite my not-so hot encounter before he showed up.

Sidebar, I’m finding it strange that my friends seemed to disapprove as well. And no matter what he says, it so wasn’t an accident that

Emmett spilled his sticky, pink drink over me when he manoeuvred across the dance floor just “to say hi.”

“Woops!” He’d said, his face not indicating anything other than stoic bitchiness. And that must be a first for Emmett. What the fuck

was that all about? …It can’t be that they know about Justin and me and are condemning my non-cheating on him? No. No way.

Justin presses the “skip back” button a couple of times and the tune of “Close to Me” fills the car.

“Is that a come-on?” I ask.

“Naw, too sleek,” he denies, yet the hand he puts on my thigh tells a different story.

…

I bite my lip and close my eyes curtly as I stop the car at yet another traffic light.

His hand isn’t even down my pants yet and I already have trouble concentrating on the nocturnal streets of Pittsburgh.

In the past 10 minutes, Justin’s hand has moved from just resting on my upper thigh, to lightly caressing said region through my jeans,

to slowly travelling uptown, to stroking and rubbing my crotch.

But I refuse to pull over and let him know how much he is getting to me. It’s just a couple more miles, 3 tops.

Throwing a quick sideway glance at him, I want to hit him for pretending to look ahead on the road, completely unfazed.

Someone behind me honks and I step on the gas. Did he just snicker?

“I am so going to get you back for this,” I mutter.

He turns his head my way. “Oh yeah?”

I have to check if the sugary sweet voice comes with a matching grin. It does.

“You bet your ass.”

“I didn’t know we’re playing with such high stakes,” he fakes surprise. “Well, in that case…” He grabs the zipper of my jeans and

pulls down. Fuck. He slides his hand inside. “I take it, you call?”

Oh my God, that little fucker. I dig my fingernails into the leather of the steering wheel.

His fingers encircle my bare cock, nothing like underwear blocking the way. All air leaves my lungs in one bout and subconsciously I

press down more forcefully on the pedal.

…

Slamming onto the brake, I pull the ‘Vette over with a screech, thanking the gods for the generous parking space in front of my

building.

“Oh, fuck!” I pant, throwing my head back after yanking up the parking brake.

Suddenly he’s kneeling on his seat and latching on my neck. His new position enables him to slide his palm further down my pants

and as he cups my balls, he simultaneously bites my earlobe. A surprised gasp leaves my throat at the unexpected, new stimulation.

After a few seconds, his fingers travel back up and start a delicious up and down motion.

I dig my fingers into his shoulder, panting and clenching my teeth. Justin’s mouth leaves my chin and relocates to my lips.

And then it all happens quickly. I feel his thumb gliding over the head of my cock, his teeth sinking into my lower lip, and just like

that I’m done. The energy that’s been forming starts roaring through me just as he covers my wide open mouth with his. He drives his

tongue deep inside, stealing the last breath I kept in reserve. I have to break away to get air into my lungs, the rippling of my stomach

muscles forcing it back out in quick compressions.

The waves subside and I finally feel in the shape to kiss him again. Justin’s hand is flattened out against my stomach, rubbing soothing

circles against my skin and the still strained muscles underneath. I grab his chin and reconnect our mouths. Nothing urgent, just

languorous and good.

With a final small kiss, he pulls back completely, leaving my limp body, drained in the most wonderful of ways, hanging in the

driver’s seat.

Justin jumps out and walks around the car, knocking on my window. What the fuck?

I pull the switch to lower the window and he bends down and sticks his head in.

“Can I come up with you?” He asks, fluttering his eyelashes at me.

Willing my still labouring breathing to calm, I huff out a laugh. Sluggishly, my hands move to my middle to tuck myself back in.

Startled, I look down.

Oh fuck! My Pradas!

***

- Justin’s POV -

Fucked out. That would probably be the most appropriate term to describe my current state.

After the car action, Brian carried out his threats and made me come twice before we even made it to the bed.

For my third time though, he came along as well. And it was gooood, oh God.

I stretch out on the sheets languorously, grinning like an idiot and wincing a little at the soreness of my ass. I wonder if that gets better

when you bottom frequently. I guess I’ll find out.

Not that anyone is making sex statistics, but if we were, I would totally kick ass right now.

Shit, I gotta call Daphne as soon as I can. She’s going to freak.

Brian comes out of the bathroom just as the pocket of his pants starts ringing from somewhere on the floor near the door.

My old friend, the ceiling of the bedroom, receives a satisfied, tired smile as my right hand searches lazily for something to cover

myself up with. I dig my fingers into the bed spread and pull it over my body, faintly registering Brian answering his phone with an

annoyed “What?”

I yawn and close my eyes.

Wha-? My eyes blink open again. I’m offended by the sudden rush of cold air and struggle to see Brian standing at the end of the bed,

holding the duvet in his hand. Not fair.

“What do you mean, he brought it forward? And why am I hearing this only now?” Brian snaps into the phone, ignoring my silent plea

for him to return my warm cover.

“It’s fucking 2am on Saturday, well, Sunday, what are you doing logging into the company network?”

“Brian… please.” I whisper and grab for the object of my desire, for once not talking about his dick. He gives me a lopsided grin and

throws the duvet to the side. I intend to go after it, but realize how I now have a clear view of his dick in front of me.

I want to get on my knees before him, but just as I shift my weight, he pushes at my shoulder and I land flat on my back.

“And why the fuck is Jacob on leave again?” Brian asks, the smooth motion in which he crawls into bed next to me in stark contrast to

the bite of his words. He’s lying on his side, supporting his body with one arm, the same that’s holding the phone.

Of course his tone is only turning me on and I hold my breath as his right hand splays out to reach across my abdomen and stroke my

side. I feel the blood rushing to my middle as his hand moves a little lower, caressing my ass cheek, and his gaze wanders up and

down my body.

“I don’t care if he’s got five thousand hours of overtime saved up, I can’t exactly go there without my art director!”

Shit, I’m going crazy here. His palm has now moved to my groin and I let out a low moan, unable to hold it back. Realizing that the

person on the other end of the line might have heard that, I throw a quick apologetic look his way. He just smiles and nuzzles his head

into the side of my neck, his fingers waving through my pubic hair.

“Well who could cover for him then?” He says into my neck and his voice vibrates on my skin there, sending chills down my back.

Fuck, I came three times in the last two hours and yet my dick is swelling and ready in no time. Okay, if he doesn’t stop this or end the

call soon, I’m going to come for the fourth time right there. And there’s no way in hell I will be quiet when I do.

I lick where I can reach his neck, loving the feeling of his fingers as they tangle in the hair surrounding my cock but constantly skim

my leaking hardness.

Brian’s head springs back up from the space between my neck and shoulder. “Cynthia, is there anyone left in that goddamn art

department who has any clue what they’re doing and can be spared for two days?” He sounds really irritated now, his eyes fixed on a

certain spot on my chest. Please just make that his hand doesn’t stop its ministrations on me.

“You gotta be kidding me! There’s no way in hell I can do this meeting and dazzle the guy if I don’t have someone with me! You

know how he always demands to see drafts right away!”

Brian suddenly grabs my dick, not wasting any time in jerking his hand up and down. “Ooooh!” Fuck! Brian? Brian! He speeds up,

making me throw my head back.

“Well you call them first thing Monday morning and tell them that we can’t reschedule on such short notice! We don’t have –”

“Uuuuuuh! Fuck!” Rushes out of me. I’m so close to coming already, I don’t care anymore. I squirm on the bed, my breathing coming

in shallow gasps.

“Forget it. I think I have someone.” The cell phone snaps shut. The hand on my dick stills. Oh my God, why?!

I open my eyes, panting from my almost-orgasm.

“Mr. Taylor?” Brian asks, his face now hovering directly over mine. “How would you like to go on an all expenses paid trip to D.C.?”

Chapter 10

- Brian’s POV -

I cannot believe I let him talk me into this.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this!”

I turn to the left, but there’s no reaction. He’s been ignoring my angry huffing and puffing for the past ten minutes, which of course

only makes me angrier. I will not be ignored! Especially not when I’m still in the throws of an immature fit.

Something in this seat has been poking my ass for the past half hour and it has me worried almost as much as it’s got me pissed. Not

quite though.

I clench my teeth, starting to mumble, “Christ, this –”

“Would you shut up already? God, you’re annoying!” Justin bursts out after his ten minute silence. “It is not my fucking fault that the

flights to D.C. got cancelled or that your precious car happens to be in the shop or that the rental car desk was crowded!”

“Yeah well, you should have gotten yourself something better than this shabby excuse for a car in the first place,” I reason.

“Excuse me Mister ‘CEO vintage Corvette custom-made sauce’, for I am just an average student. Besides, it’s not that bad! Ain’t that

right, Loretta?” He pets the dashboard and reaches for the pack of mint things for the hundredth time. I wonder what for. Clearly, he’s

not getting any in here.

“You sounded different two days ago when I, as you might recall, saved you from a certain death out in the wilderness!”

“That was before I knew that all she needed was a dose of antifreeze.”

“Point is, the car’s for shit. And please stop referring to that thing as a she. It’s weird. In more ways than I can think of.”

The fucker laughs at me, offering me some of the mints. “Oh please, dear knight in shining armour, take these refreshing wonder

capsules as a token of my gratitude.”

I critically inspect the candy from afar. “How long have those been in here?”

“Three or four -”

“Years?” I offer.

“Days!” he shouts. “Jesus, Brian! There is nothing wrong with this car or its contents! Nothing that would make the transportation in

here unbearable anyway.”

“Well, there’s the fact that it smells like your grandmother’s cat died in here after taking a swim in the mothball-filled fish pond, for

one thing.”

