Three days later and midday at Kinnetik…

Emmett peeked through an office doorway, saw Ted on the phone at a cluttered desk and crept in.

Ted was too engrossed with his call to notice.  “…so I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your offer.  Yes, it sounds like a terrific job.  Thank you, too.  Bye.”  He slapped the receiver in place, shut his eyes in muddled thought.

“Teddy?”

“What!” he jumped.  “Oh, Emmett,” he breathed relief, smiled with delight.  “What’re YOU doing here?”

“Just popped in to ask a little bitty favor,” Em swished close then got serious.  “Not to be nosey?…god knows queens aren’t nosey, just curious…but did I just hear you get another job offer?” with a mile of grin.

“You heard that?”

“So di-ish!” Em hopped onto the desk corner.  You deserve to flaunt your own worth.

“Well it’s hardly chateaubriand…” Ted glanced at Emmett, got a flat stare.  “A few days ago, the bartender at Woody’s asked me if there was any truth to the rumor that Brian was closing the agency and leaving.”

“NOT true.”

“I know that NOW…but THEN…I thought about what I went through after…well, YOU know,” Ted’s eyes dulled with distant pain,  “So when this job offer came, I couldn’t believe it.  Executive Marketing Manager,” gained more sparkle, “More money,” and a stately, “I would have been the one the Brian Kinneys cater to.”

“WOULD have?”

Ted’s eyes drifted, hand giving limp emphasis.  “Well, I’d have to mooove – and I just finished redecorating.  Then there’s Moooom.  And the hairdresser,” he aimed direct eyes, “You know how hard it is to find a good hairdresser.”

“You turned it down because…of a hairdresser.”  Fight it, Teddy, you’re not incapable.

Say it.  I’m a moron.  No, dammit.  I’m not.  “No,” Ted stood with conviction, waved a hand around the office.  “Look at this place.  I’m gone four days, and look at it.  The truth is, how will it run without me?”  There.  I’m a moron with pride.

Pleased with the passion of the real Ted Schmidt, Em smiled, “Teddy?  If this is what makes you happy?” – being needed – “I’d say half your dream’s right here.  And the other half…that special someone…will find you soon enough.”

“Yeah.  That,” Ted’s eyes dropped, remnants of a harsher insecurity.

Emmett touched his arm.  “Honey, you’re good with numbers.  If Brian and Justin found each other and made it work?…the possibilities for the rest of us are endless.”

Ted coaxed a smile, side-nodded, “True.  I imagine there’s an ongoing effort to break through the ice over hell.  But it’s possible.”

“That’s the rainbow spirit.”

“Even though I have Brian Kinney for a boss,” Ted glanced around, “And it’ll take me a week to clean up this mess, where else could I ever feel this important.  Or enjoy having a friend stop by.”  He blinked at Emmett’s glowing eyes.  Then cut off with, “So how little bitty is this favor?”

Satisfied that Ted guided action with sound reason, Emmett pulled a day-glo yellow slip of paper from his pocket, handed it to Ted.

Ted read and side-eyed, “You need -”

“How perceptive!” Brian flew in, “I need you to line up a shoot,” shoved a clipboard at Ted, smiled at Emmett with, “Recruiting for another show?” then looked at Ted and cringed.

Ted eyed Em, “What’s he mean by THAT?”

“Nothing pleasant?” Emmett casually grinned.  “But I can annoy him by not answering…soooo,” he swept away with Garbo’s grand exit, smiled to Ted, “I’ll stop back la-ter.”

Brian grinned, “Good.  I’ll be gone by then.”

Ted flipped pages and shook his head.  “You can’t be serious about this time frame.  We’ll need permits and clearances and -”

“I know,” Brian set a hand on Ted’s shoulder.  “Who else could I trust with all the important exciting details?”  He patted Ted’s arm and hustled to the door.

“Where are YOU going?”

“To do the hard part.  Sign up all the models.”

“Yeah,” Ted muttered as he watched Brian vanish.  “I know what part’ll be hard.”  And he browsed the pages again.  Mm-humh.  Nearly impossible.  I can do it.  After this.  He set the clipboard on the desk and picked up Emmett’s note…

…while out in LA…

Justin sat in Illustrating and sketched a super villain for a veteran wrist, a boyish twenty-something black man doodling men’s faces.

Vet asked, “How come I don’t see you hanging with Marco lately?”

Justin stopped his pencil, visualized the past few days of professional distance, resumed his sketch.  “Different styles.  I’m gay…he’s not.”  Then he looked up and scratched behind his ear.  “Is that a problem for you?”

“Not.  One.  Bit,” Vet widened his smile.  “I’m a different style myself.”

Silberman interrupted from the open doorway.

“Justin?  Higher Concept just canceled so plan on working here today.”

“They don’t want the boards?”

“Producer’s conflict.  They rescheduled for next week.”

“Thanks.”  Justin watched Silberman leave, grumbled to his drawing, “I burned a whole weekend on that project…left my partner hanging…and you don’t need to hear the worst of it.”

Vet sympathized, “I’ve heard blues happier than that.  Ever been to The Swallow?”

“I haven’t really been anywhere yet.”

“Then come on out with me and my main man tonight.  Not hitting on you.  Just telling you where the boys meet to get down, not power-trip each other.”

Justin slowly raised a smile.  “Sounds good.”  Sounds like what I need.

Later at a suburban Pittsburgh Nature Trail…

Brian on his cell phone walked a few yards up the path, away from a van where Ted and a two-man crew stood beside a low-mounted video camera.

Ted sprinted over to Brian, whispered, “Bri- ”

“I’m on hold.  Speak up.”

“They’re ready.”

Brian eyed the crew, waved and shouted, “One take.  Make it good,” watched Head Crewman on a radio then walked away through the grass.

Ted followed.  “Don’t you want to watch?”

“NOBODY will be watching unless we get a spot.  Liberty Air had a commitment that we already paid for and they can’t pay back yet.  A little offer of free product-placement …Brown covers the cost…they’ll all bite.  Just one thing missing.”

“Their agreement?”

“The fucking commercial.”

Brian spun toward the thuds and grunts from thirty of Babylon’s more athletic regulars sprinting full throttle up the path.  He pressed a hand to his ear and faced away.  “Yeah.  I need to know NOW or our client will take a different option.  Call me back.”  Brian slapped the phone shut, whirled to watch the runners and saw Ted closing his own cell phone.

Ted answered his look.  “Ace Rentals called.  Your car’s ready.”

“Good,” Brian flatly answered as he loped toward the crew packing the van.  “If this doesn’t work, I may need it to pay next month’s bills.”

The Swallow at sundown.  Thumping little place with booths of couples and friends, and a living room sized dance floor tight with youthful churning bodies of various races.

Justin, Vet and his Hispanic Partner walked through the entry hall and stopped.  More Woody’s than Babylon.  But the atmosphere of welcome.  A few cruisers looked Justin over.  He made sure to glance off if eyes met.  Not here to fuck tonight.

“So what do you think?” Vet smiled and started them toward a booth.

“ I like it,” Justin nodded.  I like being gay again.

On the outbound expressway, not many cars that late at night.

Brian sped along, cell phone headset on as he shifted gears, the strobe of passing overhead lights intensifying his scowl.  “No!  The fucking South Gate or they’ll never get through security.”  He checked 90 on the speedometer, eased off the gas.  “Just tell them to wait.  I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”  Relax, watch for cops, think fucking pleasant thoughts.  Make that pleasant thoughts of fucking.

