Banging on the Loft door?  Brian reached under the wide band of his sling and scratched his bare chest, paced slowly to the door and yanked it open.

Hunter.  Acting cocky and sure. “Good.  You’re home.”

Brian blocked entry by drawing the door a few more inches closed.  “Do your Daddies know you’re at a house of ill repute?”

“They’re still out mucking stalls.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, and how did you get past the security door?”

Hunter raised and wagged a key.  “From Michael’s emergency stash?  And I’m seeking an expert on ill repute.  Know of any?”

Fucking little wiseass.  Kid’s got balls AND taste, for a fledgling breeder.  Brian raised a superior smile, stepped aside, watched Hunter strut past with a smug I-knew-you’d-let-me-in grin and head for…the bar?  Brian closed the door and hiked back in time to shut the bar cabinet door out of Hunter’s hand.  “This is not the State Liquor Store.  And to quote a tired phrase…it’s a little early for Happy Hour, isn’t it?”

Hunter flinched a show of vulnerability, bit of embarrassment that he’d underestimated Brian’s unconventional limits.  Okay.  Maybe I was a little too blunt.  “Compromise is not out of the question.  How about a beer?”

Brian thought a moment, wordlessly headed for the fridge with Hunter behind him, confident smile recovered.  “Have a seat.  What can I do for you?” Brian dug through the fridge.  “And keep in mind the clock is running.”

Hunter hopped onto a stool, smile sagging when Brian plopped a can of ginger ale on the counter in front of him.  “You know, this is really putting a damper on my planned man-to-man discussion.”

Brian popped the tab on a beer can.  Canned beer.  Fucking sacrilege.  “So BE a man and spit it out.”

“I need advice on how to pick up girls.”

“Time’s up,” Brian checked his invisible watch.

“Would you chill a minute?  The way I see it…and I’ve been on both sides…a method is a method.  It’s all the same.”

“Shouldn’t you be having this discussion with your Dads?”

“You mean Ozzie and Harriet?”

“Good point.”  Perceptive and media-savvy.  “So take advantage of your vast personal experience.”

“But I don’t want crude, cheap,” Hunter wryed a face, “I want class.  Cool.  I heard about you, watched you.  They say you’re the best -”

“I think they’re referring to POST pickup.”

“- and face it.  There aren’t a lot of guys I know around here who are major tops.”

Kid’s scoring well, Brian gloated.  Then saw Hunter’s body pull inward as he stared into his lap.

“And I have HIV.  After that thing with Callie…I do real good, up until I really look at a girl.  Then I just lose it.  Act like a fucking little stuttering…” he shook his head.

Fuck.  It’s for real.  Brian pursed his lips, took a glass from a cabinet and poured it half-full of beer.  Set it next to the ale and saw Hunter gain a smile.  “Don’t focus on the half empty.” Brian swigged his brew, “You’re smart.  You’re good-looking -”

“You think so?”

“You’re straight?”

“As morning dick,” Hunter assured, guzzled his beer.

“Glad we got THAT…settled.” Brian turned serious.  “And you don’t owe anybody your medical history until you decide it’s time.  Then you don’t just have HIV.  You have the balls to be honest about it and enough pride to leave behind anybody who doesn’t have enough balls…so to speak…to accept it.”

“But it isn’t like something uncatchable.  Or curable.  And there’s how I got it.”

“So you had unprotected sex.  Only an asshole would ask for details.  A minute ago you said a method is a method.  Take mine or leave it,” Brian exhaled.  “If you want long-term therapy, steal the key to a shrink’s door.”

Hunter stared at his empty glass.  Same advice he’d gotten from Ozzie and Harriet.  But somehow its coming from Brian seemed more credible.  He processed an acceptance with an added angle - pushed the glass toward Brian.  “Would you demonstrate that theory for me again?”

“Nice try. But you’re still a fucking minor.  Now if you listen carefully, you can hear the door calling your name.”

Hunter stood up smiling like a kid at his idol.  Something respectable about a guy who said his piece and quit.  “Catch you at Woody’s tomorrow?”

“You mean it’s a straight bar now?”

“They still think I’m over twenty-one.”

“Remember that feeling twenty-one years from now.”

Hunter nodded, ran his hand along the bar as he left, accidentally knocked the bug postcard off and picked it up.  “What’s THIS?” he eyed the picture, flipped it over to check the sender.

Nosy little shit.  Brian joined him.  “It’s a special cockroach.  You eat it.”

“Yeah?” Hunter wide-eyed Brian, then the card.  “Sweet.  What’s it taste like?”