He almost chokes on his mints from laughing. Serves him right.

“Anything else?” he asks, grinning.

“As a matter of fact, yes. The whole fucking interior seems to be coated in some sticky, unidentifiable substance and there’s a certain

spring in this seat that is trying to rape me! How’s that?”

“I think he likes us, Loretta,” he addresses the dashboard again.

I throw my arms up in frustrated surrender, unwillingly coming in contact with the disgusting looking ceiling.

I grab for a tissue and neurotically try to clean the spot on my hand. “Watch the road!” I bark, knowing full well that he’s had his eyes

fixed on the road the entire time.

And judging by the grin he’s sporting, he knows it too.

***

- Justin’s POV -

We made it to the restaurant just in time after a quick change of wardrobe and with Brian muttering something about ‘infested’ and

‘Armani’ and ‘Dasgupta’ all the way. Whatever that means.

At least dinner with the client, Mr. Moore, turns out to be tolerable. The food was excellent and after the formalities were exchanged,

I’ve been pretty much left alone, which is fine by me. Brian is keeping his promise of me basically having to look ‘pretty’ and act as if

I knew what he is talking about whenever he mentions graphics, art department, colour schemes and stuff in that area, some of which I

actually have heard of, thank you very much. I was introduced as a creative consultant to Kinnetik, which was kind of cool.

Apparently, I would also be lending Mr. Kinney a hand in tomorrow’s presentation. Ha, I’ll lend him a hand alright! I have to stifle the

childish snicker and take a sip from my Merlot instead.

Brian really meant it when he said this would be a business trip, but the prospect of the hot action later alone is worth ditching my

Monday and Tuesday classes and maltreating Loretta on the freeway. And I’ll be getting the action in a killer hotel room, no doubt.

Even the drive here was fun, despite Brian bitching about everything and nothing the whole three and a half hours.

I steal a quick glance at him. If I thought he looked amazing in the grey suit he wore when we drove here, then he looks drop-dead

gorgeous right now in black. I’m simply sitting next to him, only his profile and hands in my line of sight, yet that obviously suffices

to send my hormones in overdrive. I shift around in my chair, desperate to somewhat ease the predicament I’ve been in for the past

hour.

Just then Mr. Moore excuses himself to the bathroom and I let out a low sigh.

“That tedious, huh?”

“No,” I start. “Well, yes, but… that’s not it.”

Brian’s response is quirking an eyebrow. I rub my forehead.

“What is it, honey? Your migraine bugging you again?” he asks, mock-concern written all over his face. “Must’ve been the fumes in

that vehicle of yours.”

Asshole. “Not so much migraine as a big boner,” I reply through clenched teeth. “And there is nothing wrong with the smell in my

car!”

“That’s the really scary part. You seem to actually have gotten used to it.” He takes a sip from his glass.

“Are you going to stop insulting my car anytime soon?”

“There’s no way to tell,” he smirks. “Although, I could imagine to stop with the digs in the foreseeable future, if you apologized for

the auto hell you put me through without warning.”

I gape at him. “Excuse me? You do realize that without Loretta and me, you probably wouldn’t have made this dinner, right?” Who

does he think he is? I know I shouldn’t get worked up over something as stupid as this, but as usual I can’t help myself. I’ll be damned

if I ‘apologize’. “You have a long wait ahead of you there, Mr. Kinney.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” I mirror the arch of his eyebrow. We grin at each other challengingly and I wonder if he wants to kiss me as much as I

want to kiss him right now. I have an inkling that he does, seeing as his eyes are fixed on my mouth for a good two seconds.

It suddenly hits me. I remember the last time we were in a bet-like situation and I feel my grin transforming into a genuine smile. He

still owes me those four k, even though the blowjob has been cashed in multiply. Anyway, think again, you –

“Mr. Moore,” I hear him say, but my mind and body only really register his hand that has just found its way to my crotch in split

seconds. Oh my God, I can’t breathe. He starts moving his fingers just as his fucking client takes a seat again. I bite my lips together,

hard, to keep the whimper from leaving my mouth.

“You alright, Mr. Taylor?”

“Yeah, are you alright, Justin?” the asshole dares to ask.

“Sure,” I press out, relatively certain that my voice came out along the height level of my squealing little sister’s.

Mr. Moore throws me one more worried look before refocusing his attention on Brian, who of course, keeps rubbing me under the

table cloth. Completely unaffected, he picks his earlier conversation with Mr. Moore back up, the movements of his hand hidden

under the table.

I dig my fingers into the linen napkin in front of me and clench my teeth.

They both start laughing at something and Brian uses the briefly elevated noise level to pull the zipper on my slacks halfway down.

Evil bastard! I try to steady myself, but then his fingers sneak inside my pants. I quickly reach my left hand down and slap his away.

The sound is quite audible and I think for one second he is scared of getting caught too. After simply waiting a few moments though,

he moves back to my crotch before I even get the chance to zip up again. My raging hard-on is getting severely more difficult to

manage.

Oh my God, is he trying to kill me? And himself in the process? His goddamn client is sitting right there! Moore is not stupid, he

would get what’s going on if one of use gave away too much. Is Brian completely out of his mind? All this because of some stupid

little power game?

Mr. Moore busies himself getting out his Blackberry and I shoot daggers at Brian whose palm is molesting me again, this time pushing

the fabric of my boxer briefs aside. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I mouth at him and he just gives me this expression as if to say

‘You know what I want to hear.’

Once again, this is his client! There’s no way I’m going to give in on this psycho shit. If he’s stupid enough to – Oooohkay, pulling

out my dick. Fuck. He runs his thumb over the head and his fingers close around my shaft. Oh my…

“I’m sorry!” I blurt out.

***

He still wears that fucking grin like a trophy when we enter the lobby of the hotel. Impressive, yes. Making me forget what shit he

pulled tonight, not so much.

I stand back a little while he gets the room keys and glare a hole into his back. He turns around again, grins, grabs my hand and drags

me over to the elevator, the doors of which open right on cue. We get on and wait for the doors to close. “You fucker,” I grumble.

Yeah, not the most mature move.

Brian turns his head and smiles a full-on, happy smile. It is confusing. Sure, my knees go weak every time, but he - … shoves me

against the wall and flings himself at me before the doors are fully closed. My fingers dig into his shoulders while he sucks and licks

at random spots on my neck and presses his thigh between my legs.

If I wasn’t so fucking turned on, I’d be embarrassed by what an unbelievable whore I am for this man. One minute I want to smack

him and the next, all I can think of is how much I want him. “I’m still… mad at you!” I moan more than say.

Brian pulls back a little and mumbles into the side of my face, “Don’t worry. You will soon have forgotten about that.”

***

I’m kneeling on the bed, my head pressed into the mattress. I’m thrusting back against his mouth in a slow pace, feeling equally slutty

as turned on. My arms have long ago given out and are splayed against the sheets on each side of my body.

Fuck, I am so glad we decided to take a shower when we arrived at the room. And now that I think of it, he did pay special attention to

my ass in there.

I’ve been painfully hard and ready for coming for a good fifteen minutes now. Some time back, Brian has removed the pillows from

under me that I shamelessly rubbed against. So now it is just my ass in the air and Brian’s mouth and tongue on me. He’s been

nibbling and prodding me, biting my cheeks, wetting my crack. His moist breath hits me in all the right spots and sends jingles

through my body.

Every time he pulls away, a gush of cold air hits me, varying the sensation. I hear him letting out a growl whenever I open and close

for him, knowing he loves to watch, just as he is doing now. I miss his mouth on me and push back, telling him without words what I

want. I scoot my knees apart even wider, tilt my hips up a tad more, spreading myself open to him. My breath hitches as I sense him

leaning closer and his hot breath spilling out all over my wet skin. I thrust back against the air over and over again, desperate for

contact. I pant and moan and bite my lower lip to keep from begging. If I don’t come soon, I’ll go crazy.

Brian’s hands stroke my cheeks and continue their way upward, onto my lower back. They run to my sides and I gasp as he suddenly

grips my hips tight, stopping my wanton moving. “Uh! Brian!” I pull my arms forth, clutching onto pillows, sheets, whatever comes

into reach. Please do something. Anything! He snakes an arm around me and pulls me back. He covers my opening with his mouth,

his tongue breaches me without warning and I scream. His lips nip around the place his tongue is buried in, and I distantly hear the

whimpers that are coming out of my mouth. I almost don’t recognize myself. Never before have I gotten that lost during sex like these

past days with Brian.

His tongue snaps out of me, his hands leave my body and before I can formulate a question in my head or aloud, the rip of the condom

wrapper answers. I wait for his fingers to dive into me and I’m tingling with anticipation. Instead of his fingers working me open, he

positions his dick. A yelp leaves my mouth as he presses into me in one hard thrust. The force propels me forward and has my knees

giving out as I am stretched by him, my body shocked at the unexpected intrusion.

Brian is completely encased in me and my muscles wildly spasm around him. He bends over me, his chest pressing against my back,

his heavy breath on my neck and ear.

“Okay?” he wants to secure and I think my response is a chant of incoherent words. There must’ve been something approving in them,

for he starts withdrawing and sliding back in right to the hilt. We both let out impressive moans.

“Fuck, Justin… so good,” he pants into my sweaty neck. Brian’s arms splay out and glide down along mine. He starts moving in and

out of me in a regular pace as his hands cover mine. He nudges that spot inside of me and I bite my lip. If I would die tonight I

wouldn’t have any regrets because there can’t be a thing I missed out on in this mortal life that could possibly feel better than this.

