Late August morning sun sizzled through the Loft’s front windows.  Stretched naked on one side of the bed, Brian opened his eyes only to squint them shut against the sting of a sweat drop.  “Fuck,” he palmed his eye and swung his legs over the edge with enough force to rouse Justin, also spread on his back and with a pillow over his head.

Brian grabbed the digital clock, slammed it down and stood up.

Justin raised the pillow.  “Easy on the noise? I’ve got a bitch of a headache.”

“The fucking alarm didn’t go off.  And it’s a hundred and twenty degrees in here.”

“It’s also Saturday. As in we-don’t-work-today.” Justin watched Brian stagger to a stand, groaned, “What the fuck were we drinking last night,” and pulled the pillow back over his head.

“Probably some homemade shit Babylon hypes when the crowd is too high to notice.” Brian crawled across the mattress, lifted the pillow, kissed Justin’s lips and whispered, “We were supposed to meet Mikey at the Comic Shop an hour ago.  You can stay here or get your ass up,” then backed off.

“I think I had my ass up most of the night,” Justin shifted slowly so his head would keep up with the rest of him, “At least I knew where you were.” He sat and winced from an E-alcohol marathon fuck, pushed to a stand.  “I can’t tell which end hurts more.”

Brian stood up too quickly and palmed his own head against the woozies.  “If it’s any consolation, we both had a fabulous time,” then grumbled, “Now we get to fry in hell,” as he thumped down the stairs toward the living room thermostat while Justin dragged to the bathroom.

In the shower, Justin set an aspirin bottle on the lube-condom shelf, leaned his cheek and chest against the cool wall and let warm water sooth down his back.  Kept his eyes closed and hardly flinched when he heard the toilet flush, Brian enter and snap the door shut behind him.  “We need a bathtub.”

“Wouldn’t it look odd in here?” Brian leaned back against the wall beside Justin, his eyes shut as water pulsed down his chest, cock and legs.

Justin cracked his eyes open.  “No worse than two guys leaning up against a wall to soak.  And YOU’RE the one who said we needed a Jacuzzi.  I’m merely proposing a reasonable alternative. This shower is big enough.”

“A tub in a shower stall.  Now I KNOW I fucked your brains out.”

“I meant remodel,” Justin slapped Brian’s wet leg, “…and the celebration was worth it.” He watched Brian’s head roll his way, large eyes soft above a smile.  “You did it, Brian.  Broke even this month.”

“WE did it.”

They turned toward each other, shoulders to the wall, arms around waists until they closed into a kiss in the fringe of the spray.

Brian combed his fingers through Justin’s damp hair, brushing it from his face.  “How’s your head?”

“I’ll live.  Yours?”

Brian glanced at his semi-hard cock, watched Justin’s eyes follow and tilt back a plea.  “We could soap up and rub together.”

Justin smiled at one of many little compromises from the former unshakable Kinney.  Could a bathtub be far behind.  Provided there were enough spare funds after renovating…

…Tales From the Crypt.  A second-story equivalent to an unfinished basement complete with dusty boxes, support posts and a heating-cooling duct like a large aluminum chimney up the center of the room.

Michael watched Brian wave a hand in front of the high duct vents.  “It should get cooler.  I just opened the vents an hour ago.”

An HOUR ago?  At least it was cooler than the Loft. “What about electrical outlets?”

“There’s one,” Michael moved to a dark corner.  “Buzzy kept his office over here.”

“I didn’t know Buzzy could write.”

Justin, hand to his chin in thought, stood before the grimy windows overlooking Liberty - “I could paint our sign right on the glass,” - while Brian and Michael cased the walls. 

“Here’s another one,” Michael moved a box, coughed from the resulting dust stir.

“That makes three,” Brian stood center room, hands on hips, brows furrowed.  “So far, we can support a coffee maker and two lamps.”

Justin eyed Brian, “Is it okay if I set up graphics beside these windows?”

“Why not?  We can run a fifty foot extension cord and give up the coffee maker.”

Michael brushed off his hands, joined Brian.  “When Ben and I thought about living here, we had a contractor check it out.  He said the wiring probably couldn’t handle any heavy appliances.  Computers aren’t heavy appliances, are they?”

