I mentally shake off the gloomy first impression as Brian and I make our way to the bar. I let my gaze drift across the patrons, wondering who on earth would ever want to frequent such a depressing place. Could getting laid be worth it?  Okay, it probably could.  But still… My eyes flit quickly around, since I desperately don‘t want to make any eye contact.  That last thing I want is one of these old geezers to think I’m interested. 

“Look at all these old guys,” I mutter to Brian. 

“Yeah.  It’s sad, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah.  Some of them are even older than you are.“ I steal a glance at Brian, but my snide little comment gets no reaction.  Sometimes Brian takes the fun out of everything.  He pulls out a seat at the bar but I remain standing, trying to take in the layout and the placement of the customers without looking obvious.  “Well,” I continue, “I guess at their age if they want it, they have to pay for it.” 

“Another reason to die young,” Brian says dryly. 

I nod.  Typical Brian. I mentally remind myself to smack him later.  And of course, I take the opportunity to wax poetic with a few home truths as well.  “Or to accept the fact that youth and beauty are fleeting.  That time will inevitably leave its mark. And that we should accept our mortality with grace and dignity.” I slide my eyes towards Brian’s, but he’s taking a sip of his beer.  He won’t say a word anyway.  But he’s listening.  He’s always listening. 

It just like his version of “No” -- which really means “let me think about iit.”  When you tell Brian something, he’ll never just jump in and debate it or debunk it or even agree with it.  It has to sink in, and -- usually -- he acts on it later.  I’ve been doing a lot of talking lately, and most of it’s been sinking in pretty damned good. 

My gaze snakes to the other end of the bar, where some old bald guy with a moustache is watching me with blatant interest.  When Bald Guy winks at me, I have to press my lips together to hold in the laugh as I turn back to Brian with a smirk on my face.  “Until then, I could really clean up in this place.” 

Brian grins and pats the chair beside him.  “Well, just sit here and wait.” 

“So what exactly do you want me to say to this guy?” I ask as I take my seat.

Brian leans toward me, his familiar aroma filling my senses and chasing away the old-smoke-and-cheap-whiskey scent that permeates the air.   It’s a comforting aroma, the Brian aroma.  A safe aroma.  Any residual tension in my body drifts away as I breathe it in. Breathe him in.   I wonder if he knows that he does that to me? That just being in his orbit is like a shot of Demerol -- it gives me that warm, safe, floaty feeling. 

I wonder if he feels the same when I’m near?

“Just be your usual self,” Brian advises.  “Charm him with your witty repartee.  ‘How’d you like to plough my smooth, tight ass’?” 

Brian’s version of coquetry leaves much to be desired.  Blech.  I grimace at the mere thought, and Brian laughs before continuing.  “Then when he’s busy slobbering down your neck, you discreetly pocket his cigarette butt.” 

As plans go, it’s pretty good.  It’s not like I have to leave with the fucker.  And I know that Brian will be watching my every move.  I still can’t quite believe I’m here, though.  I mean, I want to find Jason Kemp’s killer.  I believe Jason deserves that much.  But I’m not really doing this for Jason.  If it puts another nail in Stockwell’s coffin, so much the better… but I’m not doing this to get Stockwell, either.  And I’m not doing it for Brian.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m thrilled that Brian is listening to me… I’m thrilled that he’s finally grasping that he can’t just sit back on the sidelines anymore, basking in his king stud status. But it’s not for him, or Jason, or Stockwell.

This is for Deb. 

I’ll never forget the way she looked in the diner last year, when she realized that the cops were doing fuck all to find Jason’s killer.  She looked so… lost.  It was wrong.  Deb’s the one we can always count on to pull us up by our bootstraps, to accept us, to comfort us, to call us on our shit, and ultimately to love us just the way we are.  I want to give her some closure.  Maybe that will help.

Still, I’m not above milking this situation for all its worth. 

“You’re gonna owe me like a hundred blowjobs for this,” I tell Brian matter-of-factly.

