Pittsburgh International Airport.  Spacious, modern, busy as hell.

Leaving RegionAir’s concourse, Ted hauled a roller bag with a piggy-backed flight bag and kept to Brian’s left side to deflect passing bodies.  “I haven’t seen this much chaos since the night we thought Babylon caught fire.”

Brian eyed a Departure-Arrival screen.  Delayed and Cancelled everywhere.  “And here I thought we were on the only three-hour nonstop from New York to Pittsburgh.”

“Speaking of stop, we need to stop in the main concourse and call Emmett so he can bring the car around.”

“On the condition that YOU drive,” Brian raised a brow.

Ted nodded agreement, pulled his cell phone.

Standing in Liberty Air’s crowded gate area, Justin closed his cell phone away, grabbed the handle of his roller bag.  “Daph won’t have time to pick us up.  We’ll have to take the downtown limo.”

Michael shifted an old suitcase to his other hand and trailed Justin toward the main concourse.  “Ben’s working late and Brian’s not due back till tomorrow…wanna stay at our place tonight?  We can go over the meeting notes.”

“Maybe some other time.  I’m moving the last of my stuff back in today.”

“I never thought I’d see the day Brian Kinney would ask ANYBODY to move in with him.”

“I’m not just anybody,” Justin grinned over a shoulder.  “And I definitely need to claim some space before he realizes how much I bought since living with Daphne.”

“Not an ideal borrowing setup,” Michael quipped.  Then he froze with wide eyes aimed past Justin’s shoulder, “I hope you have a Plan B,” yelled a smiley, “Brian!” and hustled with Justin toward Brian and Ted on a cell, standing mid-concourse.  “Brian!”

Before even noticing Michael, Brian lit from the power of Justin’s glow.  Ted waved with happy surprise then pressed the hand back to his free ear and stepped away to finish his call as the other three converged.

Michael shook his head.  “I can’t believe we got here at the same time.”

“You’re back early,” Justin grabbed Brian’s good arm, felt it rise around his back and briefly squeeze him close.  “Did everything go okay?”

“We didn’t waste the trip.” Brian kissed Justin’s forehead, smiled at Michael, “How was YOUR meeting?”   

Before anyone could answer, Ted snapped up the briefcase at Brian’s feet. “We have to hurry.  Emmett’s in trouble with…”

…A tall Police Officer holding a citation booklet and menacing stare.

In a heavy yellow raincoat, floppy hat, and looking like the Gorton’s Fisherman, Emmett stood outside the terminal beside Ted’s running car.  In gray daylight beyond the overhang, rain poured with a continuous hiss.  “But I just TALKED to them,” Emmett waved his cell phone.  “They’re definitely on their way.  It’s not like I’ll be more than another minute…or two,” he looked off and spotted another parking car.  “What about HIM?”

Officer looked over, “Don’t be here when I get back,” turned and blazed toward the other violator.  Emmett bit his lip, nervously eyed the main doors and exhaled when he saw familiar faces exit.  “Over here!” he waved, big bright smile.  “Last one in pays the ninety-dollar ticket!” He zipped around to open all four doors and pop the trunk before jumping into the rear seat.

Seeing the returning Officer, three flung their luggage into the trunk while Brian slid into the front passenger seat.  Ted slammed the trunk lid then dashed for the driver’s side, Justin climbed in back and Michael smashed him against Emmett.  All four doors slammed with the speed of a heist getaway.

Ted exhaled, “That was close,” flicked the wipers to fast then crept the car into heavy traffic.

Emmett removed his rain hat, fluffed his hair and huffed, “I know that security is a top issue?  But it wasn’t MY idea to keep circling…god knows there was nobody worth cruising out here…and no reason to treat me like a terrorist.”

“Maybe it’s the raincoat,” Ted offered.

“Or your driving,” Brian toned.

“I’ll ignore that because there are better things to discuss?  Such as…” Emmett’s vinyl crunched as he embraced Justin, grinned at Michael.  “My Hollywood sweethearts!   It’s such a surprise to SEE you!  So how many famous and gorgeous celebs have rubbed up against this fabric?” Emmett caressed Justin’s jacket sleeve as if gathering diva essence.

“None,” Michael stated.  “It was a serious meeting with a producer.”

“Fenderman. He proposed some changes,” Justin flatly added. “That’s why Brett wanted us both out instead of discussing it on the phone.  So we could convince him to stay true to the comic.”  With a tart glance at Michael.

“They’re not that drastic,” Michael stared at Justin.

“How can you say that?  He wants to take out all the sex.”

“No, I think he said he just wants to imply most of it.”

“Going from a hot fuck to having a king-sized bed in the background is a big leap off concept.  It implies that gay men fucking is wrong.”

Brian drolled, “Producers have to want something opposite directors so they can see who has more power to get his way.  But in the end, everything gets sorted out.  Chances are, if you want to have any say at all in their little power play, you’ll have to stick together.”

Justin and Michael exchanged subtle truce nods. 

