Python’s Orgy Pit.  Passion Purple walls.  Cool blue and violet lights.  Air thick, heady and male.  With tribal techno heavy on the bass so that it rode on the blood pulse and heartbeats and ragged breaths.

Justin eyed the two men ahead on either side of him, renditions of  “David”.  Brian’s sleek long lines and elegant stance of Donatello; Scott with the stronger definition and form of Michelangelo.  Both bronzed in blue light and awe inspiring as the art they resembled.  And who am I.  I’m Justin Taylor.  A work of my own.  Justin closed his eyes and slowly rolled his head from one side to the other to loosen up.  Ran a hand up his neck then down across to his shoulder.  Feeling warmth and velvet with his hand, feeling the slow soft glide of a hand on his skin, the stealthy drift of E.

Brian resolved to ignore Justin except for an occasional glance, as much as he gave to other movement in the room.  Tonight they weren’t together.  More into prowling for his choice, he fended off two hopefuls by turning his head aside.  Saw Scott do the same, deflect some dud’s hand away from his chest – knew it was just as tough on him to stand around and wait.

A Tall, built Man cruised into view.  Brooding dark and challenging.  Brian and Scott saw him at once, caught each other’s eyes and signaled with discreet nods.  They glanced at Justin to see if he was in.  But a Young Stud cutting off an Old Queen moving toward Justin blocked their view.

Competition linked to other purpose, and Tall Man looked like he could meet it well.  Scott hooked his towel lower until his cockhead previewed his stiff length.  Brian bent his leg and braced a bare foot on the wall, towel slit open, one hand leisurely stroking his full hard bulge.

Justin felt a foreign hand wander down his chest, opened his eyes to a dim view of Young Stud’s requesting gaze.  Found his own hands on the guy’s chest, and another hand rode up his thigh.  Closed his eyes and blocked out the face.  Focused on the feeling…of muscle under damp, tight skin…of unfamiliar cock…of a different style of rhythm on his own heating shaft.  Held off thoughts of Brian, but they crept in anyway. I want to feel.  Know why you want this.  Why you think I would.

Tall Man slowed his pace, eyed Brian first.  So Brian lowered his chin, eyes a wide invitation – I’m the best you’ll find in this place tonight, and I won’t be available for long – radiating full power. 

Tall Man slipped a blink of interest, but aware of his own worth, he stopped between the two and glanced at Scott.  Scott paused movement on his cock, closed his eyes to slits and glanced aside.  I’m not interested.

Brian raised a smile as Tall Man moved his way.  Shot a glance past his shoulder and saw Scott smile back with a brief military salute.  Brian was beyond caring about the game.  I fucking know what you just did.  But all’s fair, all’s game at the Baths.  Flamed on E and at full mast, he was anxious to move on, and getting Tall Man to suck him off was his prime goal.  As their hands explored each other, Brian kept their eyes locked.  Set both hands on Tall’s shoulders and pressed.  You fucking want it.  More than anything else.

Scott stopped next to Young Stud, set to go down on Justin.  Threatening with his closeness, he stared the guy into retreat and moved to fill the void.

Eyes still shut, Justin was ready to decline Young Stud’s next move.  Despite the E, it didn’t feel right and his breaths came more from tension than pleasure.  Then he felt a tower loom over him.  Hungry lips on his neck.  Large hands coursing down his arms, waist, hips.  It almost seemed like Brian.  He smiled and raised his hands to trace those shoulders.

Eyes closed, head back and mouth open in shallow pants, Brian immersed himself in Tall Man’s attention to his dick.  Cracked his eyes to see the Old Queen in Scott’s former post.  Rolled his head toward Justin.  And saw Scott’s hands on the move.  Justin’s arms rising over his shoulders.  Brian was near the edge.  Closed his eyes hard to get back to the feeling.  Back to…fuck…individuals…free…whatever feels good…

When Justin’s arms settled, he knew it didn’t feel right.  Opened his eyes to Scott’s lusty gaze and was more let down than angry.  Because in this place, men didn’t walk in without expecting to get what they wouldn’t outside.  Sex a’la carte.  Impersonal.  No strings, no promises.  It’s just not me.  Not me.  “I’m…not interested,” he whispered and drew his arms away.