Brian ended the call, glanced at the empty seat beside him, ran his hand along the steering wheel.  Smiled and keyed his cell.  His smile dipped before recovering when he heard Justin’s winded Hello and dance music hints of Justin’s other life.  “You wanted to know, so consider this official.  I’m driving my Vette.”

At the Swallow, Justin moved to the quieter entrance hall, wiped sweat from his forehead and shagged fingertips over the back of his head.  A combo quirk of excitement mixed with nervous energy.  “You really got it back?  That’s great!”

“Another party with Marco?”  The barely audible answer made him grin relief.

“I don’t wanna talk about him.  I met another gay artist, and he took me to this little club that’s amazing!”

“Amazing as in…clean Back Room?”

“It’s called the Rec Room here,” Justin chuckled, turned to the wall to cut the background noise.  “I haven’t checked it out.”  Rolled his lips in, added, “I was thinking maybe I’ll wait until you come in and we could do that together.  What do you think?”

Brian stalled, finally breathed, “It might be awhile.  And a celibate fag is a pathetic freak of nature.  So don’t go blind on MY account.  You know I won’t go blind on yours.”  Fuck.  Did I say that right.  Will you hear it right.

Justin dimly smiled, “I know what you mean.  But you’re still my first choice.  Anything after you is just contact lenses.”

Brian blinked away a momentary blur.  “My exit’s next, I’ve got a film crew waiting, and by now your dancing partner is sure you fucked him off.  So let’s save the rest for later.”

“Later, then,” Justin agreed, heard the click, ran his fingers over the phone, closed it away and turned to the music.  Yeah, I can have a good time without you.  But the memory doesn’t last as long when you’re not in it.

Veering onto his exit, Brian stripped off his headset, pulled the cell from its dash rack and tossed both on the seat beside him.  I can go to LA.  And we can fuck and dance and talk about whatever.  But you’re still LA…and I’m fucking PA.  I can get by alone.  I’ve done it all my life.  But you…as far as I can tell…need more than kiss and run.  So the way we’re going now, nobody gains but me.  And if I let that happen, how can I say I care about you.  Can’t think.  Can’t think.  Can’t fucking think about this now.

The days that followed became a kind of normalcy born from routine.

During LA work hours, Justin started another project with Vet, doing characters.  Laughed over one, argued about another but ended in agreement.  Marco stopped in once with a “Looks good” comment that Justin answered with a mixed, “Thanks” and smile.  The personal grudge had faded but Justin stayed on guard.

During PA work hours, Brian and Cynthia wrapped tapes for TV stations.  Brian personally ran a label for the one to LA.  On the way past the Art Department, he stopped beside a Drew Carey clone at a graphics computer and set a tape copy on his keyboard, “Harry Morgan, Digital Wizard, I forgive you for your time card,” then headed off with a stack for FedEx.

On LA evenings, Justin read manuals or talked movie projects with Nerdy.  Or danced and drank with Vet at the Swallow, checked out the Rec Room once.  Even took in Studio 101’s latest ep of - “Fartman?” Justin quirked a brow.  Vet laughed, “You gotta see it to believe it.”  So they did.  Made Justin wonder how THIS got made, but no word yet on Rage.

On PA evenings, Brian hit Babylon with Ted and Emmett; Woody’s or the Diner with Mikey and Debbie, Lindsay and Gus; the Back Room with anyone hot and willing; the Baths for a dark alley trick.  Mostly he sat at his Loft desk with pages of copy, spreadsheets, contracts and a book of phone numbers.

But in the late hours in either place, each viewed the empty bed space meant for the other before drifting to sleep alone.

LA Art Studio.

Tuesday, Week Four.

Smiling Silberman stepped from his office, Justin behind him and followed by the Director, a heavy-set young guy in a beard, Higher Concept logo tee and baseball cap, envelope of boards under his meaty arm. 

As they headed for the elevator, Director crowed to Silberman, “I know it’s a great story.  I’ll let you know when we get the green,” then turned to Justin, “Man, when I saw that photo, all I got was a feeling.  You made it look even better.”

“Thanks,” Justin beamed.

“Gotta move,” Director nodded.  “Thanks again.”

Silberman watched Director bump through the glass doors, hit the elevator button. “If they look at the boards and ignore the script, he might have a chance at bloodless rejection.”

“Shouldn’t we have told him that?”

“He pays to get what he wants.  Or he’ll go somewhere else.  Our job is to do it in a way that sells US as much has his vision.  Your boards will be shown to some major players,” Silberman smiled, “And in my opinion?  A commendable effort for a first project or I never would have let them out this door.” 

“Thank you,” Justin glowed sweet success, kept pace with Silberman.

As Silberman neared his doorway, he gripped Justin’s shoulder.  “Step into my office a minute,” followed Justin inside and motioned to a chair near his desk.  “Have a seat.”

Not sure what to expect, Justin perched on the edge.

In the busy Kinnetik Art Department…

Brian in rolled-up shirtsleeves, held and scrutinized a presentation board until his ringing pocket made him dig out his cell.  “Brian Kinney.”

On the top step of the Studio rear fire escape, Justin sat in the sun, supply bag beside him, one hand holding a small book open on his lap.  “Hey.  What’s all the noise?”

“Progress,” Brian perked, left the clamor and went into his office.  “So are you rich and famous yet?”  He stopped at his desk, sifted through letters.

Justin kept a weak smile.  “Silberman just offered me a permanent spot. They’re taking on an animated film and he wants me to do the character development.”  He gazed at his fingers slowly moving like they were reading Braille – on a cockroach postcard marking the page of an e e cummings verse.  Heard a faint - if it doesn’t work, let it go. 

Face blank, Brian slowly sat in his chair before nudging a smile.  “I hope they’ll pay you what you’re worth.” 

“There are still some things I need to check out.” Then he strengthened, “And I’m letting you know right now, I’ll be flying in this Saturday for Racine’s party so don’t go taking off for LA.”

“The Asshole Of The Month bash?”

“I know.  And I wasn’t gonna waste my time.  But Michael thinks it would be a bad idea to fuck off such an incredible honor.” Then he turned the postcard over to its love quote side and gently touched it.  “How about…you and I hook up after the party.  I have to fly back that night, but I’m sure we can find something quick to do.” 

Brian shut his eyes.  Saw his hand spread dark on the whiteness of Justin’s hip, hug the curve of his waist, glide over his back.  Then a flash of laser drawings, hard-edged and not Justin’s.  Brian opened his eyes.  “You’re in for business, and you should keep it to that.  It’s only fair to Michael, AND yourself.  We can bunny-fuck some other time.” 

Justin’s hand tensed on the card as he glanced away.  Saw the parking lot with Marco standing beside his car, head in one hand like he was in agony.  Watched him climb inside.  Then his car gunned back so hard it nearly hit the back row.  “Jesus.” 

Brian crunched his brows.  What kind of response was THAT.  “Justin?”

“I almost saw a car accident.”

“You’re in LA.  Get used to it.”

“No.  It’s Marco.  He must be crashing from all the shit he takes,” Justin darkened, “And to think I let him…” Justin winced.  “You’re right.  I need to talk to Michael.”

“And I need to get back to the Art Department.”

“What a coincidence.  So do I,” Justin smiled, closed the poetry book.

“Now go dazzle them.  I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah.  Later,” Justin said low, heard the click and closed his phone quicker than usual.  Glanced at the lot with its top-down convertibles and snazzy imports.  Realized how little they meant to him.