Stretching my fingers apart and digging my nails into the bedding, Brian’s digits slip down and intertwine with mine. My cock is

shoving against the sheets with every one of our forth and back motions and I know that I can’t hold out much longer. I gasp and

shudder as he bites and licks at my jaw, loving the feeling of him in me, on me and all around me.

“Ahhh-AAAh!” I holler, his dick gliding over the bump of my prostate with every stroke. I’m close, no wait, I’m closer, and

desperately try holding on for another minute. His fingers squeeze mine, his tempo increases and I feel that he is right there with me.

I’m moving against him fiercely, giving all I have left to give. And then, I surrender. I feel the waves coming and let him push us into

an orgasm from another world.

***

- Brian’s POV -

Wednesday morning, I find myself strolling into the Diner, stealing the newspaper from Ted and sliding into the booth next to Mikey.

“Morning, girls.”

My car is still in the shop but even that can’t dampen my mood today. I spent the last ten minutes making out in the back of a cab

before I jumped out and paid the driver to get Justin to his mommy’s place.

We got back home yesterday night, exhausted and in a car that practically screamed for a mercy scrapping when we arrived at the loft.

It wasn’t a hardship to convince Justin to stay as he obviously wasn’t keen on trying his luck and see if the car would make the last ten

kilometres. Sure enough, this morning, Loretta didn’t seem to have any intention of starting. After biting back at least a dozen jokes, I

had him agreeing quite easily to sharing the cab I had called anyway. It is one thing to ride in something like this out of bare necessity

and time pressure, but a whole different thing to let myself be dropped at the office in it. After all, I have a reputation to uphold.

Oh yeah, the presentation on Tuesday went smooth. Moore was a goner as soon as he saw his own picture stare back at him from the

first slide of the presentation. I guess I really wouldn’t have needed Justin to be there, but well, it didn’t hurt. For this and that reason.

“Having something to eat?” Debbie shouts from somewhere.

I just hold up an empty coffee cup that’s sitting on the table as a reply, already skimming an article on the second page. It seems

unusually quiet here. I look up to find Mikey, Ted and Emmett watching me. “What?” I shrug. There really can’t be anything. They

have nothing on me today. I am invincible.

“How was the romantic getaway?” my supposedly best friend coos from beside me.

What the fuck? I turn and notice the other two idiots sporting fat grins. “I went to secure my company one of its biggest clients for

another year! But of course I understand how a bunch of needy queens would interpret that as romance.”

“Who’re you calling needy?” Emmett gasps. Err, duh? “I’ll have you know that I just celebrated my two week-anniversary with

Calvin.”

Before I can even get in how lame that is, Ted starts babbling something and Mikey joins into the chorus with an anecdote about his

professor. If they were wearing lipstick, this could be a scene straight out of ‘Sex and the City’. Jesus. Nevermind, I’m reading this

article now. Who did the mayor’s wife bitchslap?

Two minutes later, Deb finally comes over with what I hope is a fresh pot of coffee. It’s strange but I don’t even crave the caffeine

today. Amazing what eight hours of solid sleep can do for your system, even with Justin sprawled out half on top of me for the most

part of the night.

I have to smile upon remembering the image of him waking up today. I had been wide awake for ten minutes already when he was

still burrowing into my chest, squinting against the daylight and muttering protests into my skin. His hair was incomprehensibly

dishevelled and kept falling back into his face no matter how often I brushed it back. Only after I pulled him up and into the shower

with me did he seem to get sober. A fact he affirmed by going down on his knees and making me come so fast, I was almost

embarrassed. We both weren’t up for sex this morning and I gladly resigned myself to soaping and soothing his ass, remembering how

he occasionally winced during the car ride home. I guess even the most broken-in hooker would feel repercussions after the escapades

that hotel room has witnessed. From the time we got into the room after dinner Monday night till the meeting with Moore and his

associates on the next day, all we did was fuck, work on my presentation, shower twice, sleep a little and fuck a lot more.

I grin into my coffee, lifting my gaze for a quick, routined look around the table. The guys seem to be discussing something with

Debbie and just as I look up, she points at me. “And that goes for you as well.” What now?

Realizing that I haven’t listened to a thing she said, Deb gives me one of those ‘I’m onto you’ looks, category unsettling. What could

she be referring to? There isn’t anything. I didn’t do anything.

“As I was saying,” she addresses me. “I wanna make our family dinners into something more regular again. So, I’ll have you over at

least every second Friday.” Uh-huh. That makes… one dinner every two months for me, right?

“And don’t even think about skipping, Kinney, I am planning a fucking fantastic fondue this week. I even got a second one of those

fondue sets now.” I sigh and Debbie’s glare makes the round, daring anyone to give arguments when she asks, “So, you’re all gonna

come on Friday 7 sharp, yes?”

“Yes,” comes the collective answer from Michael, Ted, Emmett and me. Are we done?

“And you’re all gonna bring the respective boyfriends!”

“Yes,” we all say again. Now can I please be left alone and find out who got bitchsl-

Wait a second. I stare at the picture of mayor Deekins’s wife’s hand coming in contact with his mistress’s cheek, but I’m not really

seeing it. …We all said yes? Did I just – …No, that’s ridiculous, I didn’t say that. And even if I did, no one would’ve noticed. Right?

Right.

I cautiously look up, the first face coming into view being Debbie’s. She flashes a shit-eating grin and cracks her gum at me,

chuckling.

That can’t be good. Oh God.

Chapter 11

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

***

A/N: One more to come after this chapter! Will try to have it done in a week. Reviews might let me write faster. ?

***

- Justin’s POV -

I reach blindly for my cell phone, grunting a groggy “’uhllo?”

“You forgot your shit.”

Instant smile. Even in those nasty, early hours of the day. I turn on my back and yawn into the phone, “You do know how to sweet

talk.” I hear him huff a small laugh and long to see it. “Do you realize that this is the first time ever that we’re talking on the phone?”

“Yes. And I’m having a blast.”

“Admit it, you’re calling ‘cause you miss waking up next to me,” I tease.

“Right. I especially miss your charming morning attitude and the awesome hair-do.” Fuck, my grouchiness must’ve really been a turn-

off.

“Where did you get my number, anyway?” I wonder aloud.

“A friend at the CIA owed me a favour.”

“Of course. So, that ‘shit of mine’ you’re referring to… Assuming that due to your personal standards, everything I possess qualifies

as no more than shit, how about you elaborate?”

“Well, I’m looking at one book that claims to be some theory on the human form, in fact is a nude catalogue with a lot of text, and

some kind of sketchpad.”

That is my shit. Fuck, how could I forget these things? “I need that book later today. Can I come by in like, three hours and get the

things?” I have a class in an hour, but after that, I could -

“I believe you’re forgetting that some of us have normal work hours and –”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. So, how are we gonna do this?”

“Listen, I’m taking your stuff with me. Your class doesn’t start for another hour, come meet me at the Diner in 20 minutes,” he

suggests.

“The Diner? There’s only like three thousand diners in this city.”

“The Liberty Diner. That’s on Liberty Avenue, in case you wonder.”

“Ha ha,” I say. “You go to the Liberty Diner?” I am somewhat surprised. “Do you have your own menu there too?”

“Shut up and be there in 20! And you better start praying now that that damn car of yours starts.”

“Wait, I haven’t even showered yet! It’s not enough time!” I scramble to my feet, wondering how the hell he even knows my class

schedule.

“I recommend you hurry the fuck up then, if you want your books.” He huffs a laugh.

“Thanks for the call, you fucker!” I shout into the phone, already running towards the bathroom. I still hear him laughing as I click the

button to end the call and hastily throw the phone onto a pile of laundry. I can not forget to pick it up later!

I wonder if I have enough time for a quick jerking off in the shower.

***

I push the door to the Liberty Diner open, anything between 10 and 20 minutes late.

Woah, talk about crowded. I can’t even make out Brian on the first quick survey.

I see Debbie buzzing around behind the counter and greet her, “Morning, Debbie!”

“Sunshine, hi! Go sit down by Ted and Michael, I’ll be over when I can.”

Oh, Ted and Michael are here? Brian can’t be far then. I turn around and see both guys waving at me dorkily. “Hi!” I say. “You guys

seen Brian? He has to give me my school books”

“He went to the bathroom,” Ted offers, chewing on a donut. Right. I sit down and notice Brian’s briefcase and a smaller bag on top of

it. I cautiously lift one side of the bag a little to peek inside. After all, this could be something other than my book and sketchpad. But

no, it’s my things. I put the weirdly neat-looking plastic bag into my backpack where it will certainly get crumpled up nicely. Time to

show that plastic bag what it’s like in real life, outside of Kinney’s perfect and wrinkle-free environment.

It is only now that I notice the food in front of me. Oh, I could go for some of that omelette now, even if it’s just egg whites. I look up

and smile at Michael and Ted. “So, how’s it going, guys?”

Michael answers for everyone, “Fine, thanks.” He throws a quick grin at Ted. “Now we know why Brian kept checking his watch.”

“I couldn’t help it. He gave me no more than five minutes to get ready.” I grab a piece of toast – apparently, Brian always cuts them

diagonally in half, I’ve seen it at the hotel – and take a bite. Checking the big, purple clock on the wall, I say, “If he doesn’t get out

there soon, I’m gonna have to leave without saying hi. My class starts in 20 minutes.” I finish the toast half and decide to try the

omelette. I sink the fork into the food, when –

“Err, Justin…” Ted mumbles, motioning towards the plate and looking a little uneasy.

“Don’t worry, he won’t mind,” I assure. Clearly, Brian can always order a second. It’s not as if he has to answer to anyone if he comes

in late. As opposed to me and Professor Shimota.