Off Brian’s lead, Emmett winked at Michael, kissed Justin’s temple and switched to, “Brian.  You haven’t told us about your venture into Exotic Epicurean.  Which…by the way…I’m dying to know more about.”

“We got the account contingent on ad approval,” Brian answered.

“That’s good news,” Emmett released Justin and leaned closer to Brian.  “You didn’t happen to sample any specialties…say…something I might be able to reproduce for my very special clients?”

Brian twisted a look back.  “They offered.  But we declined the brandied batter-dipped tarantulas and French-fried Madagascar cockroaches.”

Emmett chuckled low.  “That’s…very elegant.  Now what were the REAL tidbits?”

Brian’s unchanged expression made Emmett cringe into his seat and stare.

“Are you serious?” Michael swallowed.  “Ted?”

Stalled in traffic, Ted worked a postcard from his inside pocket, handed it to Justin. “They didn’t even disguise it.  There it was…a big bug.  Right on a cocktail toothpick.”

Justin made a face at the photo of a cockroach with a creamy grub-like abdomen, dark sinister-looking head and legs.  Handed the card to Emmett, leaned into Brian’s view.  “How are you gonna market something like that?”

Brian spoke low, confident grin, “With Kinnetik’s spirit of adventure, daring and the all-American desire to be different.”  Still working on the fucking artistic presentation.

“That’s different all right,” Michael shuddered, handed the card back to Ted.  “Whatever you do, don’t show this to my Mom.  I don’t want her having nightmares.”

“Which about describes this traffic jam.”

Emmett fidgeted, “I think one of the inbound lanes is blocked by a mudslide…that…that I, uh, noticed.   While I was on my way out…t-to the airport.”  He saw Ted glare at him through the rearview, Brian crane a steady look, Justin and Michael side-eye him.  “Well it’s been raining longer than Queen Elizabeth,” he shrugged.  “There are probably mudslides on the alternate routes, too.”

“Thank you, Chopper Eleven,” Ted exhaled.

“Don’t mention it.  And I seriously mean that,” Em snooted the last word.

Daylit lines of vehicles soon darkened to strings of bright headlights and taillights snaking toward the City.

First into the Loft, Justin shoved the door open wider for Brian, stepped inside, stood his carry-on with Brian’s bag in the foyer and smiled at the view.  “So much for my plans of moving in today.  But you know what?  This still feels like home.” Truly, finally home.

Setting his briefcase beside Justin’s bag, Brian shut the door then turned and nuzzled the back of Justin’s head. “Do I detect a slight fragrance of the Pacific?”

Justin twisted to kiss Brian’s chin.  “More like the sweat of running late for a flight.  And the world’s longest ride from the airport.  I don’t know about YOU, but I really need -”

“A fuck.”

“A shower.”

“A fuck in the shower.”

“Wrong.  In bed.  I don’t wanna take a chance on the hot water running out.”  Or you forgetting you’re out of your sling.  Justin strolled up the bedroom steps, turned and paused when Brian stopped beside the bed, shrugged his jacket off his hurt shoulder.  “Need help with that?”

Brian stiffened with a pinch of resentment before reason kicked in.  “I can do it.  You can get the water started.”

Shit.  Dependency funk coming on.  Justin’s delayed smile sank as he started for the bathroom.  But it revived and his dick sparked when he felt Brian’s fingertip ski up the crease of his ass.  Maybe just a passing funk.

Periodically glancing at Justin’s striptease, Brian undid his sling then struggled to remove his shirt while holding his shoulder rigid.  Though the pain was minimal, its nag reminded him to move slowly.

From the bathroom, Justin spot-checked Brian and kept a leisurely pace to avoid magnifying Brian’s limits.  When he saw Brian’s pants drop, Justin stepped into the shower and grabbed the shampoo to get his hair done before Brian arrived.

Brian stopped outside the shower where Justin was well into soaping and rinsing.  Watched water cascade down the sleek lines of his back, ride the curve of his ass before spilling down his toned legs.  Lucky little shit had enough genetic bonus to save him from gym slavery.   Milky skin that might have looked anemic on another somehow gave Justin the kind of luminous innocence honored in so many classical works of art.  And he was smart.  And a great fuck.  And Brian was getting harder than the wait. 

Justin heard the door snap shut, wiped the water film off his face, lit a sunny smile and snatched the shampoo bottle.  “Keep it on simmer,” he glanced at Brian’s cock, backed under the spray.

Brian followed Justin, crowded him past the spray, closed in for a long kiss and met open welcome.  Little hum of pleasure, hands weaving through his hair, fizzy sound of building lather.  “Know any other ways to give head?” his smile touched Justin’s nose.

“Not until I’m ready.” Justin gently pressed him back under the spray, grabbed a washcloth and soaped it as he watched Brian rinse while keeping his left hand bent on his chest.  When Brian came toward him, Justin ran the soapy cloth over Brian’s folded left arm, down his lean waist and hip.  “You still have the body of a Greek god.”  Not just a subtle way to help Brian wash up…an aesthetic conviction with a tactile pleasure and thrill that swelled his own cock.  Making the strategy a little too unexpectedly hot to Brian.

