Brian felt an eerie chill, pulse drumming as he stood rigid and stared at the growling dog.  The fucker wasn’t backing down.  NOW what.  Brian veeeery slowly angled his arm so that his jacket slid over his left hand.  If need be, Armani would have to do more than just look good.  His peripheral vision caught distant car headlights approaching.  I hope you’re fucking speeding.

Brian watched the beast’s ears flatten, massive front paw rise.  Heard the car engine, raced his mind through speed and distance math.  Still too far.  Brian stood firm, focused hard – STAY, you mutherfucker.  The animal stepped forward, muscles coiling under its coarse hide and priming to strike.

Brian side-glanced the car, knew the move would break the trance.  Now!

He whirled and tore across the road, dog charging after.

The oncoming car slammed on brakes, tires screaming to a stop that barely missed Brian, front bumper tapping the dog’s muzzle enough to send it retreating into the woods.  The shaken driver jumped out and shouted at Brian, “Ah didn’t mean to hit yer doe-g!” and headed for the spot where the beast was last seen.  “C’mawn, pooch.  Where y’at, pooch?”

Chest heaving, head exploding, Brian brushed back his hair – I’m fine, thank you – and took shaky steps toward the wiry man with coal-miner looks.  “That wasn’t my dog.  We just met and didn’t hit it off too well.”

“I’ll be,” Miner stood in the brush, stared down and scratched his head.  “Mus’be one a them stray packs done this.”

Possibly more than ONE?  Brian looked past Miner’s shoulder at a mangled deer, felt his stomach turn and glanced aside at the thought of what might have been.

Miner drawled, “There’s people gets ‘em as pets then dumps ‘em in the woods when they get tired of ‘em or jes flat out gives up on ‘em.  Makes ‘em go back to wild.”  He fast-checked Brian.  “You from ‘round here?”

Brian’s eyes combed the woods.  “Just on business.  Somebody stole my car.  And I think it would be a good idea to leave before the dinner pack shows up.” No road signs.  “Where are we, anyway?”

“Wes’ Virginna,” Miner said like he suspected Brian was slow, turned toward his old Delta 88 and called over a shoulder, “C’mawn, if yer comin’.  I’ll ride ya to the Sheriff Station.”

Brian curbed any smart retort and followed, slid into the passenger side, tried to avoid what looked like dust and grease.  “Mind if I borrow your cell phone?”

“CELL phone?” Miner chuckled, revved his engine.  “Ah heard them damn things gives ya brain cancer.  Still feel real bad about that doe-g.  Ah think’ll be okay.  Least he run pretty good.” 

What about my fucking CAR.  “How long before we reach the Sheriff’s Station?”

“A whole hour,” Michael grumbled at the can of drain cleaner in his hand then peered at the gunky water in Mel’s kitchen sink.  “And nothing’s happening yet.”

Frustrated, Mel stood beside him, both hands on her hips.  “Maybe you could take that part off -” she pointed to the pipe elbow in the open cabinet, “- and drain it into that bucket.”

Michael blinked.  “Do you have any idea how much of this shit is IN that water?”

“Well I CAN’T leave it sit in the sink.  Christ, Michael.  Can’t you smell those fumes?”

They snapped attention to muted baby grunts on the monitor.

“Got any rubber gloves?” Michael softened.  “I’ll bail it out and see if I can dilute what’s left.”

“Right drawer.  I’ll be right back,” Mel pointed then headed for the stairs.

Michael’s cell phone rang.  He whipped it from a pocket and grouched, “Hello.”

On a desk phone in a tiny Police Station holding room, Brian cheeked, “Did I get you in the middle of bad sex?”

“Worse.  Since you’re so good at plumbing, why don’t you come down to Mel’s and join me?”

“I WOULD, but I’ve been carjacked.”

“WHAT?”

“What?” Mel had returned, eyed Michael’s shocked look.

Michael rattled to Mel, “Brian’s been carjacked!” then to the phone, “Are you hurt?”

“No, but I’m trapped in a small place with a group of men who wouldn’t know Armani from armed robbery.”