Brian left his desk, loped down the hall and back to Art.  Looked at their best efforts.  Hardly Oscar contenders.  Thought of Justin and his pending decisions.  With more time, you’ll make the break.  Seems like where you’re heading.  So it must be what you want.  And I can live with that.

Justin was on his way to Illustrating when Silberman stopped him.   

“Marco had to leave early so take a breather today and help out Drafting.”

“Sure,” Justin nodded as Silberman went into his office.

Walking into Drafting, Justin heard two Artists discussing a board, slowed to listen and learn.

Standing Artist pointed.  “No.  If the impact is HERE, the body flies THAT way, so we’ll hafta angle the plate glass window too much.  Won’t look right when we pan out.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Seated Artist agreed, positioned a straightedge and swept a line.  “I hear Patti Delaney made the front page.  What was she…sixty?”

“Fifty-six I think.”

Justin’s face fell as he closed in.  “Excuse me?  What about Patti Delaney?”

Both Artist’s swiveled heads; Seated Artist answered, “OD’d last night.  Why?  You know her?”

“Not really,” Justin swallowed.

“So what’s the word on Higher Concept?”  Standing Artist grinned.

“I did alright,” Justin shrugged, too stunned to brag.

“Good going,” Seated Artist tossed, went back to his board.  “You know…if we swerve the Jeep more -”

Justin watched business as usual, drifted out the door.  I know her voice.  And that she was pretty.  And that right now, I feel like I’m eating lunch in the filthiest public restroom on earth.

Outside Marco’s building, Justin took a breath and ran a finger down the security panel for the right name, spied M Sanchez and pressed.

A long moment passed before Marco’s, “Yeah?”

“It’s Justin Taylor.”

Nothing.  Justin stepped away, looked up at the windows as if expecting Marco to be watching.  Then he heard the buzzer hum, dashed back and grabbed the door handle.  

Marco, in faded denim, squinted through the door site glass, saw Justin and opened the door with a tired, “What do you want?”

“I heard about Patti.”

“That OD crap?” Marco snorted, eyes glazing.  Then he sobered and quieted.  “She had a weak heart. And it finally gave up.  But that doesn’t make a juicy story.  So leave me alone and don’t ever mention her again.”

He started to shut the door but Justin stopped it with a hand.  “I didn’t come for tabloid shit.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because she WAS someone.  And I know she meant something to you…” Justin shook his head, turned to leave.  “This was a bad idea. I’ll see you at work.”

“Justin,” Marco stopped him, stepped into the hall. “Hear any more about the Rage movie?”

Justin felt a nudge of discomfort from Marco’s steady gaze.  “Not yet.  Why?”

“A lot of gays work in film and get along fine.  But the truth is, the higher you go, the less gay you can be.”

“What are you saying?”

“Ask Brett.  He’ll be at the Emerald tomorrow about six.”

They stared in silence.  Not as friends, but as men responding to mutual decency hidden by their differences.  Then Marco went into his apartment and closed the door.  And Justin paced heavily down the hall.  

Driving home late from work, Brian hissed a “Fuck” at traffic slowing to gawk at a Police car parked beside the Med Center construction site.  When he saw Hobbs step from the makeshift door with a jacket draped over his clasped hands and an Officer at his side, Brian spot-checked his mirrors, swerved to the curb, parked.  Thinking quick, he grabbed his newspaper off the seat, got out and dodged cars as he jogged over. By then Hobbs and the Officer were in the car that pulled away leaving two ashen-faced Workers staring.

Brian closed toward them, waved the paper.  “Brian Kinney with the Post Gazette.  What just happened here?”  He clamped the paper under his arm, whipped out a pen and his business card case, flipped the case open and poised his pen on the cards like they were a blank note pad.

Worker One shook his head at the ground, “I don’t know anything,” and retreated back inside.

Brian froze the other with a fast, “When you read the news, you want to know it’s the truth, right?  Now you’re the only one here who can do that, unless you’re hiding something.”

“Not hiding anything!” Worker shot, nervously looked around.  “No pictures, no names?”

“No camera,” Brian scanned himself, smiled up, “And I’ll never reveal my source.” I don’t give a fuck who you are.  But I’m sure the Gazette will eat up HOBBS.  

After dark at the WeHo Commune...

Justin stood in the lamp-lit living room and watched Neatnik standing bent over their shared computer.  “How long will you be on location?”

“A few days.  It depends on the weather.  DAMN this thing is slow.”

“When it gets like that, I shut it down.”

Neatnik cringed, “Try reboot?  The three most dreaded words around here are Shut It Down.  Means stop the film.  Once that happens, chances of it ever getting made are nil to none.  Ah.  I’m finally out.” Neatnik shouldered a full duffel, loped to the open front door and shouted, “Harley.  MOVE it.  The van’s running and gas isn’t cheap.”

A hunk looking like a Swedish biker from Fraggle Rock dashed from the bedroom, grinned at Justin, “I might stunt double for Tom Cruise.”

Tom CRUISE?  Justin twisted a face.

Neatnik muttered to Harley, “Come on,” shoved him outside and grumbled to Justin, “I think he did one too many stunts this week,” then stepped out and shut the door to chants of “Har-LEY.  Har-LEY” from the two in the van.

Justin panned the room.  Realized how quiet and empty it was.  Sometimes the crew’s antics annoyed him.  Now, when he welcomed the distraction with its occasional movie-making insights, it was gone. 

He sat at the computer desk, signed in, started a new email message with Daphne’s address.  Then closed it out.  Nothing to write.  His eyes caught a newspaper ad for The Swallow.  Justin made a face.  Not up to dancing.  He stood and wandered to the window, pulled the cell from his pocket, opened it, displayed Brian’s number, slapped it shut and slid it away.  Tell him what.   

Justin turned and noticed the red recording light on the TiVo unit, “Guess it’s you and me,” plopped on the couch, grabbed the remote and clicked.  The screen lit with Ed Harris as real life artist Jackson Pollock, drunk and sorely candid to the movie man filming his life - “I’m not the phony, you’re the phony.  I’m not the phony, you’re the phony!  I’M not the phony…YOU’RE the phony!”

Justin swallowed and stared.  He’d seen the film before.  But it felt different now.

In the dark Loft with just his desk lamp and computer for light, Brian held the cordless to his ear, stretched back on his chair with the same rigid tension in his expression.

“I gave you the tip, so -” he sprang forward onto his elbows, closed his eyes and mellowed.  “I know it’ll run tomorrow.  Just do me this favor…and email me your draft right now.  Jerry, look at the clock.  Would you look at the clock?  Now who the fuck would I leak it to at this hour?”

Brian split a wide smile, quickly swiveled to his screen and hit Mail.  A bold-faced Post Gazette note popped up.  “Got it.  Next time I get a hot lead, you’ll hear from me again.  And while I got you, check to make sure my Brown ads are on the Editor’s desk,” followed by a closing, “Yes, you can go back to bed now.  Nighty-night.”

He hung up, thought a moment, started a new message.

Lying on his side on a sleeping bag spread on the couch, Justin watched the movie end.  And listened to the soft music as he read the parts usually walked away from when the theatre lights came up.  Lines and lines of credits so small and scrolling fast, they were hardly readable.  Seven artists listed, though he knew there should have been more.  Thought about Marco, the politics, the egos, the drive for one tiny line.

He grabbed the remote to shut off the set when an image caught his interest.