“Whatever you say,” he says. “So um, your painting in our lobby is a hit. Everyone asks about it. I handed out a couple of your cards,

figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Cool, thanks, Ted!” I beam at him. Switching my gaze to Michael though, I feel kind of strange. He’s been looking at me like he’s

going to burst any minute now. “Everything alright?” I ask him, munching at the toast.

He nods. “Yeah yeah, it’s just…” He bites his lip. “You and Brian, are –”

“Does this look like a fucking buffet to you?” An angry voice comes from beside me.

I grin and quicken my chewing. I turn to my right where he is gesturing emphatically. Another designer suit, another hard-on. Jesus. I

swallow down my last bite of food. “Well, you certainly look edible, Mr. Kinney.”

He snorts and slides in next to me. “That’s a given. But I’m not on the menu.”

“I had you almost every night for the past week, so I’m in the mood for variety anyway.” I shrug.

Michael starts laughing and almost spits his coffee. Okay, I am funny, but this seems a little over-the top for a reaction.

Brian clenches his teeth. “Little shit. Oh and Michael? The quick and easy death I promised you? Not happening.” Then to me again,

“Did you grab your shit?”

“Yes, thank you.” I bend over and kiss his cheek. He growls, I laugh, and do it again.

“Get off me, you breakfast-stealing twat!” But he’s definitely fighting a grin when he grabs the last half of the toast.

I raise my head to catch a glimpse of the clock again, but various heads are hindering my view. Shit. I fork another piece of omelette

into my mouth and grab Brian’s hand. I push up his sleeve and check his watch. Oh no, class is supposed to start in 12 minutes. Okay,

I really should get going.

“What are you doing?” Brian wants to know, but doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Fondling your elegant wrist for no reason, of course. Oh, but my minor motive is a time check.”

“What’s wrong with your own watch?”

“Duh, I don’t have one! Do you really think I’d go through your moaning if I could’ve prevented it by simply looking at my own

watch?”

He huffs and pulls his hand away dramatically. “Check the clock on your cell phone, then!”

Right. Uhm… “I don’t exactly have it on me,” I answer offhandedly.

He grins far too self-sufficiently at that. “Oh?” Asshole. Now he’s making me admit yet another one of my stunts. Just two days ago

we discussed my inability to keep track of my belongings and he’s got two on me already today.

I clear my throat. “I’m not confirming anything, but my phone might or might not have been misplaced.”

“Christ, Justin, you –”

“Blah blah, I know!” I roll my eyes at him. “It’s not my fault this time! You practically threw me out of my bed and gave me all of

five minutes to shower and dress. If you gave me a little heads-up I would have gotten up in time.”

The fucker snorts. “Yeah, right! …Briiiian,” he starts whining, obviously trying to imitate me. “I’m ‘onna dieee if I have to get up

now. Pleaaaaase, lemme sleep!” I have to laugh and he grins into his coffee. It’s funny ‘cause it’s true.

“Shut up,” I say and reach over to take the cup out of his hand. Taking a big gulp, I finally turn back to Michael and Ted. I suddenly

feel rude for excluding them. But seeing as they both wear matching grins, I figure they didn’t mind too much.

“So, what are you guys doing tonight?” I ask them. Look at me, I totally own at small talk now. I wonder if Brian has something

planned. And if his plans include me. We’ve been together every day and almost every night for the past seven days, but I’m not

pushing anything. Especially since I don’t really know how these things are supposed to go down. Do we need to have a ‘talk’ about

this or something? Ew. That sounds so teeny drama.

“Dinner over at my mom’s, she wants to make us come over every Friday now,” Michael explains, a corner of his mouth tugging

upward not very enthusiastically. Obviously remembering something, he adds, “You’re invited too. You know that, right?”

“Thanks! And no, how should I? It’s not like I get notice on anything!” I glare quickly at Brian. “He obviously expects me to be up

and ready whenever he pleases.”

“I recall you being up and ready on your own alright,” he quirks a suggestive eyebrow over his coffee cup. He’s right. At least where

the sex part is concerned.

I chuckle. Aren’t we too old for the constant sexual innuendo? I guess not. I reach for my backpack down by my feet. “Let me out, I

really have to go.” I’m buttoning up my coat when he sits back down. “See you tonight?”

“We’ll see,” he retorts and picks up the paper from the far end of the booth. Oh, we will see.

I step forward, lean his head back and treat him to a full-blown kiss. After the initial surprise, he relaxes and I slip him a little tongue,

tasting the mix of him and coffee. We must make a ridiculous image with my arms around his head and him still holding onto the

unfolded newspaper with both hands. Grinning, I press one last kiss to his mouth.

I wind my scarf around my neck while addressing Michael, “What time tonight? Oh wait, shouldn’t I ask your mom first?”

“7 sharp, and no need.”

“Don’t worry, Justin,” Ted says, but grins at Brian. “We all got invites for two and as Brian’s boyfriend, you have a seat reserved.”

Woah, what? Okay, quick now. Something that will get Brian out of this. Err… “What?” I try to muster up a scoff or something

related to it. “We’re not boyfriends. We’re just…” Don’t say ‘Fuckbuddies’ now, that would sound juvenile and wrong. “Um, we’re…

we’re fuck-” Damn it! “…both appreciating good sex and good bitching,” I finish. Phew, good save there. Well, not exactly good, but

considering the circumstances...

Ted and Michael are looking at Brian funnily, so I decide to take my leave without any additional fuss. “Later!” I tell and shout “Bye,

Debbie!” as I open the door out into the freezing cold.

No, I won’t read anything into those last two minutes. No no. That was just Brian’s friends trying to pull a little joke or something and

it was clever to not give them anything. Right? Right. I yank open the car door and dive in. Shit, I’m gonna be so late for class!

***

- Brian’s POV -

I am changing out of my suit and into casual wear when my cell phone goes off. After a quick glance at the display, I pick up. “I take

it, you found your phone?”

“I did. Unfortunately though, another thing went missing instead.” He clears his throat before saying, “The side view mirror of my

car.” I start laughing and almost drop the phone.

“How the hell do you do this shit all the time?”

“Shut up, it’s not my fault! Someone misestimated the width of the parking lot next to us.”

“Us?” I ask, sounding far too nosy. Well, it’s a valid question. I just want to know who’s in the car with him on an average day.

“Me and Loretta.”

“Of course,” I sigh. And people thought my relationship with my cars is weird. And yet I still don’t take him to be a nut. I’ll think

about that one some other time. “So what, your car has to go to the shop?”

“Most probably.”

“So, you won’t be coming to Debbie’s for dinner?” I ask, somewhat relieved.

“Why thank you, Brian, I would love a ride there!” He laughs. Twat. “Is there something wrong?”

I press my lips together, angry at him, angry at myself and angry about being angry in the first place. “No. So, I’ll see you in about an

hour, I guess.”

“Great!”

“Later.” I hang up. Shit.

***

I park next to the sidewalk and turn off the ignition. This had to be the most uncomfortable car ride in history. And I am including the

ride to D.C. in Justin’s pan.

Wait, that comparison doesn’t work, seeing as it’s two different forms of discomfort. Tonight it’s some fucked up emotional situation

that has me switching moods like a pregnant woman. I go from angry to fucking insecure to plain confused in five minutes flat. It’s

exhausting!

I turn my head slowly, finding Justin staring at me.

“Brian, I’m at a loss here. I know this analyzing shit sucks, but clearly, there is something wrong.” Has he really no idea what I’m

obsessing about? How can this leave him so –

“If you gave me a clue as to what you’re dealing with, it would help a lot.”

I am fucking… hurt that you all but called me your fuckbuddy when I practically outed you as my… my… boyfriend. Oh, and by the

way, if the situation had come up reversed and you would’ve indicated in any way that we’re… boyfriends, I probably would’ve

thrown a fit. How’s that?

I suppose this is how the cycle stays balanced. When Brian Kinney pursues something loosely described as ‘more than sex’, he falls

on his ass. Which technically, hasn’t happened yet, but as of right now, I consider it a mere formality. It’s kind of funny really, if you

think that I never took any offence whatsoever in people calling me a ‘slut’ or something comparable. I think it’s because that’s what I

chose to be and they were merely stating a fact. Right now, I feel like even if I wanted to be something different, try to experience the

‘other side’, there’s no way I could make it work. As if that’s what I’m condemned to be, like it’s not my choice. And for the first

time, I feel the very negative undertone to the word ‘slut’, which to most people probably isn’t an ‘undertone’ so much as the mere

meaning of the term, but anyway.

Shit, why do I do that? Have the whole topic closed and filed away in my mind without even letting him get a word in? Maybe he… I

mean -

“Brian? You’re starting to freak me out,” he says and takes me back to reality where we must’ve been sitting in silence for the past

five minutes. I hear him moving one of his mint things around in his mouth and I have to smile. I have come to like the strangest

sounds. I like hearing what surely is his thirtieth mint today clinking against his teeth. I enjoy listening to him making those weird

little munching sounds in his sleep. I don’t even mind hearing the pen dropping to the table or counter for the twelfth time in five

minutes because he has to spin it between his fingers the whole time he’s reading the foreign affairs section in my paper.

Justin’s movement has me alert. I watch as he bends over to pull the trigger that will make my seat shift back. He uses the newly

expanded space to crawl onto my lap. He realizes he has to duck after his head hits the top of the car and grins at me. Jesus, why is he

doing things like that? It’ll only make it harder to – and he’s kissing me.

He’s kissing me and it’s… Fuck. When the hell have I become such a sucker for kissing? And for this guy in my lap. Must’ve been

around New Year’s. I lean back against the head rest and close my eyes. He follows me and sweeps his tongue inside. Not deep, just a

little, exciting and amazing me in a way that I’m having trouble categorizing.