Offguard at the casual reaction, Brian took the card.  “Chicken.”

“Can you get me a couple?”

“You can’t afford it.”

“Major shame.  That’d be a really cool thing to bring for lunch.  See ya.”

“And call before you come so I have the option of telling you to fuck off.”

“I can do that,” Hunter opened the door with a breathy, “Ah.  Ah.  Oh yeah, baby.  Ready for it?” then left and slammed the door knowing he’d just upped the Master.

I don’t.  Believe.  I gave him that, Brian rolled his eyes shut.  Opened them, tapped the card on his chin and thought – bugs, live goldfish.  Not all college kids were destitute.

Brian strode to his desk, slapped his briefcase on the desktop and opened it.  He snatched a stack of papers still on the printer, spread them on the desk beside his case and chose two lists: Specialty Shops & Restaurants, Private Clubs.  He grabbed a pen and scribbled Campus Newspapers on one list, tossed them in the case and slammed it shut.

Red Cape Comics.  Steel gate across the window, CLOSED sign on the door.

Inside, the counter looked like an office desk.  Printed ads for Valley Heating and Cooling, Sears, HomeLife Store with pictures of water tanks and furnace units.  Calculator, notepad.  A pen in Michael’s hand as he stood scribbling numbers.

Ben hung up the phone and leaned over Michael’s shoulder.  “I have to meet a group of kids.  Why don’t you wait until the repairmen come out before you go through all this?”

“Because I already know what they’ll say.  The units are old…probably the original…and should’ve been replaced years ago.”  He shuffled through papers, kept writing.  “It’s the same at Mel and…the other house.  It’s bad enough they have to heat water.  This way, I’ll get the orders called in before the rush hits.  It’s not like they’re the only ones who flooded.”

“I thought you said Brian took care of that.”

“Not for Mom.  And he’s not paying for all of it.  If these estimates are right,” Michael tapped figures into the calculator and hit Total, “Between what’s left from the movie and a little from the savings…that should cover repairs and replacements.”

Ben reached over and lifted a budget sheet with two columns: BMH and MJ.  “What’s this?”  He held the sheet near Michael.

“What?  Oh.  Estimated monthly expenses.”

Guessing the purpose, Ben set the paper down.  “Michael, you can’t support everybody.”

“Just in case Mel needs help,” Michael answered, stood up and gathered the papers.

“I can’t tell you not to worry because if Jenny was mine, I’m sure I’d do the same.  But I’d also consider that Mel and Linz have been together a long time.  It’s probably just a temporary misunderstanding.”  Ben rubbed Michael’s shoulder, kissed his cheek and headed for the door.  “How about Thai for dinner?”

“Yeah.  Sounds good.”

“See you tonight.”

After Ben left, Michael stared off while tapping papers in slow motion, replaying Mel’s words to decide for himself how serious they were.

At Kinnetik…

Dark shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, white immobilizer sling in high contrast, Brian sat at his desk computer and accessed a web page.  Waiting for it to load, he scanned his desktop bar.  Bottle of water, pint of Beam, coffee in an I-See-Stupid-People mug on a warmer plate.  And beyond, somebody standing beside the entryway.  It only took a second’s refocus to identify… 

“Mikey.  Stealth is a new approach for you, isn’t it?”

“You looked busy.  I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”

“You’re right.  I’d much rather have people sneaking around me like vampires.  What the fuck are you doing here?”

Arms tense at his sides like an itchy gunfighter, Michael moved closer, hardly put off by Brian’s attention to the computer screen.  “I meant to stop by the Loft, but I couldn’t find the key.”

“Let me guess.  The dog ate your cell phone.”

“This isn’t a phone-type conversation.”

“So far it’s not much of a conversation at all,” Brian swiveled to face Michael, waved a hand toward a chair and watched Michael sit stiffly on the edge.  “Well?”

“Mel and Linz are breaking up.”  Michael watched Brian’s brows rise, couple blinks, hand out with Is-THAT-all irreverence that Michael found disturbing.  “I said they’re breaking up.  As in, no more couple.  On their separate ways.  Don’t you care?”

“Why should I?  It’s not like we’re conjoined triplets.”

“I don’t believe you,” Michael stood shaking his head and looking off, hand on his hip before pausing it on his forehead.  Then a blazing look back.  “You knew.”  He watched Brian’s steady eyes and blew up.  “You FUCKING knew, and didn’t tell me?”

“It was their business.”