Black and white.  Bare legs of marathon runners, their Nike swishes, Adidas fleur-de-lis and Reebocks thudding to breaths and grunts.  One pair of legs in dark trousers, orange and brown stripes on white shoes, flew through the crowd.  Broke out front and off the screen.  A flash of black became the back of an airline pilot in uniform and holding a flight bag, dashing past an ambulance for stairs leading into a big jet.  He sprinted up past a medic escorting a sick pilot down, disappeared inside as passengers clapped, cheered, whistled, slapped hands on the windows.  The door shut, stairs and ambulance moved clear, jet engines revved.  A Ramp Guy hand-signaled and the plane moved back, revealing bright orange - BROWN ATHLETICS  - to a sturdy voice: “For top performance when you need it most…Brown Athletics” and fade-in The One Thing To Wear as the plane backed off, screen went brown and words faded out.

Justin quickly dialed his cell, smiled wider when Brian answered on the first ring.  “Hey.  I just saw it.”

“What? The Loch Ness Monster?”

“Mm.  Big and Irish…but your dick is not quite in my viewing area.  Your Brown commercial.  I’m sure you had a hand in ‘top performance’ and the happy ending,” he grinned, reversed and forwarded the plane so its fuselage thrust back and forth onscreen, little Ramp Guy happily waving it in and out.

“You noticed.”

“It has your phallic influence,” Justin wet his lips.  Lost the smile and shut off the TV.  “Wish I could see you.”

Brian slouched back, fingertips on his forehead, eyes staring up.  Tried a playful, “We could always get those little web cams and -”

“god, Brian.  Don’t talk to me like a dumb kid when I’m being serious.”

Brian knew that undertone of discouragement.  When Justin wanted too much that wasn’t happening fast enough. “About the job?”

Justin nodded to himself, sank to his side on the couch.  “I like the work.  Well…most of it.  Sometimes it gets boring…doing backgrounds.  Other times, when I get to do characters, I can really get into them.”

A crude response welled up, but Brian squelched it. “So what’s the serious part.”

“It’s a different kind of mentality out here.  Not easy deciding who to trust.”

“Then trust yourself.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Justin dimly smiled.  “So I asked myself why I’m here, what I expect to achieve.  It’s great to get a challenge, turn it into an image that really works for the story.  They obviously think I’m pretty good at it.”

“Don’t YOU?”

“I know I am,” Justin snipped then darkened.  “But sometimes in the process…a part of me goes into what I do.  Then I start thinking, what if they tell me to change it.  Brian, I don’t know if I want to be famous…or even have my name in the credits…as much as I want to know that if I create something that feels just right…no one will try to make it any other way than it was meant to be.”

“Don’t give them that part,” Brian eased.  “Keep what’s you…and turn in what’s left as an honest day’s work.”  He thought a moment, grinned to himself. “You were planning to do that anyway.”

“Yeah,” Justin brightened, “But hearing it somehow validates it.”  Then he noticed the clock, slapped his thigh, “Oh SHIT!  It’s almost three AM out there!” and furrowed his brow.  “What were you doing when I called?  Sitting on the phone?”

“With all the other more appropriate toys here?” Brian drummed his fingers on the keyboard edge, decided, hit Send.  “I just sent you an email.”

“Really?” Justin sparked, jumped to his feet and sped to the computer.  “About what?”

“Just read it,” Brian arched his brows.  Waited.  Waited.  Jerked the phone away when Justin’s FUCKING FANTASTIC! almost broke an eardrum.  “Are you back yet?”

“Shit!” Justin beamed as he scrolled and scanned.

“I thought you’d like that.  You might also enjoy knowing that even if your bashing isn’t admissible, it’ll certainly fuck his chance at a civil suit.  But I doubt he’ll get off with swabbing down the Women’s Center.”

Justin inhaled deeply, exhaled long.  Something missing.  Want to hold you.  Right now.  “I love you.”

Brian tensed, rolled his lips in.  “Yeah.  Now I have to say nighty-night and get my beauty sleep so I can be fabulous in the morning.”

You don’t say it, but I can see it.  “Thanks for your note. Later.”

“Later.”

And Justin hung on smiling beyond the phone click.

Brian stared at his computer screen, leaned back and scrubbed a hand over his neck.  The intent was to give you a lift.  Not complicate things more.  Half of Liberty Avenue will be calling you tomorrow.  But I wanted you to hear it first from me.

He roughly shut down the computer.  Its last flicker caught him sitting motionless in the dark.  Fuck it.  Fuck the left brain…fuck the right…fuck the layers in between.  Did I do it for you?  Or for me.

Next morning in PA…

Michael awoke to the ringing bedside phone, snatched it and answered with a groggy, “Hello?” and bug-eyed,  “Ma.  Ma.  Calm down.  I’ll be right there.”  Though Ben roused to the noise, Michael shook Ben’s shoulder to rush the process.  “Mom wants us down at the Diner for breakfast as soon as possible.”

“At six AM?”

“She said she has -”

“- big news?” Emmett bounced out of bed, cell tight to his ear. “Well Deb, Honey, don’t leave a queen hanging like a spent wet dream.”  Then ran to his closet, “I’m -”

“- dressing as we speak,” Ted in boxers rifled on a button shirt, switched the phone from one hand to the other.  “Can you at least tell me if it’s bad or -”

“- GREAT news!” Debbie cackled as she doled out newspapers to her boys lining counter stools.  “Hunter…Ben…Michael…Page three.  Upper left column. One for you, Emmett…Ted…” then she saw Brian walk in, hustled past the excited chatter to hand Brian a copy, her eyes bright and tone quietly affectionate.  “Read this, and I don’t care if it’s fucking four AM in LA…call Justin.”

“He already knows,” Brian softly answered.

“Why am I not surprised…that somehow you had a hand in this?”

“I’m not the one who started it,” Brian raised a brow.  “Now please tell me the donuts are today’s and not yesterday’s.”  And he strolled down the counter to a vacant stool beside Hunter.

While Debbie poured coffees, Michael talked on his phone, “Mel?  You read the paper yet?” as Ted read aloud, “…’allegedly blocked her in a corner and threatened her if she told anybody about the photo.’  This is worthy of opera,” and Emmett leaned against Ted to view his copy, “Whoever thought breeder justice would finally do him in.  I can’t WAIT to hear what our Baby will have to say about this!”

“Well the sad thing is -” Debbie ranted as she poured, “- if they hadn’t been so anti-gay the FIRST time, that poor girl wouldn’t have to go through this.  Probably so scared and embarrassed…no wonder it took her two weeks to come forward.”

Only Brian noticed Hunter hunched low and loudly slurping his coffee, eyes pale and face drained.  “Didn’t your Daddies ever teach you about poor posture?”

Mired in gloom, Hunter murmured, “What do ya think’ll happen to him.”

“Not a fucking ‘nough,” Brian stood up, tossed a couple bills on the counter.  Fuck concern for fucking Hobbs.

Debbie froze Brian with a feisty, “And what’s YOUR hurry?”

“I’m late for a shoot,” he grinned at Deb’s rolling eyes then headed for the door.

Catching Brian’s departure, Michael shot a quick, “I’ll talk to you later.  Bye,” pocketed his phone and darted after Brian.

“Brian!” he called from the open door, joined Brian stopped on the corner.  “You know Justin’s coming in Saturday.  I thought that maybe after the A-Hole Waste, we could get together at Woody’s for a little Fuck Hobbs celebration?  Just a couple drinks.  We’ll leave you enough time for…yourselves.”

Brian flatly answered, “I’ll be working on a campaign all day.”

“What?” Michael frowned, “With Justin only in for the day and flying back the same night?”