He scoots forward and bumps his head again. “Ow,” he mutters and I reach up to rub the spot while he bites my lower lip to punish me

for laughing.

I know I probably shouldn’t, but nevertheless slide my hands underneath his jacket and shirt, place them on the small of his back and

pull him closer. His closed mouth is grazing that spot below my ear. I never realized it’s such a pleasure spot for me, but ever since he

discovered it during our first days together, I’ve been a total whore for this.

He starts moving on top of me, slowly grinding our crotches together. He licks that spot below my ear and of course I’m starting to get

hard. I bite at his jaw and he moves his head back to bring our mouths together again. My fingers press against his skin more

insistently, but the urgency still hasn’t spread out to our kisses. And it’s that contrast that has me running hot.

Right. We can’t do this. If not for all the other reasons, then simply because we’re in front of Debbie’s house, in a parking lot.

I gently push him away and he sighs, obviously agreeing. He presses one more kiss to my lips before he moves away and off my lap. I

adjust my pants, he fixes his shirt, and we get out of the car.

As I stare up at the Novotny’s humble little home, I can’t help but wonder. Those family dinners really seem to present some kind of

perfect set up. Lately, I always feel like I’m walking right into the trap. Like, if this were some kind of book or story, everyone would

know that something dramatic is going to happen during that fucking dinner. If I were a reader, I’d probably be offended by such a

transparent plot device.

He’s already going up the stairs and knocking, with me following apprehensively.

And the worst part? Aside from my friends witnessing my downfall, that is. I really fucking liked him.

But alas, I’m not writing this story.

***

I storm out of the house, approximately thirty minutes after we got there. I get into my jacket, wondering why I’m even surprised. I

knew something would happen. I just didn’t think it would be me doing the whole tract.

I hear the door open again and quick steps down the stairs. I’m almost at my car, wondering why the hell I’m all but running.

“What the fuck was that?” he demands.

Chapter 12

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Justin’s POV - SUNDAY.

I reach for my thirtieth cigarette tonight. Or maybe my fortieth. Somewhere along the course of the evening I forgot that I actually

wanted to give up smoking. Come to think of it, that had actually been going pretty well. Until yesterday, that is. But upon realizing

that, I figured, what the hell.

Mom’s going to kill me when she sees this. Not only have I developed mad chain smoking skills - Okay, so I’ve been working on

those for a good four years already -, I also have done it in my room. In my bed. And there’s no way she won’t find that out. It must

reek in here. Of course she knows I’m a filthy smoker, but I think I never did it in front of her or in the house.

It’s funny really. That specific addiction was the thing that initially brought us together. Brian and me. We were both fleeing that

party, looking for a fix on that balcony. Sigh.

I’m gonna try Daphne again. I reach for my cell phone under the pillow. I’m sure she wonders how I possibly couldn’t have gotten the

message the first five times she neither picked up nor called me back. I hate being this needy. But I can’t stop it. I’m sucked into the

fucking cliché of self-pity and misery. …Pick up, Daph! The three thousand times she did pick up, she couldn’t suppress the sigh

whenever she answered. Well, who can blame her? Not me.

If I were to break this down scientifically, it is actually her fault that I am blasting my monthly nicotine-tar dose into my lungs this

fine day. She told me to quit the pot yesterday, so I switched to tobacco. Pro: lesser brain cell damage. Con: polluting the lungs all the

more.

I hear the click and scratch of my rundown record player toggling back to the beginning of the song I have had set on repeat for the

past two days - Yes, some record players actually do that – and the lyrics waft through my room. Oh yeah, I’m doing that too.

Listening to a fucking song that reminds me of him. Why yes, I do realize how pathetic I am.

*

[Flashback to Friday]

We enter the house after I make Brian knock at least before he flings the door open. Debbie bustles around us and then back to the

kitchen, where everyone is seated already. I shrug out of my coat and reach for Brian’s but he shrugs away and throws it somewhere

on top of the overladen coat rack. So now I’m not even allowed to hang his coat anymore? Come. On. The guessing and pussyfooting

around him is getting exhausting. I’m borderline pissed at him. I stand there, blinking at his retreating back, still holding onto my coat.

I thought we were okay when we left the car. I thought we were swinging upwards again. I obviously thought wrong. What started as

light apprehension in his demeanour two minutes ago, has obviously morphed into stress.

“Hey!” Debbie yells at him. “You forgot to hang up Justin’s jacket!”

“Err, Deb, that’s okay,” I say, not knowing where the hell that came from. “I can hang it perfectly well on my own, see?” I

demonstrate.

Light laughter comes from the group at the table, which to me only contrasts the field of tension between Brian and myself.

We somehow survive the next twenty minutes, but truth be told, I have no idea how. If annoying awkwardness had a name, it would

be “Brian and Justin sitting at Debbie Novotny’s dining table”. The others don’t seem to behave any differently from how I got to

know them over the past week, and I find myself wondering how they can be that oblivious to Brian’s and my predicament.

At some point, I drift off and scour my memory for something that could have set Brian off. There was the awesome sex, me sort of…

falling for him, the trip to D.C., more awesome sex, more falling, KAPOW! - ice age. Is that how it works when you actually like

someone? When you reach a certain point, there has to be unexpected confusion and drama? Well, those movies and books must have

gotten the material from somewhere.

But seriously now, everything was great till... till… breakfast at the diner and then – hold it. The diner. Breakfast at the diner. Oh man.

I clear my throat and lean over to him.

“I’m sorry for the omelette,” I whisper. He whips his head around and stares at me. “A-And for the toast.”

“What!?” And of course all eyes are on us. Great.

“A little bump on lover’s lane?”

I think Brian and I simultaneously scrunch our eyes shut. Also, I think I can hear his teeth gnashing, which really is never a good sign.

Perfect. This is just what we need.

Someone says something about “boyfriend land” or some other weird shit and I sigh, “We’re not –”

“We are no fucking boyfriends!” Brian suddenly yells. “We aren’t, nor will we ever be!” Then he turns to me. “Isn’t that what you’re

trying to say?”

Errr… No and Ouch! What the hell did I do now? I was just trying to –

“Thank you, for the lovely dinner.” With that, he stands up and heads for the door. Did the real drama queen just stand up?

Anger and panic roars through my veins and I jump up to follow him out.

“What the fuck was that?” I’m almost screaming at his back when I catch up with him at the car.

He flinches, but straightens his shoulders at the same time. Why does he have to go so weird on me?

“I don’t get it, Brian! One moment we’re good, having fun, having the goddamn best sex ever and then wham, you make everything

difficult and so fucking strange that I want to whack you! And of all the times you could have chosen to make into some soap drama

act, you chose this one? Where in fact, not only did you humiliate me, but yourself, too, in the process? That’s just so… unlike you.”

“How would you know what I’m like? You don’t –”

I can’t help it. The frustration and anger just bubble out of me. “Oh-oh no, don’t you dare pull out the ‘I’m such a complex mess of

feelings, no one can understand me, I had a shitty childhood’ card! I get it, I do, because I too drag some fucking emotional baggage

along. But you, you perversely use it as a shelter whenever you feel it suits!”

“Why are you pushing this? You were the one who wouldn’t – …”

“What, Brian? I was the one who wouldn’t what?! Tell me!” Or scream at me or fucking punch me! Just give me something to work

with!

“Nothing. This… this is just not a fucking trash novel, Justin, okay?” he puffs and I wonder who exactly that was aimed at.

“Oh, are you sure? ‘Cause by now I’m pretty certain that you are rooting for the drama-hyping plot! You stress and queen out over

something that of course you won’t tell me, when in fact, I’m positive that it is something that could be dealt with.”

“What’s the point? I’m ending what has no point in continuing. One party wants… or thinks it wants one thing, the other doesn’t. It’s

as clear as that.”

“As one of the parties you’re referring to, I would like to get a word in!”

“What do you call the thing you’ve been doing for the past ten minutes? Not getting a word in?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t even get a chance to get to the problem and deal with it, because you won’t tell me what it is!”

“Well, as you correctly put it, I’ve already set us up to ridicule and humiliation. I won’t up the ante anymore. Especially in a case

where it would only affect me.”

“What? You expect me to decipher that?”

“I guess not. I’m gonna go.” He opens the car door. “You should go back, have dinner.”

“I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear that piece of sardonic placation. Just tell me this: after all those awesome things that happened between

us – and don’t even try to deny them – do you really want to end it like this?” Yeah, I’m at a point where I don’t even care anymore

how dense and naïve I sound.

He just stares at me…. somewhat… accusingly? Is that even possible?

He gets into the car. Several times I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I feel defeated. With no idea how it happened or what I

was beat with. It’s just like when I used to play chess with my stupid, cheating cousin. I’ve turned away for a second and just like that,

all my pawns have been slaughtered, my rooks have been stormed and the queen alongside the bishops up and fled to a more sacred

place, while Brian calls ‘Check’ on me.

The sudden roar of the ‘Vette’s engine cuts the final snick into my bubble of unconventional romance and makes my king founder.

I watch the Corvette getting smaller at the end of the road.

[Flashback end.]

*

The click of the record player again. I’m still lying on the bed, blowing smoke up into the air.

We might have started out on a surreal, dizzyingly dreamy New Year’s night, but apparently, we ended in an average street, in a

slightly shabby neighbourhood.

I turn around and bury my head into the pillow.

Checkmate.

***

- Brian’s POV - TUESDAY.

I empty the coffee cup into the sink with disgust. Does instant coffee expire? I haven’t opened that can of coffee in over a year. Why

do it today? Well, as it turns out, that overpriced monster machine of mine is completely useless once you run out of those little, stupid

capsules.