Fuck this.  Blood pumping, Brian again ducked under the spray to rinse, plucked the cloth from Justin’s hand and sent it splatting to the floor.  Single-handedly shut both water valves – “Now we won’t run out of hot water” – trapped Justin against the wall and leaned in for a kiss.  With both hands planted beside Justin’s shoulders.

Justin squirmed his head aside.  “Watch what you’re doing with your arm.”

“We’ll both watch.  Observe.”  Brian reached for the condom shelf with his closest hand – his left.

Didn’t impress Justin.  “You’re supposed to keep that arm still for five weeks and it’s only been a little over two.”

Brian glanced at the heaped washcloth.  Catching the gist, he abandoned the shelf and stared unblinking at Justin.  “I don’t need you to tap my dick or wipe my ass.”

“Then go ahead,” Justin defied.  “Fuck it up two weeks in, and take TEN weeks to heal.”  He quickly ducked under Brian’s arm, punched the shower door open and stormed out to the towel rack.  “Just because you can shower without the sling doesn’t mean you can do whatever the hell you want yet.”

“Which is exactly the point,” Brian stood in the shower doorway, right hand gripping the frame, left hanging loose.  “I haven’t been able to do whatever the hell I want the WAY I want for too fucking long.”

“No sympathy,” Justin displayed his weak right hand, wiggled his fingers then focused on spreading his towel on the floor.  “You should’ve thought of that BEFORE you tried cruising that biker.”

Ouch.  Brian’s jaw twitched, tone capitulated.  “The next time you and Mikey have a little heart-to-heart, remind him to get a life other than mine.”

Responding with less bite, Justin opened the vanity cabinet, talked to Brian’s reflection in the mirror.  “I’m trying to help you get healthy as fast as possible.  Why do you have to be such an asshole about it.”

“Withdrawal,” Brian’s eyes widened.  “For a few glorious minutes I didn’t think about the ways I CAN’T fuck you.”  He watched Justin pause while filling a douche ball with warm tap water.  “And it’s not why I asked you to move in.”  Fuck.  CLARIFY.  “So I could get by easy with you doing all the work.  That’s not the reason.”

You care about what I think.  Justin flickered a private smile, answered with a sincere, “If I thought you were in the market for a slave boy, I wouldn’t BE here.”

Their moods leveling out, Brian pulled a towel, dried off as he edged from the shower toward Justin and watched him attach the nozzle to the douche ball.  “I’ll have to get you one of those tee shirts that says Good Boys Douche.”  He fluttered his towel next to Justin’s, took the ball from Justin’s hand.  “I heard that douching your partner can be intimate and stimulating.”

“Yes, wine and flowers are so blasé,” Justin sank to his knees.

“Left side.  I need my right hand.”

Justin rested his head on a bent arm, slid his top knee forward.  Felt Brian’s body heat against him, the nozzle probe then slip inside, a warm sensation spread up his rectum – an ordinary task that Brian’s involvement made erotic.  And relaxing enough to risk a potentially volatile question.  “When I do things for you, can you keep in mind it’s because I WANT to, not HAVE to?  And that LETTING me do things isn’t only smart, but also makes me feel more important to you?”

Brian withdrew the nozzle, exhaled and pushed to a stand, eyes on the ball as he set it in the sink.  “And if it reminds me I’m inadequate?”  Brian stared past the sink, lips tense in the aftershock of an admission out loud. 

“You’re not inadequate,” Justin rose, leaned against Brian’s back, rubbed his good shoulder and talked to their mirror image.  “The alternative is, I can be an incorrigible beast.”

“You already ARE,” Brian snorted through a smile, flinched when Justin smacked his shoulder.

“So what’ll it be?  I can’t hold this water much longer.”

“We’ll take it a step at a time,” Brian blinked slow, “I’ll meet you at our usual spot.”  And he left Justin with a satisfied smile.  He got me.  Goddamned little fucker got me, and I’m not even pissed.

Brian picked his brace off the bed and was about to wrap the chest strap when the cordless rang.  He heard the toilet flush, decided that Justin would be another couple minutes so he snapped up the phone.  “Brian Ki – What?  Calm down.  I’ll be right there.”

Justin sauntered into the bedroom and saw Brian toss sweat pants and a shirt on the bed.  “What’s going on?  Who called?”

“Linz.  Something about a leak in the basement,” he muttered, pulled up his pants.  “Two dykes should not be calling a fag for THAT kind of pipe work.”

Justin rushed into his sweats and a pullover.  “I thought Linz moved out.”

“Apparently not yet.  They’re probably fighting and need a referee.  Help me get this on.”

Justin took the offered shirt, held it up and bit back a take-it-EASY as Brian shoved his left arm into a sleeve.  At least he asked for help.

Out the front door in pouring rain, Brian dashes to the Vette driver’s door and Justin to the passenger side, realize Brian can’t drive a stick shift, rush to change places.

Song: “I Love A Rainy Night” by Eddie Rabbit

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