“We both have things to do.”

“Am I fucking missing something?”

“Yeah.  The fact that you two won’t have much time and serious business to discuss,” Brian hardened, “And you said yourself that being with me connects him to that.  So the best thing is for me to stay out of it so he can say what he really wants.  Without guarding how I’ll take it, or how YOU will, because…are you listening?”

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Michael crossed his arms, eyes stern.

“Rage is YOUR dream.  But it may not still be HIS.  Give him room to be honest …and respect what he decides.”  Brian widened eyes, spread his arms in a Well? gesture.

“I think that you not seeing him will kill you worse than it will Justin.”

Brian hid the stab with a flip, “Play Chemical Brothers at the wake.  And if you have to do foliage, use cannabis, not fucking callas.”  He lightly slapped Michael’s arm, turned and walked on.

Michael stood in disbelief, barely noticed Hunter fly out the door and zip past him like he wasn’t there, swiveled back to see Ben step out.  “What’s with Hunter?”

“He looked a little white so I asked him if he was okay and he just took off.”  Ben stopped beside Michael, watched Hunter flag down Brian.  “Wonder what THAT’S about.”

“Hey!” Hunter shouted, jogged to catch up.

Brian looked back, stopped.  “I already told you all I know about picking up girls.”

“You didn’t answer me,” Hunter stood, heart pounding.  “About what’ll happen to him.  I mean…” his eyes wandered, “Over a picture?  What if some dude just thought he’d help this chick…I mean…not meaning it more than that.  And now THIS happens…and…”

Brian moved close, cocked his head and watched Hunter jet a breath.  The lotto winner steps forward.  “So it’s not his fault?  It’s some DUDE’S fault?”

Hunter flared a steady gaze, “He coulda kept his mouth shut instead of turning rat.  And there’s no worse asshole than a fucking rat.  Everybody on the street knows it.” 

Chin low, eyes wide, Brian answered,  “That depends on why the anti-rats are all sticking together.  The homophobic courts should have realized that someone who would bash a defenseless kid like Justin for being gay, wouldn’t care what he did to anyone else.  And letting him off easy not only blessed his shit but made the fucker worse.”

Hunter swallowed, “He bashed Justin?”

“Almost killed him,” Brian darkened with memories, let it pass then leaned toward Hunter.  “Personally, I admire a man who knows the difference between a rat…and a mouse.”  Then he turned and moved on with long strides.

Ben and Michael watched Hunter saunter back, more color, big smile and a brief glance at Brian, “That dude is way too cool,” as he skirted past them and into the Diner.

Ben eyed Michael’s stare.  “What are we doing wrong?  He thinks BRIAN’S cool.”

Michael swung troubled eyes back to Brian, a figure in the distance.  “I used to think so, too.  Until I learned the high price he pays…to be that cool.  Even with Justin.”

Ben breathed out, watched Brian disappear.  “Love is hard enough for those of us who CAN accept that it doesn’t always make sense.”  He set a hand on Michael’s shoulder and led him back inside.

That evening at the Emerald Club…

Still running on adrenaline from yesterday, Justin cornered Brett away from the densest crowd of schmoozers.  “But what does that do for gay sex?”

“It’s a big part of what Rage is,” Brett faced Justin, “And I swear to you on my honor as a director and a visionary, we’re not gonna lose that, okay?”

Justin crunched his brows, shook his head.  “I don’t know.  Rage a bisexual caught between two love interests?”  I can see where THIS is going.

“It raises the stakes…increases the tension -”

“And the box office draw?” Justin narrow-eyed.

Brett skirted, “It gives Con something serious to work with.  You know he’s absolutely enthusiastic about giving Rage more depth.”

“Is that what’s holding up the script?  Con’s idea for more depth?”

“Look.  You want this movie to be the best it can be, right?”  He flew on without an answer, “And Con can do that, so let’s WORK with him,” quickly switched, “Hey.  I heard Silberman’s thrilled with your boards and he’s thinking about a permanent spot.  Rumor has it Grable asked about you, too, so you have a good shot at joining the elite. I can put in a word for you.”

“Don’t blow smoke at me,” Justin cut.  “Rage isn’t about a love triangle.  He’s about being gay and proud of who he is.  Proof that morality goes beyond opinions disguised as rules.  That men who walk the edge or color outside the lines can still be honest and honorable.  And if you can’t visualize that on film…” he drew a silent breath, “…maybe you should just shut it down.”

An E F Hutton hush fell on the nearest bystanders.  Justin glanced aside, saw wide eyes and tense lips before he smiled back at Brett’s speechless embarrassment.  “Sorry to interrupt your party.”  And he walked away with the satisfaction of having kept power over his own creation.

On the busy street, Justin felt triumph ebb.  What IF they shut it down.  Pace slowing, face tight, he stopped and leaned back against a storefront.  What do I tell Michael.

Saturday.

Linz rattled plates in the kitchen sink.  “You should come for dinner more often.  Gives Gus more chance to see you.”

Brian sat cross-legged on the living room floor and watched Gus zoom toy planes off the end of the coffee table.  “But I thought you wanted him to grow up right.”  And he smiled knowing Linz was Oh-Brian’ing and shaking her head.

“Daddy, you take this one,” Gus insisted, handed Brian a mini jet and soon griped when all Dad did was turn it in his hand and study it.  “Noooo.  You hafta put it in th’airport first,” Gus loudly tapped the table.

Eyes never leaving it, Brian flew it slowly in and gave it a soft landing.

Garth’s honor gala.  Small banquet room in a swank Downtown bar, a few tables surrounded by the usual chosen chatting about fashion, business and Broadway plays.

In a dark suit and seated alone at a front table of empty glasses, Michael anxiously grabbed Emmett’s arm as Emmett in business gray with a wild shirt, swung into the next seat.  “Did you hear from him yet?”

“He said -”

“Sorry –“ Justin in preppie dress hurried in and whisked into the seat beside Michael. “The flight was two hours late and my cell went dead.”

“- and he’d be here any minute,” Emmett finished, jumped from his chair, hugged and kissed Justin.  “Baby, it’s so good to SEE you!  And you look MAH-velous.”  Then he darted back to his own seat, stooped to move something under the table.

Michael grabbed Justin’s shoulder, smiled relief.  “I was beginning to think you changed your mind.”

Justin saw and snatched a Comic off the table.  “Is this the new issue?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure it’s up to our standards.”

Eying Garth’s approach, Justin whispered quick, “We need to talk about that after the party,” and set the Comic down.

Michael’s eyes rolled up, solemn smile.  I think I already know.

Garth stopped, set a thick envelope and his martini on the table, huffed at Michael, “We’ll have to start without your artist.”

“He’s right here,” Michael smiled at Justin and Garth iced his own look.

“You must be very important, to keep me waiting.” 

Before Justin could comment, Garth turned to his guests, “May I have your attention?  Your attention, please.  Tonight we’d like to recognize two more stars in our gay business community.”  He lifted the Comic, stared with bland interest at the Canine Demon cover.  “Every endeavor has its niche and I honestly believe our special guests created their own niche and…filled it well.  So let’s applaud the talent behind that gay…hero…Rage.  Writer and editor, Michael Novotny…” he raised the comic, quickly set it down, gestured to grinning Michael, “…and artist, co-creator…” he glanced at the cover, “Marco Sanchez.”

“It’s Justin Taylor,” Justin coolly smiled, thawing Michael and Emmett’s sudden freeze and mildly stunning the guests.