I smooth my fingers along my chin, testing the territory where I nicked myself ten minutes ago. By the looks of it, you’d think I just

learned how to hold a razor. Also, I already had to change my dress shirt after somehow managing to get a stain on it thirty seconds

after putting it on. It’s one of those days, I can feel it. Fucking Tuesday.

I grab my things and I’m out the door. Throwing my briefcase into the car, I notice some stuff sticking to my windshield. Annoyed, I

remove the piece of paper from beneath the wiper. Reaching under the driver’s seat, I retrieve a pack of cigarettes and the lighter

within.

I lit my smoke outside, deciding to spare the freshly cleaned interior the fumes today. Realizing I’m still holding onto the now slightly

crumpled sheet that was stuck to my windshield, I set to unfolding it. I want to know who dares spamming my precious car with their

cheap advertisement and - …and goddamn scorch a hole into my 1,000 dollar suit jacket!

“Fucking shit!” I yell. The old lady on the other side of the street picks up the tempo of her walk noticeably, hurrying her dog along.

No, I will not go up and change for the fucking second time within thirty minutes. Diving into the car, not bothering with my smoke-

free policy any longer, I lean back against the headrest. The nicotine feels as slack as today’s shower wank.

You think Mondays stink? You must have not met Tuesdays then.

***

- Justin’s POV - MONDAY.

I faintly register the door bell ringing, resounding a second and a third time, wafting up the staircase and into my room. I drift out of

my doze and wail, “Mooooom!”

Only now I realize that mom would most probably be at work. It is Monday noon, after all. I slowly sit up and get out of bed. The

simple task makes me dizzy after doing nothing but lying in bed the third day in a row.

I really have to make up some adventurous excuse as to why I missed another one of my Monday morning classes at some point.

Padding down the stairs, I almost trip over the ends of my own pyjama bottoms. I’ve been wearing them for three days straight now.

Did I even shower once? Jesus. I make it to the door without harming myself. Opening it, I’m immediately overwhelmed by the urge

to cry.

“Rumour has it you joined the world of us mortals in our embarrassing grieving behaviour.” She grins at me and holds up a bag. “I

brought ice cream.”

I throw my arms around my best friend, hugging her close. “Ice cream? You just put the last nail into my ‘lovesick girl’ coffin. I hate

you.”

“Shut up, you queen. You love me.” I do.

“Which kind?” I mumble into her shoulder.

“What kind of BFF do you think I am? Häagen Dazs Cookies and Cream, of course!” she says and I squish tighter before I finally let

her enter. “Oh, before I forget, I did ask that Jake guy about that program again and he said they’re accepting applications till the end

of the week. And they’re holding interviews next week or so.”

“Oh, right, thanks.” I totally forgot about that. I push her into the living room and dismiss the thought for now.

We bond over a pint of frozen goodness and I find out that she’s on a one-week break, opting for driving home to console her sorry-

ass best friend, instead of enjoying some time off with her new boyfriend.

“Let’s go to the movies. We haven’t done that in forever.”

“Daph, it’s 1 p.m. on a weekday. Which theatre would show a halfway decent movie at this time of the day?”

***

- Brian’s POV - TUESDAY.

So, apparently, they are slowly rejuvenating all streets downtown, meaning, they’ll be cordoning off area by area over the next couple

of months. That’s what the stupid as shit road worker was able to convey during two minutes of rambling. To the question why the

roadwork here hasn’t been announced in any way, he couldn’t respond. Lovely. And now I’m stuck here for approximately the next

forty minutes and have to wait till they clear some part of the road. This day just keeps getting better and better.

I reach for my cigarette pack again. They must’ve slipped to the floor or something. I bend over to the passenger’s side and see a little

green box peeking out from the beverage holder on the door. I think my subconscious has identified the item long before I pick it up

and bring it to my eyes.

I jiggle the contents of the box around, hearing that there must be quite a few left. I take the lid off and the strong, artificially fresh

smell catches me… well, not exactly by surprise, but… I’m not fully prepared for the… force. Never before have I been so aware of

distinct scents like in the past couple of days.

Two nights ago, the actually subtle scent on a pillow hit me with such strength that I had to get up again and change the bedding.

Yesterday, I reached for the wrong bottle of shampoo – what the fuck was that doing there anyway? - and was torn between throwing

it out immediately and wanting to drink it. Christ, I’m turning into a nutcase. And now… those fucking mints.

I tip the box forward and watch the little dragées slip to the edge. Without thinking, I bring the box up and toss the contents into my

mouth. I end up with a cavity crammed full of about fifteen of the things. I start to cough, sending the majority of the mints flying into

all directions. “Shh-itt!” I cough again and I’m left with no more then two mints. Have I mentioned that I’m turning into a nutcase? A

sad, pathetic one.

I let my head drop to the steering wheel. My eyes dart to the right and a poster on a wall catches my attention. What’s it say? “That

being said,…”? Exactly who starts an ad with “That being said”? What being said? Jesus, stupid people everywhere. Now I’m

contaminating my advertising award-winning brain with third class poster campaigns.

The next thing I notice, a bigger sized bill on the same wall, is the most unattractive underwear ad I’ve ever seen. It’s like the antonym

of hot or anything you’d find interesting in an ad for an underwear brand. The colours scream ‘grandma’ and the hairstyle of the

model resembles a 50s hausfrau from one of the square states.

I resume my ‘forehead to steering wheel’ position and close my eyes, concentrating on the taste in my mouth.

***

- Justin’s POV - MONDAY.

One hour later, I’m sitting in a shabby movie theatre, my feet crossed high over the seat in front of me, slurping on a bottle of beer.

Turns out, there are movie theatres in Pittsburgh that have showings at 1:30 p.m.

“I can’t believe this place has still not gone bankrupt. I mean, nowadays you get way better stuff than this cheaper, for free even,

without ever having to leave your house,” I word my thoughts.

“I can’t believe that they don’t sell popcorn,” she complains for the hundredth time.

“It’s a sleazy porn movie theatre, Daph, what did you expect? People don’t come here for the popcorn.”

She fetches the bottle out of my hand and takes a swig. Laying her head to the side, she points at the screen. “He’s not that bad.”

“Aw, please! The guy is a walking Italian cliché.” I turn back to the screen where the guy is currently banging the maid. “He’s got so

much grease on his head, his hair looks like a polished helmet!”

Right on cue, the maid screams, “Si, Giovanni, siiiii!” and we both laugh. I rest my case.

There are no more than five people in here, scattered across the whole hall, so no one feels disturbed by our chatter. Giovanni and the

maid alter their position and he’s pounding her into the Ikea table now.

They both start grunting and moaning something like ‘piu fermo’, which I guess is supposed to mean ‘harder’ or something along that

line. Jesus, hetero porn is so lame. 90s Italian hetero porn is even lamer.

Daphne attempts a joke at Giovanni’s chest hair, when a few rows behind us, a guy moans loudly. Just like everyone in here, he’s

obviously been tending to himself under his long coat. My friend and I break into a fit of laughters and ‘Eww’s’ and continue trading

the beer bottle around and dissing poor Giovanni.

“How much longer is this scene? They’ve been going at it on that damn Björnsson table for half an hour now,” Daphne sighs.

“Can’t be much longer. I think he said something about only having a thirty minutes break. ‘Trenta minuti’ or something. He probably

has to get back to his pizzeria.” We both grin.

Finally, the scene seems to be coming to an end and in true het porn fashion, or so Daphne tells me, he shoots onto her face.

“Si, si, siiiii!”

I have no idea what makes me say it, but for some reason I start, “His dick reminds me of Brian’s.”

“It does?” she asks, not really intrigued. I guess she can’t take any more Brian-related talk. Understandably. Well, it doesn’t come

close to Brian’s perfection anyway.

The couple on the screen shares some schmoopy-looking kisses. Huh.

“Ti amo.”

“Errrrr, hello?!” I squeal. “Did she just tell him that she loves him? How stupid is that?” The exclamation earns me a couple of

‘Shhh!’s’ from the other moviegoers. I throw my arms up as I watch Giovanni smile and kiss her in tender reciprocation. I slump back

against the back of my seat and hiss, “That’s so fucking unfair. Even that retarded maid gets a happy ending!”

“Nah, don’t worry. Tomorrow they’re gonna have a huge fight and break up.”

“Yeah? How come?” I pout.

“Huh…” Daphne thinks. “She’s gonna throw a hissy fit over something.”

“Because… oh, because he only used her for sex!” I throw in.

“Oh Justin, please!” Daphne scoffs. “Where’s the draaaama? Alright, so… he’s actually totally into her – I mean, hello, that table has

felt the love – but, his pizzeria buddies won’t stop nagging and he’s kinda tricked into declaring her as her pizzeria break booty call.

Oh-oh, and she’s eaves dropping when he does!”

Ha! Right. She’s gonna turn into a total bitch and he won’t know what hit him and why she’s suddenly - …waiiiiit a second.

“Daph?”

“Huh?” she says, focused on checking her hair ends for splits.

“Does this… do you think… No, nevermind.”

“Huh.”

Could that be possible? Is my little defence tactic the reason for all this? Did he think that was me saying it how it is?

“You were the one who wouldn’t –” Brian had started to say that night in front of Debbie’s house. “One party wants… or fucking

thinks it wants one thing, the other doesn’t.”

Meaning I don’t want anything more than a fuck/fight buddy and and… and he would? Oh my God. I was the one who wouldn’t…

fucking tell Ted to shut up and be on my merry way. Instead, I broke off a “we both appreciate good sex and good bitching” speech.

“We aren’t, nor will we ever be! … Isn’t that what you’re trying to say?”

Noooo! That wasn’t what I was trying to say!

“Fuckshitfuckingshiiiiit!” I start chanting, grabbing Daphne’s arm. How could I have missed that?