Scott pulled back with a nod and stepped aside, watched Justin slow with a smile at Brian before he left, though Brian didn’t notice…too charged and close from Tall Man’s shift to higher gear.  Scott himself was hot to prowl when he felt a hand on his arm and looked down at Young Stud’s eager eyes.  Not bad.  Scott saw a brick-built Cruiser burning a look and nodded to him.  You too.  The night’s still young and I got plenty to go around.

Justin wandered up the corridor until he reached a glass wall, looked down at a large rectangular pool, whirlpool and steam rooms.  Three nude couples sprawled on loungers at the diving end.  Only four men swam the deep water.  One hulky Attendant in shorts and a Python tee looked bored and not on the make.  A good place to kill some time before checking on Brian.  Justin looked around, saw a CHILL-OUT sign and arrow pointing to a stairwell.  Must be the way - he opened the door and thumped down.

Minutes later, other eyes looked through the same window.  Watched Justin’s back as he stepped to the shallow end of the pool, undid his towel and let it fall.  Watched him take the stairs, test the water with a slow swing of his leg then step down into the aqua light until he was in to the waist, and his lower half just a liquid distortion of his slender form.  Watched him dive and flow and rise dripping.  Alone.  Like he was in a private world.  One that felt good.

Down at the pool…balmy air, warm water, a tint of chlorine…hardly the erotic atmosphere upstairs, but sensual in its way.  Justin challenged himself to an underwater swim across the width, barely made it and broke surface like a rocket.  Gasping for air, he clung to the safety bar and looked back to where he’d started.

At first he thought it was the chlorine in his eyes, and palmed away drips to be sure.  But when he looked again, Donatello’s David was still there.  Standing naked on the edge.  Then he dove in with a little splash and disappeared.

Justin’s smile lit as he watched a long swimmer torpedo his way, played nonchalant when Brian sprang up beside him, sucked air and palmed off streams.  “I thought you’d be tied up for awhile.”

“I haven’t found that room yet,” Brian grinned, “But I heard a rumor that there was a hot blond in the pool and thought I’d check it out.”  He looked around, flicked a brow, “Guess they were wrong.”

Justin grabbed Brian’s shoulders, bolted up and dunked him.  But Brian snared him around the waist and they both went down before popping up, spitting water and wiping faces.

Justin’s smile faded when their eyes met.  “You can go back if you want.  I’ll be okay here.”

Brian gripped the bar, eased to a back float and let go.  “It’s also okay for you to try something else.  Including Scott.”

“What?” Justin choked a laugh.  “You think…” he shook his head and rolled serious eyes back.  “If I DID want something different, I’d try it.  But I didn’t.  And I didn’t leave because of you.  I left because…it wasn’t for me.”  He watched Brian blink it in then lightened with, “So.  Who won?”

“You.”

“Yeah right,” Justin chuckled, “I wasn’t even playing.”

“That’s why the best man won.  He realized he wasn’t getting anything out of it, and instead of going through motions, he walked away and found what he REALLY wanted.”

Justin moved closer, pulse rising.  “Is that why you’re here?”

Still floating easy, Brian flipped a matter-of-fact look at the ceiling.  “I TOLD you…there was a rumor that a hot -” he splashed a hand down at the unexpected lift from Justin’s arm under his back, another under his thighs.  And he swung one arm up Justin’s back, hooked it on a shoulder and laughed at how ridiculous it seemed.

Brian buoyant light in his arms, Justin whirled him in a slow circle, watched his chin high in a hearty laugh as water churned up a wake.  Whispered so low that only he himself could hear, “I love you, Brian Kinney.”