“In THAT case…YOU can move them up here,” Brian grinned.

Michael studied the look for a long moment, finally ventured, “No?”

“You get an A,” Brian beamed.

“Thanks,” Michael drolly relaxed, “I guess my effort in Sleeper Couch One-O-One paid off,” faltered when Brian rolled wide eyes straight at him.  “But I’ll still move the computers up, though, if you want.”

“You are so pathetic.”

Justin moved beside Brian and hinted to Michael, “You’re supposed to wait until he asks for your help…which might be a cold day in hell…so in my own interests, I graciously accept your offer.”  When he caught Brian’s fuck-you stare, “Is school out yet?  Can we get down to some serious issues?”

Brian calmly added to Michael, “Impatient little brat, isn’t he?”

“You picked him,” Michael grinned, making the conversation almost a private exchange.

Justin leaned against Brian, stared into his eyes. “Because you so love me,” smile, slow blink.  You two wanna play around me?  Try it. 

Michael tensed at the bold move.  NOBODY backed Brian into a corner like that. “I…need to check on Ben.”  And he eased to the stairs, froze a moment when he saw Brian kiss Justin’s lips.  Michael shook his head as he thumped down the steps.  Whoever thought Brian Kinney would be in whatever the fuck he didn’t believe in.  Not like nobody knew.  Just a surprise that Brian confirmed it.

Off guard and shocked that Brian’s silent kiss was as potent as admission – in front of Michael – Justin gripped Brian’s neck and planted a hot return kiss, backed off with a blush.  “I didn’t say that because…I thought…” he stared at Brian’s raised brows, half smile.  “The more I learn about you, the more I think I’ll keep you around.”

“I think I’ll let you think that.”

They wrapped together for another kiss.  A little longer.  Remembering a time when some words were too volatile even as a joke, and attempts at emotional touch were perceived as manipulation.  Trust had come a long way.

Downstairs, Michael moved behind the counter to join Ben in specs, seated and reading student papers.  “I don’t know. Justin’s ready to move in, but Brian’s not happy with the power setup, and it hasn’t cooled down much.”

“Won’t get any cooler with the two of them up there alone,” Ben kept reading, hardly interested.

Michael pulled the papers from Ben’s hand and frowned at his okay-I’m-listening stare above his glass rims.  “You know, we could use some help on the lease and I’d rather have somebody we can trust.  Maybe YOU can go up and talk to them -”

The ceiling thumped and they both glanced up before Ben drolled, “After the moaning stops?” watched Michael’s eyes narrow.  “Just kidding,” Ben set his glasses on the counter, stood and kissed Michael’s cheek as he passed.

Upstairs, Brian stood hands on hips watching Justin on his knees and shuffling through the contents of a cardboard box.  “Has your thirst for prehistoric relics been appeased?”

“Nothing from your date of birth,” Justin sensed movement and smacked away Brian’s foot before it hit his ass, refocused on a handful of brochures.  “Must’ve been a travel agency before the Comic Shop moved in.” He handed one to Brian.

Ben’s trudge up the steps and into view drew their attention.  “So. Have you two made a decision yet?”

Justin raised yes eyes to Brian; Brian turned to Ben.  “If you update the wiring.”

Ben’s brows furrowed in thought, “One of my students owns a small business…yeah.  We can do that.”

“Well then.  I’d say we have a deal.”

“Good.  I’ll let you know what legal details the Bank needs, and we can go from there,” he smiled and left to share the news with Michael.

“Knowing how THAT works,” Brian pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, started a rough draft on the brochure, “I’d say we have plenty of time to decide what we need where.”

Justin stood and wandered to the windows.  “It’s in walking distance…it’ll be real convenient for working on Rage,” he smiled down at a gay couple strolling, holding hands.  “It’s a great location.”

“It’s a questionable location,” Ruder’s hand clenched a binder while enduring Brian’s stare and Rheinholdt’s dour concern.  “I mean,” he shook his head, “That area is…it’s…”

“What?” Brian raised a brow from his seat beside Rheinholdt’s desk, watched the standing Creative Director’s grope for PC.  “Diverse?  Liberal?  Uniquely dynamic?”

“It has a lot of clubs and bars,” Ruder appealed to Rheinholdt.