“Shhhhh!” comes from all sides of the hall again.

“Oh, shut up! Like you all can’t afford missing five seconds of dialogue!” I throw back. “Daph, come on, we need a plan?”

“What? Why?” she squeals while I drag her out behind me. “There’s still twenty minutes of the movie left!”

“When we get home I’m gonna download you some substitute, okay? Now come on!”

“God, it’s so exhausting being your sidekick.”

***

“Yes, mom, I’ll make sure to leave them on the counter from now on,” I say and head out. God, the tirades I always have to endure

when I forget my keys. I told her not to have one of those doors that lock automatically.

I was all hyper and nervous when I schlepped Daphne home from the theatre, wanting to put up some master plan as to how to get

Brian back. Upon figuring out that I forgot my keys yet again, we had to make a quick detour and pick up my mom’s. That office

building she works in is huge and I already got lost twice. Daphne must be steaming down in the car, brewing up a speech on how

people use the term “I’ll be back in 5 minutes!” too loosely. She really does that. But now we can get started on my mission and I even

have entry to my soon to be headquarters.

“Hold the elevator, please!” I say, rushing around the corner towards the closing metal doors. “Thank y-” Oh.my.God. This can’t be

happening. What are the odds?

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says and I notice that he isn’t unfazed either, a fact that feels strangely comforting.

I clear my throat and smile. “Really, you gotta stop following me like this, Brian.”

He doesn’t acknowledge the joke though, only asks, “Which floor?”

“Ground floor. I’m just heading out.” He nods and presses the adequate button on my behalf. The only other button highlighted is ‘-2’,

the parking garage. That means we’re going to ride 23 floors together. Shit. I have no idea what to do.

Out of the blue, he explains, “I had a client meeting here.” Right. Okay.

My eyes zero in on the ‘stop’ button on the control panel. Isn’t that what they do in the movies? Hit this button and passionate elevator

sex ensues? Ha, yeah well, dream on, Taylor. Okay, deep, calming breaths. 20 floors to go. I can’t do anything right now anyway.

Whatever you do, don’t tell him that –

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me that it was all just about that ‘boyfriend’ thing!” I blurt out. God damn it! No, Justin! Bad!

“Justin, just… leave it,” he sighs.

“Why?”

“Because it’s pathetic… humiliating enough for me as it is.”

“What? And why for you?”

“Because all the fucking references were aimed at me? Well, at us, but I was the one who got the whole stupid thing going.”

Right. All the digs. ‘Boyfriend land’, ‘lover’s lane.’ Fuck. But - “But why would they –”

“Because I somehow got tricked into – into declaring you as my boyfriend, okay?”

“Erm…”

“Deb… she said something about bringing the boyfriends or whateverthefuck and I… I said ‘yes’.” Oh. Oooooh. Wait, does that mean

that – he meant it?

I take a couple of seconds to regroup. 12 floors to go. “How the hell was I supposed to know that? And that you would actually want-

…?”

Brian throws me an angry look before refocusing his attention to the doors and adjusting his suit. “I don’t pay a fucking bomb for a

billboard search campaign for tricks, for starters.”

Well, yeah, but still… “How would I know that you’re comfortable with saying so?” Can you believe this guy? All this shit because

he wouldn’t just say a word and I purposely tried to go easy on him? Jesus. “You know, if you would’ve just fucking talked to me –”

“Yeah, right.”

I take a deep breath. That stupid fucker. I would’ve jumped at it. Without one second of hesitation. 5 floors to go. “Maybe I would’ve

been inclined to …” I say, not wanting to come off too needy.

He scoffs. He fucking scoffs. “You don’t want to be my fucking boyfriend, Justin. Trust me.” He seems to be so damn convinced of

that fact that I can only stare at him. I feel dizzy. He casts a quick glance at me again and sighs. “Look, I gave myself over to that

weird illusion for some time, we both did, I guess. But naturally, it doesn’t work like that.” There’s a ‘ding!’ somewhere. “This is your

floor.”

I step out and turn around, my mouth still too dry to formulate words, though my mind is reeling. Just like three nights before, I’m too

shocked to do or say a thing. He keeps rolling over me, assuming and forging ahead. That is just the most unfair, patronizing thing

ever. I don’t even have the power to be angry anymore.

He gives me a nod and the doors close.

***

ONE WEEK LATER.

These fucking security checks. If I were a terrorist, shouldn’t they be glad that I’m getting out of the country? Okay, wait. Technically,

I’m not leaving the country. But fuck, I’m going to Boston. That’s no place you go when you’re planning a terrorist attack! And that

makes total sense, I – or my eyes – scream silently at that older guy next to me who’s been eyeing me during my internal monologue.

It’s a good decision to fly out to Boston. It is. When Daphne first told me about that art internship program they have going at her

college and that they’d be willing to consider students from other colleges, I wasn’t exactly impressed. What Daphne presented me as

an amazing opportunity, received a modest recognition from moi. But she brought it up again, possibly sensing that it wasn’t the worst

time. And well, after letting the idea settle for the last few days and with potential relationship prospects jumping cliff anyway, I

decided to have a go and submit my stuff.

And right now, I’m heading up there for a meet and greet (slash interview, slash confirmation that they’re gonna take me anyway)

with the initiators. Sure, I’ll be missing most of the current semester, but what the hell. I sure won’t stay here and spend the next

months obsessing over every little detail of my thing with Brian goddamn Kinney and thinking up scenarios where he’d recognize

how stupid he acted and try and win me back. Because I will surely not fight tooth and nail to be in his life and become all needy and

grovel-y, just to reassure him a thousand times that yes, I indeed want to be his fucking boyfriend. Wanted. Past Tense.

Who the hell needs pseudo-fateful meetings? That’s just stupid. Fate doesn’t exist. There’s only coincidence. There’s make-believe

fate, yes. Cause if there was a thing like fate, it would not allow things to break apart over a pathetic misunderstanding. That is so

soap. Yeah, I believe I covered that.

“Can we move this along?” someone randomly calls. Your annoyance won’t make those clerks work faster, my friend. Fuck, I hope

I’m not the only one still wanting to make that 10:15 flight.

Half an hour later, I realize that I am. The flight crew gives me those uber-fake grins as I finally make it to the gate, seconds before

they’re closing the flight.

Yeah, that’s right, I’m seated in business class, though I’ve actually been trying to change the reservation those guys made for me to

two economy seats, so Daphne could come with me instead of having to go back to Boston by train.

So, this is what it feels like to have all eyes on you. And those eyes are angry. The man with the seat next to me gives me a halfway-

understanding smile, though. Thanks, pal. I sink into the spacious leather seat and let the stewardess stow my carry-on.

Off to Boston it is. Fucking Boston; where it all began. I wonder how much longer I can keep the corny memory flood at bay. By my

rising nervousness, I’d say, not much longer.

“Excuse me,” I address the nearest flight attendant. “Please tell me that you serve free alcoholic drinks in business class.”

“On this flight we do, sir. However, we can only start serving beverages after we reached our optimal altitude.” Right. Ugh.

I’ve closed the Brian chapter a couple of days ago but as Daphne correctly said, it’s going to take some time. But yeah, it definitely is

over. I feel it.

Maybe I should just try and sleep. I slept for shit the whole past week, so actually, I should have enough tiredness potential stored up

to go for it.

***

- Brian’s POV -

One last look at the printed version of my schedule and I put my things away. I lean back and close my eyes, intent on getting some

kind of rest before the meeting.

“How much longer?” I ask the bypassing flight attendant. I don’t have my watch, nor my cell phone to look at, and the monitor before

me shows the time on a very random rhythm.

“Fifty minutes until we land, sir.”

I nod and close my eyes again, trying to stop the flood of thoughts revolving around meetings and schedules and him, and let my mind

go blank. Just as I’m about to reach the coveted state of mind, a snoring sound wafts through my head. Fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut

tighter, willing the noise to disappear.

After another minute, my left arm swings out on its own, slamming against the wall of the plane. Irritated, I blink my eyes open and

look down at my hand. What the fuck? Why would I just – Oh my God. I know why. Because I know that snore. Because my hand

instinctively knows what to do against that snore. Holy shit, is that even possible?

Slowly, I stretch my upper body and turn my head to peek over my backrest. Sure enough, there he is. Two rows behind me, head

tucked into what can only be some piece of his own clothing, mouth slightly open.

I can’t bring myself to turn away. Fuck, it really is him. On a goddamn flight to Boston. I’m lost in memories, when I see his eyes

flutter open.

“Brian?” he mumbles.

“Shit!” I curse and slump back down into my seat, turning my head back forward. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Brian, is that you?” comes the voice again.

“No,” I throw back, fully aware that we have the attention of the few people sitting next to and between us.

“Shut up, it totally is you.”

“If you know, then why do you ask?” Seriously. But fuck, why am I so nervous now?

The guy sitting next to me eyes me weirdly, then lifts his head and turns back. “Young man, would you like to switch the seat with

me?”

Before Justin can respond I interrupt, “No!” and fix my gaze onto the back of the seat in front of me.

I can hear someone asking if I’m alright, to which Justin responds with “Oh, he’s alright. He’s just an asshole.”

After five minutes, I let myself start to think that it’s all over, when –

“Sir?” Justin’s voice resounds again. “I’ll give you fifty dollars if you switch seats with me.” What? No! The guy next to me looks like

he’s seriously considering the offer.

“I’ll give you five hundred if you stay put!”

My pulse is racing but Justin doesn’t say anything more. Another ten minutes go by and I hope that the whole business class has by

now found something else to occupy themselves with.

Something hard hits my ear. “Ow, what the…?” I pick the object up and inspect it. That idiot threw a fucking nut at me!