Leveraging on Justin’s shoulder, Brian forced a leg down and felt Justin’s arms drop away.  He stood up, stooped and wrapped his arms around Justin’s hips, lifted him quick enough to get a loud gasp.  He felt Justin’s arms collar his neck, legs flow and lock around his submerged waist.  Held him near weightless with hands laced on Justin’s ass, cocks pressed between them.

Faces level, they kissed then split to just a forehead touch.  Brian rolled his lips in, little mischief in his eyes, and he bounced Justin against his cock a couple times. 

A loud grunt made them look at the Attendant’s acid stare before he decided they got the hint and moved on.

Justin wrinkled a face at Brian, a quiet, “We’re not allowed to fuck in the pool.”

“No wonder nobody’s here.  Let’s leave.”

“What about Scott?”

“They’ll throw him out at closing time.”

Justin let his legs float down until his feet touched bottom.  Then they waded to the stairs, arms around each other.  They snatched up towels, shagged them through hair before toweling off each other’s backs then facing to finish.

“It’s a long ride home,” Brian rubbed his towel over pubes and semi while watching Justin do the same.

Justin’s eyes sparkled, tongue tip in his smile.  “Lot of country on the way here, and you said there was plenty of leg room in the trunk.”  He smiled wider at the glint in Brian’s eyes.

By morning, Brian was dressed casual with pen in hand and at his desk.  He saw Justin, in college informal, skip down the bedroom stairs.  “Off to the Coffee Shop with the Old Gang?”

“Out for some spray paint,” Justin swung around the desk and kissed Brian’s cheek. 

“Are you planning a new political campaign?”

“Redecorating?” Justin gave a brassy grin, sighed, “There ARE other kinds of change besides a night at the Baths,” saw Brian’s tongue peek through parted lips, dove in, licked it and snapped back.  “Later.” He spun away and headed for the door.

Brian gazed his direction long after he heard the door shut, tapped his pen on his notes then snatched his phone and hit a button.  Waited.  Waited.  “Brian Kinney.  Glad I caught you,” he smiled and leaned back, “Did you make a decision yet?”  Bigger smile, he bent forward and flipped four pages into his day planner.  “Good.  I’ll do that.  Thanks.” 

He hung up, noticed the old brochure on which he’d sketched a crude office layout, picked up and studied the plan…the ad under it.  Slouching back in thought, he tapped the brochure on his chin then tossed it aside.  Stood and stretched, paced to Justin’s desk and his graphic clutter.  I’d miss that if I didn’t know I’ll be seeing it in TWO places instead of just here.

Stacks of papers, discs…   

…a dozen cans of spray paint, gallon can of thinner, huge pieces of cardboard and a pile of rags.  More than Brian could take.  Shirtless, coffee cup in hand, he scaled the barrier to reach the front window, knocked over a poster board.

“Careful,” Justin scolded, set an orange juice carton in the fridge, slammed the door and walked his glass to Brian.  “I’m using that.”

“You said that three days ago,” Brian grumbled, replaced the fallen board.  “Seven AM is too early for mountain climbing.  And if the EPA knew about this waste dump-”

“I told you I had to wait for the right weather.  Well, today’s your lucky day.  And you’re just in a piss-poor mood because RegionAir didn’t call yet.”  He took Brian’s coffee, replaced it with his juice.  “Here.  Maybe the carbs will do you better than the caffeine,” he sipped Brian’s coffee, scrunched a face, “Or sugar.”

“I’d like to get that deal locked in before going on to other ones.”

“Like what?”

“Our office move?” Brian switched the subject and their drinks, smiled a more civil, “Stock up on carbs.  You’ll need the energy.  Now I’d better get over to pick up the truck.”

“On your way you can drop me AND the waste dump off at…”

…Debbie’s back yard.

Bright early morning sun, calm air.  Justin wiped his hands on a color-stained white towel, snapped a look over his shoulder when he heard her booming voice approach.

“Sunshine!  That is fucking BEAUTIFUL!  Where did you get the idea?”

Michael stopped beside her, stared in shock.  “I thought Acid was a sixties thing.” 