Not one to be wrong, Garth suavely bit, “The credits -”

“We showcased a new artist this month, but all the other art was done by me -” Justin glanced at Michael, “- as will all future artwork.” 

Emmett blazed a Go-Baby! smile; Michael beamed at his partner’s affirmation; guests held PC smiles…and Garth hid condescension by lifting his drink with a grand, “To Michael Novotny…and Justin Taylor,” toast.

All drank, some clapped then the glory moment receded to private schmoozing.

Emmett hugged Justin, whispered, “Sweetie? You handled that like a Hollywood pro.  Now you just relax and let little ol’ me buy you a free drink.”

“I’ll go with you,” Justin stood up, side-glanced Garth taking a seat beside Michael, “I think we both need less stale air.” 

Garth grabbed his one-on-one chance.  “So did you enjoy my little welcome?”

“Yeah, it was great,” Michael nodded genuine joy – over Justin’s staying with Rage.

“Just between us writers…”

“I didn’t know you were a writer.”

“Oh, I do it in my spare moments.  I was wondering if you would mind circulating a little project of mine -” he pulled a two-inch-thick manuscript from its envelope, slid it toward Michael, “- to your studio friends?  Just for their opinions.”

Michael craned to read the cover, struggled, “Wow.  Your…autobiography.”

Emmett plopped two margueritas on the table, big smiley, “Ohmygod!  Your autobiography?” to Garth’s stiff smile, then to Michael, “You simply MUST send this to Hollywood!” back to Garth, “Michael is always willing to help an avid fan.  You ARE a paid subscriber, aren’t you?”

Garth balked under their stares.  “Well…I don’t  -”

“Lost in the mail.  Happens all the time.  But never fear…” he pulled Ted’s briefcase from under the table, dug a clipboard of forms, noticed Michael’s wide eyes and whispered,  “Ignore the tacky brown?  He didn’t have flamingo,” then set the board beside the manuscript so Garth would see both.  “I just happen to have a few subscription forms,” he offered a pen,  “Aaaaand… you don’t have to worry about not having your checkbook.  The credit card slips are riiiight under the forms.” 

Standing a couple steps away and biting back a laugh, Justin watched Garth labor through writing, moved close with a sultry tone, “This issue may be a little different, but I can promise you that the next one will have all the lusty, hot and steamy sex you expect to see in Rage,” and finished with a flirty blink.

As Garth handed back the pen Emmett added, “And don’t forget your friends.  We don’t want anybody to feel left out,” forcing Garth to grudgingly hold onto it.

Snatching an excuse to go, Michael took the manuscript and stood up.  “Mr. Racine,” he reached out, got a limp handshake, “I want to thank you for all this.  But we really hafta leave.  Justin has to fly back to LA,” and he slapped the manuscript into Justin’s hands.  “I’m sure he’ll know exactly what to do with this.”

Garth gave Justin a toothy smile, offered his hand – which Justin cold-fished.  “You’ll call me with any good news?”

“Sure,” Justin grinned.  The first fat fucking chance I get.

After Garth moved on, Emmett glanced from Michael to Justin. “You two go ahead and I’ll make sure the clipboard doesn’t get lost?”  Then he hugged Justin, kissed his cheek.  “You shine bright, Baby.”

“See you next time.”

Michael softly glowed, “Thanks, Em.”  And turned with Justin toward the exit door.

At Ben and Mikey’s…

Engrossed with a TV news report, Ben sat on one end of the couch, Hunter on the other.  Brian slouched in the chair, one leg hanging over the arm, elbow on the other arm, hand to his cheek as he watched a pan of the Med Center’s metal frame.  For all its support and strength it looked cold and barren.  Then a sweep down to a group of charged women and a few men picketing.

A Newscaster droned, “The ongoing investigation has turned up widespread harassment.  We spoke to David Turner, CEO of Turner Enterprises, and he had this to say…”

Brian swung up and leaned forward with amusement.  Footage of Asshole Dave seated at his desk, back dropped with a no doubt hastily hung Turner Family portrait and a picture of Abraham Lincoln – flanking Justin’s twat painting.

“We at Turner believe in dignity and respect, and I can ASSURE you, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

The screen picture shook momentarily.  Hunter groaned, “TV’s going bad.”

“It’s the cameraman,” Brian grinned.  “I worked with him last week.  He has a great eye for detail.”

Hunter squinted, “That picture looks like -” And griped when Ben clicked it black.

“Aw, don’t turn it off now.  There’s nothing good to do around here.”

Brian stood and stretched, “We know where all the rich queers are tonight,” headed for the door, “We could go burglarize their houses,” ignored Ben’s dagger stare.

“Sweet,” Hunter jumped up, followed.  “We could be like Robin Hood.  You got all their addresses?”  But he and his enthusiasm were towed back by Ben’s grip on his shirt.

“I think Brian means -”

“You’ve done enough good deeds for the week,” Brian finished low to Hunter jaunted, “Exciting as this little visit is?  I have stats to run.  Tell Mikey I’ll be at Kinnetik if he wants to share his adventure.”

He went out the door; Hunter waved; Ben answered to his back, “I will.”  Knowing Brian wasn’t listening.  That he’d dropped in just to kill time with someone doing the same.  Because they both had vested interests in the outcome from tonight.

At the Airport, standing outside the car, Michael glowed an excited, “So you really think you can do it?”

“Yeah,” Justin smiled wide.  “Making Em a Super-Hero’s your best idea yet.  I just got paid, so I’ll get a scanner and a better computer…” bit his lip when a dark thought surfaced.  “Michael,” he looked down.  Shit.  How do I say this.

“What?”  Michael’s smile wilted.

“About the movie,” he stared straight.  “I had it out with Brett.  I don’t think they’ll make the film.  At least not as gay as we planned.”  He watched Michael’s face run a gamut from shock to disappointment to nothing.  “I’m sorry, Michael.  I wanted it to be something we could be proud of, and that wasn’t happening.  But we’re supposed to be partners. So if you want to try calling him…”

“What for?” Michael finally raised a faint smile, “If they’re fucking around with our work, I’m glad you were there,” and brightened, “We still have Rage.”

“And he’s gay -”

“And he’s proud -”

“And he’s ours, and nobody is allowed to change him,” Justin faded.  Sneaked a look up the walk and down.

Discreet as it was, Michael caught it.  “I don’t think he’s coming.”

“I know, and he was right. We needed to get things worked out.  I just thought…” and ended there.

Michael set a hand on Justin’s arm to draw his eyes.  “Brian’s not easy to love.  Because he doesn’t give it back the way you’d expect.  It’s almost like he needs black and white answers, or it doesn’t make sense and he sort of stumbles over what to do.  And that’s something that may not change much for him.  He’s…Brian.  And I’ll never understand some of what he does.”  Michael shook his head, lightened, “Like you can never get him half the time, but if you really HAVE to, he’s always home by three in the morning.”

Justin snapped a look.  “Three?”

“Yeah.  Not sure why, but it’s probably one of those quirky things like we ALL do.”

“Thanks,” Justin warmed, threw his arms around Michael and hugged him.  Until he saw a Police Car pull up.  “Shit.  You better go.”

Michael craned back, saw the cop getting out. “Shit is right.  If Ted gets a ticket.”  Then he dashed around to the driver’s side, yelled,  “I’m leaving now!” to the advancing cop, waved to Justin, “Call me so I know you got in okay.”

Justin shouted back, “Don’t forget to pick up Emmett!” waved to Michael’s raised hand as the car sped off.  I can’t believe it, Justin sparkled.  Three AM, after all this time.