Brian looks like he’s going to argue the point, but before he can open his mouth some kid steps between us.  Leans his head on Brian’s shoulder like they’re old friends.    Smiles so wide it’s a surprise I can’t see his tonsils.  What the fuck?

“Look who’s here,” the kid with the shit-eating grin says.  Christ, he’s practically crawling inside Brian’s jacket.  “Come to find me?” 

What. The. Fuck?

Brian rolls his eyes before throwing his arm around the kid’s shoulder.  “Uh… yeah… you’re all I’ve been thinking about,” he mocks.  The kid doesn’t seem to give a shit that he‘s being mocked.  The kid’s smile never falters.  The kid seems perfectly happy to have Brian’s arm around his shoulder no matter what the reason behind it. 

Is that what I looked like two years ago? 

Fuck.  This is not good.

Seems the kid can lose the smile, though. He glares at me, eyes flashing, and snarls,  “Fuck off!” 

I lean back in the chair, my eyebrows lifting. “Excuse me?” 

The kid apparently thinks I’ve got a hearing impediment.  “I said, Get Lost,” he repeats.  “I saw him first.” 

“Really.“ I try to ignore Brian’s laugh as I fix the kid with a glare of my own and prepare to educate him in the whys and wherefores of the Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor chronicle.  Stupid, I know.  I mean, Brian can trick ’til the cows come home and I know it doesn’t mean shit to our relationship or to how he feels about me.  He can have his little “private parties” once a week and I’ll remain secure in his love for me.  Because I know that the tricks mean nothing.  Because I know that Brian is stressed about losing his job and is coping the same way he always copes -- by fucking and drinking and getting high.  But this… this is different.  Who does this little fucker think he is?  All the territorial bullshit that I thought was behind me comes flashing back as I realize I’m fucking jealous.  But shit, a person should be allowed only one teen stalker per lifetime, and Brian’s already had his!

Maybe Brian can read my eyes and knows I‘m about to tell the little brat where to go. Of course, Brian would also likely find that highly amusing. So it’s probably just coincidence that he jumps in with the introductions.

“Justin, this is Hunter.  He’s Michael and Ben’s new foundling.  They discovered him on their doorstep.” 

I nod.  Hunter.  Of course.  Michael’s only mentioned him a few hundred times.  And now that I understand how Brian knows him, the jealousy washes out of me in a rush and is  replaced quickly by amusement.  To say that Hunter isn’t exactly a threat is an understatement.  And if that buzz of protectiveness is still coursing through me a little… well, what of it?  Brian’s mine.  I’ve claimed him. 

Brian removes his arm from Hunter’s shoulder and turns back to the counter dismissively.  “Now why don’t you go play someplace else,” he tells the kid.  “We’ve got work to do.” 

Hunter is about as agreeable to this plan as… well, as I would have been when I was his age.  His protest is loud and clear, and accompanied by another glare in my direction.  “If you wanna hustle that cop, you should have asked me.  At least I’m a professional!” 

All right, my eyebrows are about ready for lift-off.  Hmmm.  I guess it’s good to know that the kid takes pride in his work?  Maybe I’ll just be pleased that it’s obvious that I’m not a hustler.  Yeah, that works for me. 

Brian looks like he’s getting a headache.  Christ, if this is what the kid is like all the time, I don’t know how Michael and Ben can stand it.  He’s an irritating little bugger.

“We just need a little DNA,” Brian explains.  He’s got the patience of a saint.  Don’t know how he does it. 

“Nothing to it.  I can do it!” 

Okay, a snort would probably not be a good thing right now.

“I’m sure you can.  But you‘ve done enough,” Brian insists as he gets out of his chair.  He gives Hunter a little push toward the door.  “So why don’t you scamper home.  I’m sure your aunties are beside themselves.” 

Brian retakes his seat as I glance at Hunter’s retreating form.  I try to bite in the comment. I really do.  But… I just can’t help it. 

“Fucking teenagers,” I say dryly.  “I don’t know how anyone puts up with them.”