Justin mocked a silent laugh, turned back to his work.  Sitting on a blanket with spray cans and used stencils was Debbie’s former old white desk.  Shiny black lacquer top - sides and drawers a visual symphony of transparent circles, squares, metallic squiggles and lines overlapped for depth and interest.  “Actually, I got the idea at school.  Most of the students personalized their hard drives and monitors.  Good theft deterrent, too.”

Brian’s unexpected voice cheeked, “I think I’ll just use ‘The Club’ on mine,” as he stopped beside Justin, deliberately donned sunglasses to eye the piece.

Justin pulled off the sunglasses.  “Admit it. You love it.”

Ignoring the desk, Brian studied Justin a long moment before pecking a kiss.

On to Brian, Debbie swooned a quiet, “Aren’t they cute” that drew Michael’s side-eyed wince.  He couldn’t picture Brian lumped with Easter bunnies and stuffed animals.

“Just so you know,” Justin twirled the glasses, “My OTHER choice was decoupaging comic book cutouts all over it.”

“What a great idea!” Michael sparked and moved beside Justin.  “We could do the counters…and I’ve got all kinds of posters for BIGGER cutouts -”

“Mikey,” Brian grabbed his shoulder,  “First things first. I have the Rent-A-Truck out front.”  He glanced around.  “Is this all we have for a moving party?”

Emmett rounded the fence and waved, “Don’t start without me!” red print workman’s handkerchief bandana, lavender overalls with gold piping and a hot pink muscle shirt.

Brian grabbed his sunglasses from Justin’s hand and put them back on.

Two hours later...

Brian carrying a hard drive, and Michael holding a monitor, hiked up the inside stairs from the Comic Shop to the new Lightwave Office.

“I’m glad it’s almost over,” Michael huffed.  “Three days of pounding, drilling and having the power shut off ninety times was wearing a little thin.  Almost as bad as that put-slot-A-in-slot-B desk set of yours.”

“As a future father, you should be thanking me for the experience.” Brian cleared the top step and saw Justin razor-scraping paint specks off the window around a backwards Lightwave sign.

“Hey,” Justin turned to Michael and Brian setting computer parts on Brian’s desk.  “You think this is enough?  I thought about putting our phone number on it but I didn’t want it to look like a For Sale sign,” looked off in thought, “Although that COULD bring in more contacts.”

“You’ve been studying the Heidi Fleiss business manual,” Brian grinned, got Justin’s sunny wink before he finished window-wiping.

Michael tackled a computer cable bird nest.  “Scott ran out to pick up a part.  He should be back any minute.  Want me to ask him to hook all this up?”

“I thought he was done,” Justin’s brows furrowed.  “We’re supposed to open for business tomorrow.”

“He’s done up HERE,” Michael clarified, “But he said something about replacing a bus bar, whatever THAT is. I think his exact words were ‘This looks like -”

“Shit,” Justin squinted at thunderheads building in the blue sky.  “Is it supposed to rain today?  I left all my stuff out in the yard and Deb’s at work.”

A muffled cell ring spurred all three to their pockets.  Brian raised a hand as he answered, “Brian Kinney,” turned aside as Michael and Justin exchanged looks.  “That’s great news.  We can meet over lunch if you’d like.  Across from the Airport? Yes, I’m familiar with it.  See you there.  Bye.”  He slipped his phone away, faced Justin with a calm, “They got the route award.”

“What is that?  Like the Clio or something?” Michael looked from Brian to Justin.

“Better,” Justin beamed.  “It means we eat next month.”

Brian added, “It also means I have to return the truck, transform into Prada Man and meet a Sales Rep for some details,” then to Justin, “I can drop you at Debbie’s. Will you be okay from there?” as he headed for the stairs.

“Sure,” Justin answered, leading Michael after Brian.

At lunch in a finer restaurant, Brian sat at a table, “To the new Vancouver nonstop,” and toasted a white wine with a well-dressed, gray-coiffured Mr. Rep.  “We’ll give you enough splash to beat the competition for those advance bookings.”