Michael slammed both hands on the desk.  “GUS is our business.  JENNY is our business.  And you’re supposed to be my best friend?  Why the FUCK didn’t you say anything?  Do I fucking KNOW you?”

“Michael, either sit down or get the fuck out of my office.”

Michael, not Mikey?  MICHAEL?  He hissed a steamy breath, sat down and tried to recompose.  “What are we gonna do?”

“Do?”  Brian leaned back.

“Yeah, DO,” Michael strengthened, looked off in major worry.  “They’ll each have bills, and the kids are so small, and they have to work -”

“There ARE child labor laws.”

“GODDAMMIT, Brian, you KNOW what I mean.”

Brian picked up and smacked the Beam on the desk in front of Michael.  “I also know that couples break up all the time and single parents CAN still be good parents.  You should know that.”

“I know, all right,” Michael’s eyes narrowed.  “I know it’s tough, really sad a lot of times, and leaves a kid wondering why it happened.”

“And having two parents is better?  You should know all about THAT, too.”

“Fuck you, Brian,” Michael erupted out of his chair.  “You can’t keep excusing your rotten attitude because of your pathetic family life.”

Frustration building, Brian stood, rifled off his wrist cuff then his arm cuff.

Alarmed Michael.  “What’re you doing?  You’re not supposed to -”

“Pouring you a drink,” Brian winced and stretched his arm.

“I don’t want one.”

“Then fucking pour ME one,” Brian glared.  “What do you do when you go home at night?  Dig out a copy of Pete Seeger’s Little Boxes and set it on replay?  The Munchers have made a decision.  Now just WHAT were YOU planning to do about it?”

Michael slumped down onto the chair, mouth open, eyes glazing at nowhere, “I don’t know,” shook his head and turned to Brian.  “All I know is that I love my daughter.  And I don’t want her spending the rest of her life…trying to replace what she never had.”

Brian exhaled a slow breath, came around the desk and sat back on the edge in front of Michael.  “Mel’s here.  YOU’RE here.  She already has it better than either of us did.  So what won’t she have?”

“What if Mel decides to move away?”

Brian stared in silence.  Like Father, like Son.  Brian reached back for a small plastic water glass, set it beside the Beam.  “Do me a favor and pour that half full.”

“Why?”

“Just pour the fucker half full?”  Brian reattached his arm and wrist.

Michael poured, watched the level.  “This isn’t that glass-half-empty thing, is it?”

Brian hesitated with a look, took the offered glass and downed it in one swallow.

Michael leaned back on the desk beside Brian, crossed his arms and stared across the office.  “I just had a thought -”

“Look out.”  Brian also gazed off.

“Maybe I could talk to Mel, and YOU could talk to LINZ.  Mel wouldn’t give me anything specific, but I’m sure if we find out what the problem is, it’ll probably be something we could help them work out.  You know.  Like third disinterested parties.  Maybe all they need is a new perspective.”

“Mel found out that Linz fucked Sam Auerbach.”

Silence.  Brian turned his head to see Michael frozen, only his eyes blinking.  Then Michael snatched the empty glass from Brian’s hand, poured it full and chugged down.

“That’s privileged information between friends,” Brian softly added, got Michael’s nod.  Even softer,  “Do you really think I have a rotten attitude about Gus?”

Trapped in Brian’s sight, Michael mumbled, eyes wandering.  “It was just something…I said…because I was upset…didn’t really mean -”  He met the unwavering stare and gave in to harsh honesty.  “I know who my real Father is.  And if he would’ve given me all the shit in the world, it wouldn’t have meant anything because he never gave me what I saw a lot of other kids getting from THEIR fathers.  Time.”

“My Old Man gave me a LOT of time.  It would’ve meant a lot more if only a few minutes of it was decent.”

Michael held an understanding gaze a moment longer, reached back for another glass and poured two half full, handed one to Brian.  “Here’s to all the fucked-up Fathers trying to do the best for their kids.”

They tapped glasses then downed the drinks together.

At the Loft, muted slow jazz played.

Justin arranged a second place setting on the dining room table, stepped back with a satisfied nod.  Basic but proper.  He heard the Loft door open and paced over to greet Brian who had to set his briefcase down before he could shut the door.  “I got it,” Justin snatched up the case.  “Did you get everything you wanted done?”

“Almost.”  Brian followed Justin to his desk where Justin laid the case.  “I broadened the age range and targeted only certain publications.”

“Won’t that cut down exposure?”

“I hope to make it up in higher percentage.”  Noticing flickering light, Brian wandered to the dining area and viewed the table, lit candle centerpiece.  “I see you’ve been busy.  What’s the occasion?”