That one’s going to come back to haunt me.  But Brian’s deadpan look and raised eyebrow are sooooo worth it. 

I settle more firmly into the seat, running my hand through my hair and gesturing to the bartender for a beer.  “If this is going to work, you need to take off.”  Brian doesn’t look at all pleased with the idea.  I press his hand lightly.  “He’s not going to approach me… or let me approach him… if you’re sitting right here.” 

Brian hesitates a moment, then pulls himself from the chair.  “You remember the signal?” 

I nod, handing off some cash and taking a sip of my drink.  I can barely hold back the grimace.  Luke-warm watered-down Budweiser.  Disgusting.  Like everything else in this place. 

“I’ll be over in the corner.  I won’t take my eyes off you.” 

I flash him a smile.  “You never can.  Your hands either.” 

“Justin--”

“Or your lips, for that matter.” 

He grabs my hand, clutching it firmly before letting go.  “Stop shitting around.  Don’t go anywhere with anyone.  Don’t go into the fucking bathroom without signalling me to follow.  Got it?” 

I force my face into an expression of pseudo-seriousness.  “I solemnly promise not to piss without your consent.” 

“Twat.” 

“Go away, Brian.  I’ll be fine.  Just… stay close.” 

With Brian sitting at one of the small tables that line the back wall, I suddenly realize how vulnerable I feel.  My eyes flit about the room every few seconds, trying to see everywhere at once.  A new patron enters, and every fibre of my being wants to whip my head in Brian’s direction.  But I force myself to casually glance back… and his napkin is still under his glass.  The newbie isn’t our guy.  Shit. 

I glance around again, my gaze finding Hunter still hunched near the back door, his eyes watching Brian adoringly.  Despite his animosity toward me, I have to feel sorry for the kid.  It’s not so long ago that I looked at Brian the same way… willing him to look at me, to see me, to take me home with him.  To love me the way I loved him.  In my case, persistence paid off.  Hunter’s is doomed to failure. 

The kid reminds me of something from a children’s story.  A little wayward rat, perhaps.  All dirty, unkempt hair and baggy clothes.   A boy desperately trying to be a man.  And how close did I get to living that same life?  What if Brian hadn’t taken me in when my dad went ballistic?  What if Brian hadn’t come after me in New York?  What if, what if? I could have been living on the streets.  I could have been hustling in some run-down Chelsea nightclub.  My life is what it is because of Brian.  I’m never going to forget that.

“Buy you a drink?” 

I jump a little at the raspy male voice at my elbow.  Shit, I actually got lost in thought.  I lean back in the chair, using the opportunity to check Brian out.  Napkin is still in place.  Fuck.

I plaster a fake-looking smile on my face and turn to the old guy.  His five-o’clock shadow is edging toward eight-thirty, and his cologne of choice was popular when I was in kindergarten.  Cripes. 

“No thanks.” 

“Come on, blondie.”  He shifts a little closer, most definitely invading my personal space. 

“I’m waiting for someone.” 

“Fifty bucks.” 

Fifty bucks?  I’m actually offended. I’m worth a shitload more than fifty measly dollars. 

I press my lips together and drop a hand on his shoulder.  The creep actually smiles, thinking he’s going to get lucky.  Fat chance.  “Look buddy, I said I’m not interested,” I tell him, pushing him away gently but firmly. 

He makes a half-hearted grab for my arm, and out of the corner of my eye I see Brian rising from his table at the back.  I can’t let this geezer ruin our chance to catch Stockwell’s cop.  I push him back again, not caring that he stumbles against the chair or that his eyes are now more glazed with fear than lust.  “Fuck off!” 

He does.  Brian sits back down.  I stare down into my beer, grinning like a madman.  JT handled his tormentor just fine, thank you very much. Rage, I’ll call you when I need you. 

Ninety minutes later, I’m ready to call it a night.  I think my ass is getting splinters.  I’ve had to rebuff six more ready and willing admirers, and the more it happened the bigger the smirk on Brian’s face got.   This hero crap is for shit.  Rage, take me away!

