The one thing he does still have left -- aside from a persistent blond with a great ass -- is an amply stocked liquor cart. And an endless amount of spare time.

He forgoes a glass. Starts out at the kitchen island. Spends a brief time in bed with Jack Daniels in one hand and his cock in the other, eyes squeezed shut as he pictures Justin’s lips wrapped around his dick. Props the bottle on the shelf next to his upmarket shampoo -- there are some things he won’t give up, penniless or not, and fabulous hair is one of them -- as he washes away the traces of his mid-morning handjob. Ends up splayed on the hardwood floor outside the steps to the bedroom, cradling his second -- or possibly third -- bottle against his chest and contemplating the speckles on the ceiling.

When the loft door slides open, he shifts his head in time to see Justin’s knapsack drop against the island. He watches the progress of Justin’s feet across the floor. Squeak Squeak Squeak. Christ. He’s given up on Justin ever wearing a decent pair of shoes. Even now, Brian laments for the pair of brown leather Gucci loafers he gave Justin, still sitting forlorn in their box in the closet.

“Look at it this way,” Justin had said. “At least I wear designer running shoes.”

“Adidas is not a designer label,” Brian had sniffed.

The shoes stop at Brian’s chest, and he tilts his head to look up at Justin. Upside down Justin with his upside down hair. Upside down Justin with his upside down smile. Did that make it a frown? Brian squints, trying to figure it out.

Justin crosses his arms at his chest. Even upside down, crossed arms are just crossed arms. Brian relaxes.

“Have you been drinking all day?”

“Not all day,” Brian is quick to point out. He grins up at Justin. “I stopped when I jerked off.”

“Glad to hear it.” Justin makes a sound that sounds a bit like a laugh and a lot like a snort, and moves to walk away. Brian decides he can’t have that. His hand snakes out quickly to grab Justin’s ankle. Above the despised Adidas sneaker, of course.

“Hey,” Brian says, “you know what’s the best thing about being unemployed?”

Justin sighs. “What?”

“Shit,” Brian’s hand slides away to rest on his chest. “I thought you were going to tell me.”

Brian closes his eyes and watches the room spin around behind his eyelids. His body feels weightless, and he wonders if maybe he’s levitating. He realizes he probably should have eaten breakfast. Or lunch.

When he opens his eyes, Justin is still standing there. Watching him. Justin watching him with that look rarely leads to anything good. Except this time Justin is upside down, so maybe things will be different.

“The best thing about being unemployed,” Justin says, “is knowing that you made a difference. You changed things. If it weren’t for you, Liberty Avenue would be in the grip of a homophobic despot determined to drive us into submission or wipe us out entirely.”

Brian lets his eyes wander around his empty loft. Yeah, listening to Justin when he got like this never led to anything good.

Then he grins. “Also,” Brian says happily, gesturing wildly to make his point, “unlimited fucking time.”

“In that state?” Justin shakes his head. “I doubt if you could get it up.”

“Sunshine,” Brian drawls, “I could pop a woody during a root canal.”

This time the sound Justin makes is more like a laugh and less like a snort. “You probably could.”

Brian nods confidently and takes a swig of his whiskey, or vodka, whatever the shit he was drinking. He swallows and then eyes the bottle dubiously. His whiskey or vodka, whatever, has somehow morphed into a bottle of spring water. “What the fuck?” he mumbles, squinting at the label.

“Good?” Justin asks, and Brian notices that the ridiculous sneakers have been shed, and the sport socks with the swoosh as well, and Justin is straddling his body. He doesn’t know if Justin is referring to the magic water or to the feel of Justin’s ass on his cock, so he just mumbles a “hmmm” and lets it go at that.

Justin leans down to press their lips together, then pulls back and wrinkles his nose. “You know, you smell like a distillery.”

Brian lifts a shoulder. “You smell like deep fried animal parts. Do you hear me complaining?”

Justin seems to consider this for a long moment, and Brian is at the point where he’s going to just flip him on his back and be done with it, he would in fact have flipped him already if he could just get his arms and legs to move the way he wanted them to, when Justin dips his head and runs his tongue across Brian’s chin and down his neck. He lingers on the adam’s apple, nipping and sucking lightly, and Brian relaxes into the hardwood, body limp, and decides that he’ll let Justin take control. Just this once.