“So does every swank hotel on the convention circuit,” Brian cut in, “That never stopped the high rollers from checking in,” eyed Rheinholdt,  “Nobody cares about the address on the business card.  They care about favorable impact and nominal cost.  But…” he leaned back, “…if you think I need a trendy high-priced rest stop between sales calls, I’m all for it.  Just pick one out and pay the rent.”

Ruder, more teetotaler than homophobe, held quiet and sullen.  He’d played toward being Rheinholdt’s right hand man to secure his position, but that last line clinched it – Rheinholdt answered BRIAN.

“A dedicated office IS more appropriate.”

Especially when I’m paying for it.  “I’ll have the file update on your desk after the move.  And,” Brian stood to leave, “RegionAir’s about to pick up a new route, so we’ll be getting a bonus for getting the word out.”  Just a little icing.

“Good work,” Rheinholdt toned more expectation than elation.  As long as the agency made money - no waves, no expense, no argument.

Brian nodded to Ruder, left with a little victory grin.

Next came the tricky part…

Announcing it to the gang.  Which wasn’t much, considering that Michael was at the official sublease signing, he’d tell Debbie, and it would be all over Liberty before lunch.

When Brian and Justin walked into the Diner, Debbie barreled over, arms wide and a cheery, “Con-GRA-tu-LA-tions!” as she crushed Brian into a hug, then a softer “Sunshine” when she switched to Justin and kissed his cheek loud enough to make him blush.  “My boys.  Working together.  In our community.”  Eyes glazed, she turned like a parade Field Marshall up the aisle, “Come on.  Lunch is on me,” pointed to the far end  then swerved behind the register to service three in line.  “I’ll meet you with a fresh pot.”

At their usual booth, Michael sat with Ben to the outside, Hunter alone across from them.  In the next booth, Emmett sat sideways with an arm along the seatback behind Michael, heralded the newcomers with a broad wave and gusty, “Hi Sweeties!”

Ben saw Hunter crane back and beam at Brian, jumped to a stand.  “Brian.  Right here,” he waved to the spot beside Michael then plopped next to glaring Hunter.

Brian sat, grinned, “If it isn’t the happy family.”

“Happiness is subject to interpretation,” Hunter winked.

“I admire a versatile mind,” Brian blinked back, heard Ben sternly clear his throat.

“Hey,” Justin passed to Emmett’s table and swung to the seat across from him, could see Hunter’s lusty, smug he-picked-ME shot at him through the space between shoulders.  So Justin stuck his tongue out, got a same return from Hunter.

Emmett noticed.  “Uh…mature conversation?”

“Sometimes you have to speak their language,” Justin picked up a menu, mumbled, “And  he started it,” as he read.

Quick to other thoughts, Emmett leaned forward, hands clasped on the table, grand smile, “This is so exciting!  I can’t WAIT to see the new office.  You ARE having an open house party, aren’t you?”

“Well…it’ll probably BE awhile before -”

“Say nothing more.  You know little ole me,” Emmett leaned back and swished a hand, “I’d be GLAD to take care of it,” without reading Justin’s stiff smile.

At the family booth, Hunter leaned against the wall with eyes trying mental telepathy on Brian who was pointing out details of his brochure sketch to Ben and Michael.

“We need at least one outlet at each of these x’s.”

“I’ve already got that covered,” Ben assured.  “They’ll have a man out for an estimate after five today.  But one of you should be there.”

Coffee pot in hand, Debbie sailed in, poured and chattered from Brian to Justin, “You boys are gonna need some extra furniture and I got EXACTLY what you’ll want in the basement.”

Michael cringed, “Mom, not that old white -”

“It’s a good solid desk, and they can paint it any color they want,” she gleamed at Brian, “And a Queen Anne chair looks good in ANY queen’s office, right Emmett?”

“You have a Queen Anne chair?” Emmett’s mouth dropped.  “I LOVE those!”

“As for YOU,” she pointed at Hunter, set down the pot and pulled out her checkbook.  “You’re having the Special, you’re eating the green beans, and I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

Brian’s “I’ll have the Special, too,” got Hunter’s big smile and a grateful nod from Ben.