I shuffle over to Brian’s table, rubbing my eyes.  I’m used to smoke, but this place is like living in a chimney.  Much as I don’t want to repeat this performance again tomorrow evening, it doesn’t take much to convince Brian that we should head out.  Obviously Hunter’s information is faulty on at least one count.  Mr. Cop doesn’t show up every night. 

“Babylon?” 

I pause in doing up my seatbelt.  We could make last call, but… “No.  I’ve got an early class.  Life sculpture.  Just drop me off at Daph’s.” 

Brian nods as the corvette speeds off into traffic, and I’m left pondering my choice of words.  Drop me at “Daph’s.”  Not “my place”.  It’s Daphne’s place.  Just like Ethan’s place was always Ethan’s place, even though I lived there for months.  And Deb’s place was Deb’s place, though I lived there for months too.  Only the loft was MY place.  Only then would I say, “see you at home” or “drop me at home” or “I’ll be home later”.  Now… now I don’t have a home.  Or at least, it sometimes doesn’t feel like I do.

I shake my head to get rid of the pity-party ruminations, glance at Brian, then notice where we are.  “Hey, you missed my cut-off.” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

Ohhhh-kay then.  I lean back into the plush headrest and smile.  Seems like I’m going home tonight after all. 

I’ve barely tossed my jacket on the counter before Brian’s arms are around me and his lips are working on my neck.  I throw my head back to allow him better access, letting myself go numb at the touch.  He walks me backward toward the sofa and the new futon pillows, nibbling and sucking the whole time.  So good… so fucking good… 

But…

I push him away and smile.  “Seems like now’s as good a time as any to start collecting.” 

Brian frowns, making a grab for my crotch which I sidestep laughingly.  “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“My hundred blowjobs.” 

Brian barks out a laugh.  “I never agreed to those terms.  And even if I did, the payment was for procuring the evidence… which you failed to do.” 

“Not for lack of trying,” I point out.  “And anyway, the payment was for showing up… which I did.  In fact,” I add before he can protest further, “I should get additional hazard pay for all the old-man drool I got on my jacket.” 

“Whose jacket?” 

“Whatever.  So come on.  Pay up.” 

Brian looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.  “You’re not serious.” 

“I’ll cut you a deal… since your sex drive probably isn’t what it used to be.  Seventy five blowjobs.” 

“Five.” 

“Fuck you.  Fifty. And that‘s my final offer.”

Brian smirks.  I can see the thoughts going through his mind like quicksilver.  He looks me up and down deliberately.  Then:  “Ten.” 

“Not good enough.” I spin on my heel, snatching up my -- sorry, his -- jacket on my way to the door. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” 

I don’t bother to look back as I pull on the twisted metal.  “Daphne’s,” I call over my shoulder. 

“Justin.” 

I turn around in time to see Brian drop to his knees and open his arms.  “Well,” he smirks, “are you coming?” 

I let the door fall shut behind me as I return his smile. “Apparently I will be shortly.” 

I don’t remember exactly when my knees buckled.  I know that Brian was supporting my weight, my cock engulfed in his mouth, and I definitely remember thinking that I should move because it had to be killing him.  That was about as far as I got before his tongue and lips and hands resumed their magic, and coherent thought was no longer a possibility. 

When I was finally able to see beyond the stars bouncing around my eyeballs, Brian was grinning slyly and yanking on my shirt.  I let him lead me to the bedroom, vaguely wondering when he’d managed to fully remove my pants.  Last I remember… oh fuck it, it doesn’t matter.  I lean into him, pulling his head down to mine for a kiss.  Only when it becomes imperative to break for air do we pull apart, and I smile. 

“You know,” I tell him, “one of your blowjobs does equal about ten of anybody else’s.” 

“Uh huh.” 

His fingers pluck at my shirt, drawing it smoothly over my head.  “I still plan on collecting all fifty, though.” 

“You couldn’t handle it.” 

“At least I’d die a happy man.”