“Tell me where you’re at and I’ll be right there.”  He grabbed a paper towel and pen, started scribbling.  “What’s the phone number?  Got it.  See ya,” and shoved the paper into his pocket, jammed his phone beside it.

Mel held out a set of keys.  “Take my car.  Is he alright?  And don’t tell him I asked.”

“Yeah,” Michael accepted, glanced at the sink.  “What if I dropped you and Jenny at Linz’s?  I’m sure she wouldn’t…” he trailed off at the dead look in her eyes.  “Come on.  You can stay at our place till I get this fixed.”

“Give me a minute to get Jenny ready.”

“I can help,” Michael insisted, got Mel’s nod and trailed her back to the stairs.

Brian hung up the phone then walked out to a short hallway with an overhead Sheriff Office sign and started for the exit.  A fifty-ish mountaineer in a Sheriff’s uniform stepped from the office and blocked him.  “Mr. Kinney?  You forgot your copy,” and held out a carboned Police report.

“Thanks.”  Brian took and folded the sheet into his pocket.  “How long does it usually take to recover a stolen car?”

“Depends,” Sheriff rubbed his neck.  “On a Corvette…Ah wouldn’t stay up all night over it.  More’n likely, it’s chopped t’ pieces and halfway t’three states by now, but we’re doin’ all we can.”

Aren’t YOU the cheery optimist.  “What about this?” Brian pointed to the two bruises on his arm.  “Shouldn’t somebody take a look at it?”

“Little taser gun mark?” Sheriff smiled, “She’ll heal up fine -”

THAT’S good.

“- and so far, nobody’s been known t’ have any lastin’ effects from the fifty-thousand volt hit.”

“I’m so relieved,” Brian grit.

“Ya manage to reach anybody?”

“I have a friend on his way.”

“Well, you’re welcomed to wait in here.”

“It’s a nice night.” For a fucked up night.

“There’s coffee back here if you want later,” Sheriff turned to his office, paused and craned back.  “Jes for the record?  Ah know the difference between Armani ‘n armed robbery.  Jes happen to think it’s the same thing,” he grinned then disappeared into his office.

Brian iced a return grin.  Mikey, STEP on it!

At Marco’s small apartment…

Justin leaned over a white leather couch to scrutinize a pen-and-ink drawing of a Picasso sculpture in downtown Chicago, one of many architectural drawings along the white walls.  “This is really good.”  Technically.  But Marco’s people all looked flat and emotionless.

“That one took top award in a student exhibit,” Marco answered from his computer desk, smile going to a swallow, eyes diverting from an onscreen drawing of Rage fucking JT.  “I like your…action sequences.” And he sped to another drawing.

“That’s a big thing for comics.  Finding and capturing the height of the action.” Justin moved close and stood at Marco’s shoulder, stared at an onscreen pic of Rage punching a bad guy. 

Both were interrupted by electronic beeps from Marco’s pocket.  He quickly pulled his phone, checked a message and stood up.  “We’ll have to cut it short.  My moonlighting job,” he smiled and headed for his bedroom door.  “I just have to change clothes, then I’ll drop you at Brett’s.”

“You have another job?” Justin called to the lit doorway, heard an answer float back.

“Yeah.  How do you think I can afford this place?  Rents out here are a bitch.”

Justin panned the living room, kitchenette.  Small but clean, and the furnishings looked top line.  Then a new nag.  “I haven’t even thought about it, but I guess I should.  I’m sure Brett doesn’t plan on me staying in his guesthouse forever.  How much does a place like this run?”

Marco stood in the doorway, pulled a fine Italian knit over his head.  “On what Silberman pays?  You’d better get another job.  Do me a favor and bookmark that website,” Marco pointed as he rounded into the bathroom.

Justin did as requested, “I was a waiter back home,” spied more of Marco’s drawings on the desktop, casually browsed.

Through the open bathroom doorway, Marco combed back his hair, took a pill bottle from his medicine cabinet and popped one dry.  “That’s what I did when I first got to LA.  In fact, that’s how I landed Silberman.  Sealed his dinner receipt in an envelope with my resume and a floppy of my work.  No way he could write it off without opening that envelope.  Obviously, you don’t have to go that route.”