In the Diner, Justin sat between Ted and Emmett at the counter and toasted water glasses, “To Lightwave, future crown jewel of the Liberty Business District.”

After lunch, threatening skies made 1 PM look more like 6.  Justin hesitated inside the Diner front door, checked out dark clouds, vibes of thunder.  He saw a paper napkin toss in the wind, swiveled back when he heard Debbie.

“Sunshine,” she closed from behind, “If you’re thinking of making a run for it…” She held out a folded black trash bag, watched him take and study it.  “It ain’t fucking Armani, but it’ll keep you dry.”

Justin crunched the bag in his hand, “Thanks, Deb” and whisked out the door.

He hiked up Liberty in the thick warm air, felt drops, looked back and saw a veil of heavy rain rolling like fog up the street.  Shit.  Best to find a doorway and hang out until it passed.  He flicked the bag open.  It flapped and crackled in the wind, whipped loose and caught on the opening door of Scott’s silver truck angling to a stop.

“Get in.”

Deluge on them, Justin grabbed the bag, sprang into the passenger seat, yanked the door shut and brushed drops off his face, hair.  “Thanks,” he mumbled, side-eyed Scott weaving back into slowed traffic.  “I thought you were working at the Shop.”

“Took a lunch break,” he grinned before checking his rearview mirror and taillights ahead, the quick slap of wipers over Lovett’s - You Can’t Resist It - low on the speakers.

“Um-hm,” Justin saw Scott’s open jeans’ button, and “You missed a belt loop,” fell out before realization made him wince.

“You noticed.”  Real big grin.  “And I thought you didn’t care.”

“Can you drop me off at the Loft?” Justin sighed and leaned back, clarified with “On your way back to the Shop.”  But Scott didn’t answer.  Justin saw his eyes track the side mirror, rearview, straight ahead, back to the rearview.  An oddity cut short by a sudden chill from cold air blowing on his damp skin.  “Can I turn this down a little?”  Justin reached for the fan knob.

“Or you could sit closer,” Scott hinted and watched Justin’s hand kill the fan with an emphatic snap.  Hard-to-get always piqued his interest.

When the truck stopped in front of the Loft, Justin shot out with a  “Thanks for the ride” and darted through light rain to the door.  He tried his key but it wouldn’t go in.  On closer inspection he saw another key broken off in the lock.  “Shit,” he turned the knob, smacked the door – and it opened – piece of duct tape over the latch.  At least SOMEBODY was considerate.  Before entering, he glanced back and hissed a breath when he saw Scott moving toward him.  But Scott was looking up the street.  Curious, Justin almost leaned out to check the point of interest when Scott stopped close.  “Somebody following you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.  Mind if I come in for a few minutes?”

Justin studied Scott’s smile.  It seemed more concerned than carnal.  Against initial gut reaction, he said, “C’mon,” headed up the stairs and said over a shoulder, “You think it has anything to do with the Adonis deal?”

“Don’t know anything about that deal,” Scott raised a can-it-NOW brow.  “Truth is, I’d rather watch your ass on the stairs.”

Justin plastered his back to the wall, narrowed his eyes and waved a hand ahead.  “After YOU.”

“Well,” Scott renewed his lusty persona, “If you’d rather have the better view…”

“Go before I change my mind about letting you in here,” Justin waved him ahead, followed and tried not to look.  Should’ve taken the goddamned elevator.  And of COURSE I’d rather have the better view.  But Brian’s not home.

Inside the Loft, Justin walked through the kitchen, “You want something to drink?” opened the fridge.

“No thanks,” Scott wandered to the front windows, casually parted a sheer and perused the rainy street below. 

Outside and hidden against the corner of a building across the street, a tall figure in a dark hooded raincoat watches the Loft top floor sheers part to a glimpse of Scott before the sheers resettle.  The front door, slow at first, gains speed as it moves closer.

Song: “Nothing (93 Returning Mix)” by Holden & Thompson

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