“Same here,” Michael added to a chorus from Justin and Emmett.

“This’ll be the easiest check I ever wrote,” Debbie chirped, grabbed the pot and hustled to the cook’s station.

Hunter complained low to Ben, “When are you gonna get me OUTTA there?  She’s driving me insane.”

“If she hadn’t worked so hard to be your foster mother, you’d probably still be at Youth Services.  We started the adoption process, but I told you it takes time.”

“She means well,” Michael smiled.  “She asked you what your favorite color was and painted the room green, didn’t she?”

“Lime?” Hunter huffed.  “If I don’t get outta there, I’ll go blind.”

Brian leaned back, “At least it won’t be from lack of sex,” got Hunter’s eternal love but lost earlier points gained with Ben and Michael, now in stereo smolder.

Behind them, Justin had his hands full with Emmett.

“Em, I’m not sure smoked salmon pate is -”

“You’re right,” Emmett fingered his chin in deep thought, “We ARE more the tuna salad crowd,” brightened, “But if I can’t find a way to glorify tuna salad, how EVER can I call myself a professional.  And if I can’t come up with a FABULOUS party for a…for a…” Emmett skipped back to a dark crystal memory.

“You okay, Em?” Justin touched Emmett’s hand.

“For a…friends,” Em forced a smile, drifted again.  “I seem to have lost my train of thought.”

“Tuna salad,” Justin raised a little smile.  “And I think that’s a great idea.”

“Really?” Emmett revived, new bulb lit.  “Wait.  Wait.  A cake.  Shaped like a computer…if I can make gray icing look appetizing…”

Justin sipped his coffee, leaned a cheek on a raised hand and nodded.

Later, Brian slid into the Honda driver’s seat and Justin took shotgun.  Both slammed doors hard and sank back relieved despite the heated interior.

“Now I know the meaning of smothered by affection,” Justin leaned back.

Brian started the car and turned the air up full.  “Everybody loves a winner.”

“I think it’s more than that.  We’re a Liberty Avenue success story.” 

“I wouldn’t exactly classify us in that category.”

Justin leaned over and kissed Brian’s cheek.  “I do.  Not because we made it big somewhere else…because we made it at ALL, and brought it back HERE.”

“Don’t forget about the low rent and walking distance.”

“You’re not gonna admit it, are you?” Justin cranked a sly smile, saw Brian’s brows rise and answered, “You care about this place.”

“Actually,” Brian dodged, geared to first and cut into traffic, “I was thinking of a little project for you,” felt Justin’s hand slowly undo his belt buckle. “After that one.”

Justin eased down Brian’s fly and pressed kisses over the thick bulge beneath dark cotton.  A waft of body heat, earthy scent…keep it slow.  Feeling Brian’s fingers tangling in his hair, riding down his back.  Not going for a car wreck.  Just a little appetizer.

Later, in the office above the Comic Shop, Justin and Michael, on folding chairs at a card table collected sketches and pages of print.  Michael slid his pile into a folder, checked his watch.

“It’s almost six.  I guess we’ve been stood up.”

“Go ahead home,” Justin zipped his sketches into a small portfolio, “I can hang around a few more minutes.”

Michael headed to a rear doorway, “The store’s all locked up but I told them to come around to this fire escape,” opened the steel door and stepped onto the landing.   “If they show up, call me at home if they have any questions.”

“Okay.”

“And leave through here.  It’s set to lock when you shut the door.  See ya.”

“See ya.” Justin watched the door close then stretched his legs out, grunted and ran his palms from his temples to the back of his head, laced fingers and did a shoulder stretch.  Some project.  Sitting alone, waiting for the service crew.  How suburban.  He opened his eyes and passed the time by imagining the layout turning real.  Desks, lights, plants, compu-

He jumped to three hard knocks, sprinted to the door, whipped it open and gaped.

“Oh god.  It’s you.”

“Try the other end of the scale,” Scott Turner smiled, little chuckle catching in his throat.  This was supposed to be a quick side job, but think I’ll plan a little overtime on this one.

Scott struts from the landing past Justin who leaves him wide berth; Justin closes his eyes and shakes his head as he shuts the door.

Song: “Only Makes Me Laugh” by Oingo Boingo 

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