He adjusted the shoulder strap of his flight bag and bounded into the terminal.  Stopped to fish out his electronic boarding pass safely with the postcard in the poetry book. 

Still, it didn’t feel right…just taking off, and he glanced around one more time.  Then took the postcard and stared at the picture, glad he’d decided to make Rage work, not let it go.  He turned it over and read again -  I love you, and I’ll be here when you get back - his own words, but in Brian’s handwriting they became Brian’s as well.

He flipped to the cockroach.  Stiffened and lost his smile.  Turned it again.  And again.  Running the phrases together until they blended to - I love you, but if it doesn’t work, let it go.  “Fuck,” he hissed, shoved the card into his bag and marched toward the security line.  You planned this.  And you knew I’d figure it out.  But guess what.  You can’t tell me to stop loving you.

At midnight, Brian walked into the quiet Loft in the pale kitchen lights and flopped his briefcase on the floor.  Leaned against stiff arms on the desk edge and took a long breath.  I wanted to see you.  If your hair got any longer…or you changed the way you dress…or talked a different way.  Wanted to know…if your thoughts changed, eyes changed… FUCK this.  Just fuck it.  He headed for the bedroom, sucked a breath and froze when he saw a body leaning in the doorway.

“You’re early,” Justin quietly said.

“Let me guess,” Brian recovered with the same soft tone.  “You’re storyboarding a remake of Wait Until Dark.”

Justin flicked on the bedroom overhead, held up the dual-faced clock.  “Found this in a drawer.”

“Maybe because that’s where I put it,” Brian darkened and headed toward the front window.  “What the fuck are you doing here?  You’re supposed to be on a flight to LA.”

Justin eased down the steps and closed in slowly.  “Changed it to tomorrow.  Did you think I’d leave without seeing you?”

“The idea was for you and Mikey to get your business in order.”

“I’m not giving up Rage, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good.  Then I did my part.”

“How?  By avoiding me?” Justin took more edge.

Brian could hear him close.  Turned with a harder tone, “There are things you have to decide.  It’s best you do it with a clear head.”  He gazed at the busy street below.  How many times have I been here before.  And why the fuck does it always look as dismal as the last time.

Justin stood and watched a moment.  Pursed his lips and moved close without touching.  “Do you want me to leave?”

Brian shrugged to the sheers.  “This isn’t about what I want.”

“Yeah.  Right.  Like that means nothing to me.”

Brian spun and glared.  “This is about taking your best shot at doing what you were born to do.  Not wasting it so you end up looking back years from now and wondering how the fuck you could ever get it back.  Because, you know what?  Those years pile up faster than you know.  Your fucks and tricks’ll come and go but your talent and how you use…or NOT use it…keeps you company for the rest of your life.  So what’ll it be?  Long term.  What do you want?”

You - somewhere in the long term, Justin thought but kept it in.  Taking the risk, he drilled Brian’s eyes. “I want you to tell me…that you don’t want me coming around anymore.”

FUCK.  Brian rolled his eyes away and shook his head.

Justin toughened, “Don’t do that.  Flake it off like some shitty request.  Look at me and tell me you don’t want me anymore!”

Yeah, I can fucking do that.  Brian aimed his gaze into Justin’s.  Opened his mouth for the words to fly.  But they wouldn’t.  So he stood frozen in the shock of his own inability while his mind snatched at loose pieces that wouldn’t come together.

Justin breathed heavier, a mix of elation and panic that cleaved his confidence.  Don’t give him time to think his way out.  “That’s not enough.  I want the full uncut version.”

“Full is not a problem.  It’s a little late for -”

“Now!”

“I won’t tell you that!” Brian snapped, eased a long breath like the ordeal was over.  “But you can’t stay half here and expect to be complete anywhere else.”

“You mean…happy?”

“Happy…well-adjusted…” Brian waved his arms and stepped away,  “…call it whatever the fuck you want,” then stopped and met Justin’s eyes.  “You know all about fighting uphill battles with Rage and the World.  Now’s your chance to write, direct and star in something that meets needs Rage may never understand.  You owe it to yourself to do it.”

Justin closed to inches, spoke low and serious.  “Yeah.  You’re right.  Rage doesn’t understand some of my needs, or he’d realize that I’m still sorting things out.  Still trying to decide where I fit in.  IF I fit into another story.”  He reached out and touched Brian’s arm.  To hold attention…tighten the connection…whatever it took.  “The one thing I’m sure of, is that I’m not afraid…as long as I know you’re here for me to come home to.”

After a long pause, Brian circled his arms around Justin’s waist and pulled their bodies together.  Felt Justin’s arms ride up his back.  Leaned his chin over Justin’s shoulder and wiped his cheek against the soft nap of hair.  Always the age-old question since that first night.  “What the fuck am I going to do with you.”

Justin’s suggestive whisper brushed against Brian’s ear.  “That was never a problem for you before.”

“Yes it was.  But I’ve learned to live with it.”  And a dark dimension of the problem.  That feeling of codependence gone awry.  His youthful partner still had so many open doorways to explore and could easily walk away.  Had every right to move on.  For Brian, Justin had become one of the last and most comforting of few remaining doorways. 

Was that it?  Wrong.  Fucking wrong. A survivor never settles for the pain but finds the alternatives.  If things happen, they happen.  But what makes life go on at its bearable best when there will always be…that space.  Fill it.  With pleasures caught and cherished.  “I need a shower.”

Justin nodded to the floor and stayed planted as he felt Brian retreat away to just a hand skimming down his arm.  Until it gripped his wrist and towed him along.  Lifted his spirits and made him smile. “See?  I KNEW you never had a problem with what you’re gonna do with me.”

“You talk too much.”

“And you love it.”

Brian had to smile then.  Somehow within the imperfect translations of each other’s language they’d broken the base codes.  And sometimes that’s all that was needed for the clearest communication.

In the bathroom, they shed clothes quickly between lusty glances while corralling the strains of separation.  Playing calm despite stiffening cocks.  Brian was first into the shower and fixed the water temp a little cooler than normal.  Justin’s skin prickled and caused a laugh when the spray hit his skin.  They kept contact minimal, just a few want-the-shampoo words.  Primal, steamy spontaneous rut had its allure.  But not tonight. All the ritual pared down to holding the urge for the right moment.  When bodies were fresh and smoothed and rid of whatever bad layers had settled on them in the past days.

Pulse rising, Justin rifled through toweling then flung the damp bundle over the rack on his way to the bedroom.  He wanted to be first into bed, languish on his back and wait for Brian to appear like the hero in the last scene of a long, angsty movie.  When excitement peaked and the emotional investment was about to find reward.

In the bathroom, Brian smoothed out Justin’s towel.  For about the nine-thousandth fucking time after as many showers.  And snorted a quiet chuckle.  He strolled into the bedroom at an ordinary pace.  But when he saw Justin he stopped, breath catching in his throat like he was seeing him for the first time.

Alarmed Justin.  “What?”

In reassuring answer, Brian stalked across the covers and arched over his target.  Settled in the valley of Justin’s spreading thighs and layered his body against the other like laminate inching for thorough connection.  Cock to cock, belly to belly, chest to chest with Brian’s arms planting to lighten the pressure.  He felt Justin’s arms wind around his neck, hands caress his back.  Eyes riveted to eyes and blood raced with urgent purpose. 

Kisses turned voracious and the jab from hard cock against his belly soon made Justin clamp his legs high and tight around Brian’s waist.