“Practicing my country club skills for that LA job.”

“You’ll be too busy schmoozing at cocktail parties,” Brian affirmed.  Fuck if I like the idea, but that’s not up to me.  “So what’s for dinner?”

“Nothing fancy,” Justin headed to the kitchen.  “Go get comfortable and I’ll get it ready.”

Brian eyed Justin’s swagger.  In or out of clothes, a high quality combo of cock and ass.  Redirecting his energy, Brian headed to the bedroom.  He’d gotten good at one-hand unbuttoning and did it automatically on his way to the closet.  Stopped and stared.   More of Justin’s things crowding the space should have sparked his ire.  But instead, he brushed his fingers down a light blue pullover and smiled.  About fucking time.

In the dining area, Justin was setting a covered glass bowl on a coaster when the phone in his pocket rang.  The lid slipped, steam hit the side of a finger.  He flinched an “Ow” and raised it to his mouth while fumbling out the phone.  “Hello?  Brett!”

Poolside at his Hollywood mansion, Brett paced near a patio table while scanning a folded Hollywood Reporter.  “Thought I’d touch base with you before tomorrow’s conference call.  You did good at the meeting, just as I expected.”

“Thanks.”  Justin leaned against the wall, little blush.  Flattery from high places still affected him.

“There’s just one thing.  I don’t think Michael helped us as much as I thought he would, so I think it’s best if we let him stay more to the background tomorrow, understand?”

“No, I don’t,” Justin shook his head, smile fading.  “What do you mean?”

“Just keep control of the conversation and don’t let him cut in too much.  Can you do that?  It could mean a lot to getting this picture done the way we discussed it.”

“But we’re partners.  I can’t -”

“It’s important, Justin.  I’m counting on you, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What was that?  I didn’t hear you.”

“I said yeah.  Sure.”

“That’s what I like to hear.  Gotta go.  Other line’s ringing.  Tomorrow.”

Justin stood in troubled thought, mumbled, “Yeah.  Tomorrow,” to his dead phone before sliding it away.  Seeing Brian dressed more casual and strolling back, Justin pulled a chair out for him.  “You want a beer?”

“The water’s good for now.” Brian noticed the change in Justin’s demeanor.   He sat in the offered chair, grabbed Justin’s hand before Justin moved away and saw the red streak.  “What happened to your hand?”

“Just a steam burn.   Doesn’t even hurt.”  Justin tried pulling his hand back.

Brian held firmly.  Didn’t like seeing Justin hurt and guessed it triggered the mood swing. “Let me try to make it better.”

Justin calmed, skin prickling as Brian kissed his hand.  Wrist.  Forearm.  Gestures that elevated his spirits and rerouted thoughts.  To stop Brian’s awkward rise from the chair during his kissing mission, Justin swung a leg over Brian to face him, sat on his lap and pinned him down.  Framed Brian’s face in his hands and studied his large hazel eyes.  You are so beautiful.

Brian slid his hand under Justin’s shirt and up his bare back. “Is it better now?”

“Almost.”

Brian raised his chin to accept Justin’s kiss.  Felt their thigh muscles working, Justin’s hum against his lips.  The slick intrusion of tongue that spurred Brian to slide his own around Justin’s. He slid his hand down Justin’s spine, over the tight denim across his ass, circled around front and groped Justin’s bulging cock.  Yeah.  Definitely getting hungry.

Too much.  Justin pulled back, gently removed Brian’s hand and dismounted with a breathy smile.  “Dinner’s getting cold.  We can heat each other up later, after I get back…from Red Cape.”  Shit.  That.  Justin attended to uncovering dishes.  “By the way, you’re doing the dishes.”

“And deny you the opportunity to feel important to me?”

“I don’t want to compromise your sense of independence.”  He turned a serving spoon handle toward Brian.  “Help yourself.  And watch the glass.  It’s still hot.” 

That makes two of us.  Brian raised a complimenting brow at the baked potatoes laced with onions, fresh green beans and carrots, Salisbury steak and mushroom gravy.  “Looks good.”

I wish, Justin smiled.  He didn’t feel like eating, but also didn’t want to stress-out dinner with business shit until he had a chance to get with Michael and sort it all out.

In dusky light, Justin leaves the Loft building, locks the door and grips his portfolio shoulder strap.  At Red Cape Comics, Michael clamps a portfolio under his arm, unlocks the door and walks in.

Song: “No Excuses” by Alice In Chains

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