Justin chuckled then knit brows at an unusual graphic.  Didn’t get the significance, but it looked like a replica of a Union card of some kind.  He shrugged it off, straightened the papers.  “So what’s your other job?”

Marco returned looking spiffed for a hot date.  “Nothing dramatic,” he tipped a nod.  “Say.  I got a couple friends looking for another roommate.  It’s the cheaper part of town, but it’s close to work and they’re okay guys.  I can give you a number.”  He snatched a leather jacket off a kitchenette stool and headed for the front door.

Justin followed.  “Okay as in, alright that I’m gay?”

“They won’t care.  Long as you pay your part and don’t bring anybody home.”

What other choice WAS there, aside from imposing on Brett for even more help.  I can take care of myself.  “It’s a start,” Justin nodded as he stepped past Marco into the hall and Marco flicked off the light, shut the door.

Dark rural route.  A car dome light clicked on and washed over Brian squinting at a map from the passenger seat, Michael at the steering wheel.

Michael glanced at the gas meter on low.  “I hope Mel’s car makes it to civilization soon.  I’d hate to run out of gas and run into your mad dog.  How’d you know what to do?”

“It’s amazing what you can learn when you fuck a postman.”  Brian clicked off the dome and saw a faint glow ahead.  “The expressway should be just over the next hill.”

“You know, I could use this.  Rage battles vicious, mechanical dogs sent by an evil -”

“Aren’t they always?”

“- homophobic Wizard.”  Michael’s eyes lit and he dug for his cell phone.  “I should call Justin.”

Brian grabbed Michael’s wrist and raised the hand back onto the steering wheel.  “And how will you explain this great brainstorm?  Just get us back to fucking Pittsburgh, and don’t mention the stolen Vette and the Canine From Hell.”

“You’re not gonna tell him?”

“The last thing he needs right now is distraction.  Turn left here.”

Michael swerved sharply to make the entry ramp.  “Have you talked to him lately?”

Brian pushed off the door panel and back into his seat.  “Pull over.  I’m driving.”

“If you’d tighten your seatbelt…” Michael muttered, “Getting a movie job in Hollywood is a big deal.  Did you even call to congratulate him?”

Brian rolled his eyes at a Welcome To Ohio sign.  “Since when did my phone calls become your fucking business?”

Sounded like a big No to Michael.  “You know, maybe you could stop chanting your Brian-Kinney-Doesn’t-Do-Romance bullshit long enough to think about what Justin might like.”

“He’s free to find what he likes.  He doesn’t need me to play games with him.”

“Yeah?  Well…piss around long enough and he WILL disappear.  What’s wrong with a call, or flowers?”

“Justin’s allergic to flowers.”

“Then what ISN’T he allergic to?”

“I could send him a dozen cats.”

“All I’m saying is…you might want to let him know you care.”

“He knows,” Brian said low.  “But it shouldn’t get in his way.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” Michael turned somber.

“And what makes Mikey say THAT?” Brian lightly pressed.

“You don’t want to hear about my boring traditional life.  I could tell how much you enjoyed Mel’s sink.”

Brian eyed Michael’s straight-ahead focus, discreetly lifted three fingers off his thigh and timed each one back down.  Three…two…

 “Hunter’s been kinda restless lately.”

“He’s a fucking teenager, not Rip Van Winkle.”

“It’s more than that,” Michael eyed Brian then the highway.  “He mentioned moving out in a kind of PC  I-Love-You-But…sort of way.”

“The Call of the Wild Breeder,” Brian leaned back.

“Yeah.  Joke about it,” Michael razed.  “He’s so young.  And with all the shit that’s been dumped on him, I’m not sure he’s ready.”

“Mikey, why do you think we live in a gay community?”

“But we’re his family!”

“With one major difference.  And all the caring in the world won’t change that.”

“So you’re saying just let him go?  And have him think we don’t give a shit?”

“Or…you could interfere…” Brian raised a matter-of-fact brow, “…deny him the chance to be himself and PROVE you don’t give a shit.”

Michael side-eyed Brian, exhaled and stared ahead.  “I just don’t know…how far I can do what’s right before it starts turning into something wrong.”

“For you?  Or for him?”

“Either way, it’d be the same for all of us.”