Then they stopped.  Two statues with only the shallow movement of their chests as their eyes locked, Brian’s eyes scanning quick, mind torn between heat and reason – This may be our last fuck for awhile.  No.  Yes.  No.  What do I want.  What do you want.

Mouth open, eyes glassy, Justin slowly swung his arm off Brian.  Let it drop to push a hand under the pillow.  It surfaced with a foil packet.  How it foiled the moment.  Stole the height of feeling.  Because once you go raw, the discipline of safety has to struggle against the desire to resist it.  Just one more aspect of the danger.  Justin eased the packet to his teeth and watched approval relax Brian’s stare.

Brian leaned back as Justin curled toward him.  Took the time to close his eyes and revive the thrill of Justin’s hands carefully rolling rubber down his cock.  Appreciate the break in momentum to study Justin’s face and see what no other trick or man revealed.  He pressed Justin back with one hand as he groped for lube with the other, made the squeeze generous then took position between Justin’s raised knees.  Probing for entry, he found lust and desire tarnished by concerns that this exception to never going back would end in Justin’s disappointment.  “It might take awhile.  To get back the right feeling.”

“You never give yourself enough credit.”

FUUUCK I want to fuck you so hard, Brian gasped as he nearly popped a vein trying to go slow.  We have time.  We have time.  We have…ahh fuck it.

Justin wrapped his legs tight, muscles working in tandem, head back and a couple delirious groans as they bucked on this wild ride.  His Brian.  Powerful, passionate and raw in the highest sense.  Sweating and pumping so hard, Justin threw his hands up to keep his head from driving into the wall.

Brian clenched Justin’s thighs and pulled him back.  Up.  Rammed deep and felt the twitch and clamp on his dick.  Heard Justin’s clipped cry.  Squinted through sweat-stung eyes and saw Justin’s cock spurt milky threads up his chest.  Then Brian reared back into his own moment, mouth wide and a hiss of ecstasy.  And way too soon, he was coming down.  Literally.  Spent dick slipping free, body sinking onto Justin’s.  Consciousness returning with the feel of something twisting through his hair.

Justin smiled down at the head cradled on his chest.  Let his fingers delicately twirl a lock of Brian’s hair then stop when he saw Brian’s head rise and eyes roll up.  “Have I ever told you how good you look in my cum?”

Brian shifted to his side, touched a damp spot on his cheek and licked his finger.  “No, but I’ll make it a point to wear it more often.”

Justin glowed as he watched Brian roll off the bed and head for the bathroom.  More often.  As opposed to silent nothing.  A good sign.  Stretching long on the wrinkled sheets, Justin listened to the toilet flushing, water running, footsteps and Brian with a towel slung over his shoulder as he cleared the nightstand for the shaving bowl.  “What’s THAT for?”

“Home entertainment,” Brian said to the washcloth wringing in his hands.  He sat on the bed and started with Justin’s face.  Easy light strokes of a warm cloth on skin that looked fragile despite its toughness.  Then he patted Justin’s face with the towel.

Stunned at first, Justin considered protesting when he realized that Brian planned to keep going.  But it felt too good.  And there was an intensity to the gesture.  Like this wasn’t a bath as much as a study similar to those he’d witnessed in live figure drawing classes.  And if it seemed weird, it was also exciting.  To be a model in that same way Brian had been and still was…HIS.  He’s drawing me in his mind.  Every detail.

Brian slipped a smile to answer Justin’s contented one.  For once you’re keeping your mouth shut at the right time.  And holding still.  And letting me do this.  Brian watched Justin’s eyelids sag over eyes steadily on him.  Was anything more beautiful or perfect.  The firmness under the smooth skin of his chest with its tight, tiny nipples.  Dips and swells of his belly.  When Brian reached the matted pubes, Justin obliged by raising his knees and spreading them wide.  It took some willpower to cover the soft balls and a dick twitching with a semi.  And dry it fast before Justin took a giggle fit or chill.

Then Brian pressed on Justin’s thigh.  “On your side so I can get your back.”

Justin exhaled a little displeasure as he changed position.  Now he couldn’t see and study Brian.  Only imagine the movement of muscles and nuances of facial expressions that might match the strokes and swirls across his back.  And why this new, unusual behavior.

Brian traced the angle of Justin’s hip and circled the curves of his ass, went easy down the crack and finally finished when Justin momentarily shivered.  “Cold?”

“You’re making me hard again.”

“Another foreplay success.”  Brian felt his own cock stir.  He dumped the cloth into the washbowl, tossed the towel aside, stretched out beside Justin and noted that Justin hadn’t moved to face him.  So he reached down for the sheet piled at the end of the bed, pulled it over them and spooned against Justin’s back.  It felt cool and static.  “You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

Justin bit his lip.  “You don’t think I’m coming back.”

Brian rolled flat back, pressed a palm to his temple, his face knotting with a reality conveniently suppressed until now.  He knew his silence was an admission and didn’t have to see Justin’s face to know his eyes were shut and he was biting his lip.  Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.  He needs to know I won’t walk away.  Why let it be a cliché que-serra.  Why not let it be the truth.  Not hidden in vague rhetoric or borrowed from someone else’s quote.  “Whatever you do won’t change that I love you.  And if you ever use that as an excuse to pass up a chance to better your life, I’ll kick your ass back to square one.”

Justin sucked a breath and blinked wide-open eyes.  What?  Jesus fucking WHAT?

Brian swallowed his own shock and side-eyed, “Is that fair enough?”

Smiling to the edge of a giddy laugh, Justin kept his posture and vowed not to make it a big deal.  “I suppose I DID ask for the full uncut version.”

“And it doesn’t meet with your approval?”

“Yeah it does,” Justin struggled against glazing eyes and creeping sniffle.  “It just always amazes me how, in all your bullshit, you somehow manage to sneak a rose.”

Hearing the tension in Justin’s voice, the sniffle he tried to hide, Brian knew he’d made a right decision even though he’d had to blurt the thought before he dwelled too long and silenced it one more time.  Actions always came easier, always seemed to mean more.  So to prove he meant it, Brian moved against Justin, draped an arm around him and pressed tight.

Justin settled back into a blanket of Brian and planned quiet acceptance.  Until his hand moved on its own, clamped onto Brian’s forearm and squeezed.

Brian kissed the back of Justin’s head and kept his lips buried there.  Random thoughts.  Concrete, steel…left brain, right…each resilient on its own but strongest together.  Then the chill from a fleeting scene gave way to understanding…

A wild dog.  Abandoned, probably as angry as scared, wary and mistrusting while asserting his right to survive.  Lone ruler of an empty existence.

I don’t believe in fate or destiny.  But I accept that for an instant in a distant past, someone had to relate to someone else to start how far we’ve come.  And in an instant, I saw myself without that little piece of humanity.

The piece you brought to a lamppost…with the half that makes everything I know and feel…

Complete.

Justin pressed back, urging Brian to give him space.  When he felt the shift and cool air, he rolled to his side and smiled into Brian’s eyes - Not turning my back on you.  Not now, not ever - slid his hand up Brian’s neck while soft eyes spoke with the speed of thought and emotion.

Brian felt the light tug, held out for a silent – I’ll be here – and signed it with a kiss.

I won’t be counting the hours or living in a void…but no matter where you take yourself, I’ll always be your home.

Song:  “Storyreel (Satoshi Tomiie Mix)” by Interflow

Just a little gap-filler along the road to S5.  Thanks for walking with me.
London

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