“Fucker,” I hear him grumble from two rows behind me. Jesus Christ, what a nightmare.

When we finally land, I make it a point to grab my things and hurry out. I can’t believe how much this throws me again. He’s the only

one who manages to do that. And that fact makes me so angry! I- … I don’t get it. Why is he doing this to me?

Yes, I do realize how fucking stupid I was and how I basically ended our thing over a pathetic misunderstanding. But admitting that

now would be the death of me. I’d rather settle for ‘it wasn’t meant to be’.

***

“I can’t fucking believe this!” I drop my briefcase on the seat. “Did you arrange this?”

“I –”

“How can we possibly be on the exact same flight? Again! And in the seats next to each other?”

“Will you just fucking relax? I didn’t do any of this okay? It’s just some weird coincidence. Don’t worry, I will so not bother you

anymore. I’m done humiliating myself in front of plane passengers, trust me. As with going after you.” Going after me? Had he been

going after me? “So, let’s just relax, fly back home to glorious Pittsburgh and stay out of each other’s…” Is he going to say ‘life’?

“…hair, or something.” Why exactly am I relieved now?

I clear my throat. “Right. So um, what brought you to Boston?”

“Other than being dragged to lame New Year’s parties by my best friend, you mean?”

I have to smile. “Yeah.”

“Well, I actually had an interview. Daphne’s college is doing some pretty cool art internship program, which they decided to extend to

some other colleges and well, I applied.” Why haven’t I heard about this somewhere along the way?

“Oh, so, you’re gonna relocate to Boston for a while, or what?”

“I haven’t really figured that out yet. I guess they’re also in touch with some companies in the PA area, so yeah, we’ll see. What were

you here for?”

“Business. I’m looking to invest in a company in the Boston area and they invited me to a meeting. It’s twice as big as Pittsburgh, so it

might be a good idea to try and get Kinnetik out there.”

“Oh, sounds cool. So, are you going to consider relocating here?”

“I, um, haven’t really thought about it yet.”

Wow, this must’ve been the most informative conversation we’ve ever had. And also, the most boring one. And I don’t know what to

do with my hands, it’s infuriating.

Justin rifles through his backpack and hair falls into his eyes. I dig my fingers into my thigh to keep myself from reaching out to fix it.

Jesus.

Luckily, fortune grants me that bit and my antics go unnoticed. The in-flight entertainment starts, introducing the program.

“On channel 2, a story about how two people, different as can be, meet under unusual circumstances. Fate brings them together

various times, challenging both their beliefs and outlook on life and love. On channel 3, …”

My eyes dart to the left, my head remains stoic. I could swear he’s looking at me out of the corners of his eyes as well. My pulse

quickens, and I’m starting to think I might need a medical check-up, focusing on possible high blood pressure or whatever sickness

goes with momentarily augmenting pulse.

You’ve had sex with this guy, what, twenty times? Why the hell are you panicking like this?

Justin puts his headphones on, fiddles witch some of the buttons on his iPod and looks out the window. I lean forward a bit to see the

runway rolling by, but my eyes drift off to his profile. Shit! I lean back into my seat and close my eyes, frustrated, trying to

concentrate on the sound of the engines, anything but him close to me.

I’m feeling some sort of relaxation setting in, kicking me back into a comfortable zone. And just like that, my hand reaches out and

grabs his, lying on the armrest.

I hold my breath, the urge to draw my hand back and the amazing feeling of his skin battling each other. He doesn’t turn to look at me,

but I think I see something resembling a smile lightly reflecting in the window. The flight is over too quickly.

Could it be that easy? Could I just… and he would just… ?

After we reach the big arrival hall, the situation is kind of threatening. I feel like I need to do something. Without thinking it over too

much and against my better judgment, I offer, “Need a ride?”

He looks a little dumbfounded, but then gives me one of his blinding smiles and I accidentally drop my briefcase.

…

“Hey, you still got that album here?” he asks as he opens the glove compartment.

Knowing exactly which one he means, I nod. We drive in silence for a while, listening to the music, not commenting on the traffic,

and I’m getting antsier by the minute.

“Um, Brian, that’s not the way to my house.”

“I know.”

***

Turns out, it really is that easy.

We stumble into the loft, kissing, touching, always touching. I think about just throwing him down on the floor, the way to the

bedroom seeming too fucking long. But then we reach the stairs and I think we might make it. He hooks his hand into my belt and tugs

me upward.

I yank my shirt off over my head. I believe that’s not quite how Hugo Boss intended it, but well. His mouth nibs and licks at my neck

while his hands work on my belt and fly and I think I could come from just this feeling. And I revel in it by pressing him closer again,

lifting him on his toes.

I wasn’t aware of how much of our weight he’d actually been holding and as he loses part of his steady footing, we tip over. We land,

sprawled diagonally across the bed, with me on top of him and my pants pooled somewhere below my knees. We laugh and I kiss

along his jaw while his hands ghost up and down my back. He starts kicking down my pants with his legs and is surprisingly

successful.

We rid ourselves of the rest of clothes and I press down on top of him again and stare into his eyes. His hands come up to my face,

stroking along my cheeks and my neck.

“You’re fucking stupid.” He nuzzles the side of my face.

“I know,” I say. And God, do I know. I lower my mouth to his and everything goes blurry from there.

Bodies slide and grind against each other, desperate hands grab at naked skin. Condom and lube are produced out of nowhere; digits

enter a tight, delicious place while teeth and lips still gnaw at each other. Hands fumble with foil, soft palms ignite an even more

forceful fire, hips are aligned.

I push in, breaching his body. He urges me on, not wanting to wait, his hands pulling at my hips. Fuck, how I love that about him. I

give in, thrust forward, until there’s nothing left between us. I bend down and bury my face in that spot on his neck. Fuck, I missed

this place. You’d think it’d take more than a week to get used to something like this, but it really doesn’t. When there’s such an

intense feeling of satisfaction and contentment, your body will remember it. And I haven’t even moved yet.

When we finally do start moving against each other, it is slowly at first, deep, and so good. I abandon his neck in favour of his mouth

and I swallow his every moan, each turning me on more, my tongue exploring the inside of his mouth again and again. I know when I

snap my hips into him in that way, I’ll elicit another one. So I do, over and over again, covering his mouth every time and feeding on

the sounds he makes.

I pick up the pace, pushing in and out of him harder, quicker. I move more weight onto my knees, so that I’m able to reach an arm

down and under him. I curl it around his waist, locking it there, using the grip on his body to bring him further up and against me with

every thrust, not allowing one inch to stay between us. My whole body is on fire as I pound into him, nudging that spot inside of him

again and again.

“Brian! Aaah!” Justin is grabbing onto my arms, trying to push away a little as the stimulation becomes too much. But there’s no way

I let him. He’s gonna come with me. Now. I harden my grip around his body, stroke in and out deliberately and watch as his neck

bends and his mouth opens wide.

I draw back, pulling all the way out of him, right before the spasms take over his whole body. He screams as I sink back into him, his

arms and legs flying around me, his hips moving upward violently, his ass bearing down and releasing my cock rhythmically.

I hear my own blood rushing in my ears and I let go. My body force my load out, straining under the release. “Fuuuuuck! G-od!” is all

I get out. I crash forward, grunting like a madman, and drive my tongue into his mouth. I rut into him a couple more times, weak from

the exertion, but don’t stop until I’m sure we passed complete euphoria.

His hands are in my hair and I bite his neck softly, feeling his come squish between our bellies. We haven’t regained our breathing yet

and his ass still pulses weakly around my cock, but we’re back.

…

“Jesus Chrrrrist! It really is true what they say about make-up sex. Maybe we should pencil in regular fights in the future,” I suggest,

though aware that pretty much every single sexual experience with him has been mind-blowing; post-reunion or otherwise.

“How about some time after Thursday in two weeks? I’m moving into my own apartment then and you can throw a tantrum over me

not spending the night while refusing to admit it’s because you want me here.”

I grumble and reach down to my discarded pants. Coming up with a pack of mints, I pop one into my mouth before offering some to

him. He blinks at me, then at the mints, then back up at me again.

“Seems you took a liking to the ‘stupid fucking mints’.” He grins and I know he’s onto me. Fuck. He must’ve also seen them scattered

all across the passenger seat and floor of my car when I drove us here.

He starts laughing then. At me and the ‘stupid fucking mints’. Or just at me. I grab him and press him to me, shutting him up with

kisses and moderate success. It’s all I can do to stop myself from cackling along. I brush a few sweaty strands from his forehead and

kiss him there. He sighs contently and fishes for the blanket.

“Sleep,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.

“Justin, it’s eight o’clock.”

“Hm.”

I want to protest again, but my system is betraying me and I have to stifle a yawn. Justin buries his head into my chest, randomly

dropping kisses within his mouth’s reach.

“So, are you gonna be my damn boyfriend now?” he asks, mumbling drowsily.

“Not in your life,” I declare, my voice sounding way too soft for my liking. “But I might not vehemently deny it, should anyone

assume such a thing or refer to me in that way.”

He huffs a laugh against my skin and it turns into one of those munching sounds he does right before he falls to sleep.

I shake my head at the absurdity of it all. I still have no idea what this thing between us really is or what it may become. But for now,

I’ll do my best to just kick back and see as we go along. I decide to put my reeling mind and my exhausted body to rest.

So, life isn’t a trash novel, a clichéd romance with a plot dynamic enough to fill a book. But every now and then, there’s sizzles,

billboards and stupid name statistics. And sometimes, sometimes there’s fucking New Year’s midnight balcony kisses.

…

“Justin,” I sigh. “You’re snoring.”

*** THE END ***