“You could always chalk it up to experience and move on.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t think that way if you’d admit to loving somebody.”

“A man should never limit his options.”

“I happen to think a man should pick one and work at it.”

“That’s probably exactly what Hunter’s doing.”

Michael thought it over, resigned, “Why do you always sound so good in theory.”

“It’s a gift,” Brian grinned to Michael’s rolling eyes.  Whatever isn’t working can lead to other new discoveries.  Nobody said it wouldn’t hurt.  But only the strong get past it.  Not optimism.  Fucking reality.

“By the way…Mel asked if you were alright.”

“I hope you told her no.  I’d hate to ruin her day.”

Michael sneaked a side look at Brian’s serene grin, smiled to himself.  Yeah.  Right.  Wouldn’t shock me if someday you both got genetically tested and found out you’re related.

Brett’s guesthouse.

Through a large window, moonlight mottled the thin sheet on Justin, rustling on his back in the double bed.  Eyes open.  Arm up.  Then slapping down.  Fuck.  Can’t sleep.  Justin cleared his throat, glanced at the cell phone sitting in its charger.

At the Loft…

Brian lay staring at the ceiling.  He rolled to his side, punched his pillow, sank into it and shut his eyes.  Popped them open.  Fuck.  He let his eyes wander to the clock.  To the phone.

Justin groaned, rose to a cross-legged sit and was about to get up when his cell phone rang.  He stretched and snatched it.  Someone from the Studio calling this late?  “Hello?”

“No party tonight?”  Not that it’s a bad thing.

“Brian,” Justin gleamed, ran an ecstatic hand through his hair then masked with a casual tone.  “It must be two AM out there.  You’re still up?”

Brian glanced down at his hand on the sheet below his waist.  Somehow its innocent groin-scratching had become cock-stroking.  Just slow and easy.  “You could say that.”

“Is he hot?”  Not that I care.  And not like I don’t.

“I can’t tell.  ARE you?”

Jesus.  He’s alone.  Justin eased down to his side, voice smoky low, “You could say that,” rolled onto his back and started his own light massage.

“So how was your first day?”

“Exhausting.  A lot to learn.  But I can do it.  Still wonder why I haven’t seen any of the Rage stuff yet.  I keep hearing it’s in development.”

“Sometimes movies take…” Brian paused in dismal thought.  Years.

“What?”

“A little time to get organized.”

“Um,” Justin nodded.  “So what did YOU do all day?”

“The usual dazzling shit,” Brian stared off.  “My cell phone is out -” not sure WHERE, but that’s immaterial, “- so don’t call that number.  I’ll let you know if I decide to get a new one.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Almost good as new,” Brian nearly grunted.  Justin seemed close enough to taste.  And Brian’s hand had gone under the sheet, pulled firm on his dick.  “Now I suggest we both turn in if either of us wants to be worth a shit in the morning.”

“Okay,” Justin whispered through a smile, tried not to breath heavy into the phone.

“I have no doubts you’ll be fabulous,” Brian quietly added, wet his lips.  Fuck knows why.

Justin touched his lips to the phone, backed off with a mute, “Thanks.  I learned from the best.”

“Later.”

“Later.”

Brian clicked off first.  He always did.  Avoided the tiny silence that felt too much like abandonment.  Or the thought of clinging to nothing.  Then wondered if he’d called for practical purpose…or used the purpose as an excuse to call.  Whatever the fuck…it felt right.

Justin listened to the click and smiled, knowing that in that small silence Brian’s thoughts were still on him.  And hanging up too soon would sever that little imagined connection.  So what if Brian didn’t have much to say.  What mattered was…he called.

Brian jerked his cock faster, raised a knee and tented the sheet so its folds swung with his moves…wrap of tissue near and ready.  His breaths came shorter, sharper …

…as Justin neared his own peak, light sheen on his bare shoulders, eyes closed and lips parted in cool light.

Sounds of each other’s voice mellow on their minds, they both came knowing that at that very moment, they were in each other’s thoughts.

For now, it was enough.  For now.

Song: “Warm Sound” by Zero 7

[1]-[2]-[3]-[4]-[5]-[6]-[7]-[8]-[9]-[10]