“I am NOT whining.”

“Uh huh.”

Shopping with Brian was always an adventure. I found it was best to keep this in mind at all times. I quickened my pace and wondered why I’d asked him to come along. I could only fall back on the classic “it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

I’d only taken about two more steps when I felt his hand on my elbow, and I was forced to a dead stop in the middle of the arts and crafts aisle. My eyes restlessly roamed the shelves. Do people seriously buy baggies of Popsicle sticks? Is there a huge market for fuzzy purple pipe cleaners?

“Brian Kinney does not whine.”

I pulled my eyes away from the stacks, choosing to roll them at Brian instead. “Okay, okay. Whatever.”

The grip on my elbow got a little firmer as Brian fixed me with a baleful stare.

“I mean it, Justin.”

“Fine,” I said evenly, biting back a sigh. “You don’t whine. You never whine. Let whomever claims that Brian Kinney is a whiner be smote down in a flash of fire and brimstone, for he obviously knows not of what he speaks. Happy?”

“Delirious.”

“Good,” I nodded. “Now can we get out of this department before my allergies go to shit?”

His eyes flicked his apology and the iron grip on my arm was released. I shook my head and resumed my brisk walk, threading my way through arts and crafts, past electronics, and around the toy department, Brian’s even stride trailing mine. I had to hand it to the Big-Q -- they really did sell everything.

We were halfway through the hardware section, Bed and Baths finally in sight, when Brian’s plaintive voice reached my ears.

“Shit. Where the fuck are we going, Cambodia?”

Brian Kinney does not whine. Riiiiiiight.

I placed the two bulky packages side by side against the metal counter, measuring each one with a critical eye. Peripherally I could sense Brian, standing with arms crossed and aloof stare in place, and I knew that I had to make a decision soon or face the undesirable option of walking home. I squinted, trying to concentrate. But it was no use. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get into the mindset of a young straight black woman.

It was time to face facts. I needed help.

“Uhhh... Brian? Which one do you think Daphne would like best?”

Brian stepped forward, studying both sets of “Bed in a Bags” carefully. He lifted the first one -- the fuchsia and scarlet floral -- and held it at arms length, thoughtful gaze taking in the bold pattern and vibrant design. Replacing it on the shelf, he took a step back, then another, contemplatively rubbing his chin as he absorbed the dramatic stripes and swirls of the emerald and ginger collection. Finally he stopped, nodding almost imperceptibly.

I released the breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding. “Well?”

“They’re both hideous.”

I sighed. Okay, so he was right... they really were hideous. But still... “Brian.”

Brian screwed up his face and grabbed aimlessly for the nearest all-in-one bedroom set. “This one.”

“You didn’t even look at it!”

He deliberately eyed the emerald/ginger eyesore. “This one,” he said. “Trust me. I’ve seen the way Daphne decorates--”

“Brian--”

“--and dresses. That Judy-Jetson-goes-punk ensemble at Babylon?” He shuddered elaborately and shoved the package into my arms.

“You remember what Daphne was wearing at Babylon three years ago?” Well, this was interesting. “You told me you didn’t remember anything about that night.”

“I remember that you were an irritating little shit. And not much has changed. Now, can we get the fuck out of here?”

I decided to let go of the issue of Brian’s selective memory for the time being, seeing as I had more pressing matters to discuss.

“Actually,” I said, “we have to buy the whole set.”

Brian drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Justin,” he said carefully. “This is the whole set. This,” he poked at the package with one long slender finger, nose wrinkling in disdain, “absolutely repulsive ensemble contains everything Daphne needs to transform her doubtlessly virginal boudoir into a paradise of sin. All for the low, low price of $69.95. Plus tax.”

He shoved a little harder, pressing the package firmly into my arms. “Now pay for it and let’s go. Before I suddenly get the urge to buy a nose-hair trimmer.”

“Your nose hair is lovely.”

I ignored the tongue that darted out in my direction and grabbed Brian’s arm before he could make his escape. “Seriously, Brian. It’s our fault that the shower curtain got ripped. Not to mention the crack in the wastebasket and... ummm... that little incident with the comforter.”

Brian raised one eyebrow pointedly. “You’re the one who wanted to re-enact The School of Cock.”

Shit. I hate it when he gets all logical. But still, it takes two to tango and all that. “It’s not my fault you have a thing for Jack Black,” I teased. “Anyway,” I continued before he could protest, “the least we can do is replace everything we broke with something nice.” At Brian’s dubious glance at the Bed-in-a-Bag, I amended my words slightly. “With something Daphne would like. Right?”

I took Brian’s heavy sigh as agreement.

“Right. So I think the matching bathroom stuff is over here.”

We were rounding the corner into the next aisle when the lights went out.

We made our way to the front of the store, holding hands and fumbling a little without any artificial lighting to guide us. We found a small group of shoppers milling around the cash registers, and one particularly large breeder in plaid hoofing on one of the automatic doors. Everyone was muttering in that way that crowds do just before they get ugly, and I figured Brian would drop my hand any minute. For safety, I mean. But instead he gripped it a little tighter, and shifted so the line of his body was slightly in front of mine.

Sometimes when he does stuff like that, it pisses me off. And sometimes it makes my chest feel tight and my knees feel weak.

“Sir... please!” Some drone in a blue Q smock pulled at the big lug’s arm, trying to get him away from the doors. “As I’ve explained, there’s an automatic lock--”

“This is bullshit!” Big Lug spun from the door, almost knocking the little dweeb over. “Where’s the goddamn manager? I demand to see the manager!”

A short, balding guy in glasses pushed his way through the crowd and said something that seemed to placate the lug, before turning to face all of us. “My name is Eugene Dwight…”

“Of course it is,” Brian muttered to me. I slapped him on the arm, but privately agreed with him. What are some parents thinking? Name your kid Eugene, and you are virtually condemning him to a life of Big-Q-ness.

“… and I’m the Assistant Manager of your Butler Avenue Big Q, the friendliest Q-Mart in Pittsburgh.”

“Fuck the PR,” somebody in the back called out. “Where’s the manager?”

Eugene used one finger to push his glasses further up his nose. “Our store manager, Tracy Dutton, is currently on vacation. Therefore, I am in charge.”

“We’re doomed,” Brian intoned solemnly.

“As you can see,” Eugene continued, “the power outage has initiated our Fail Safe program. All entrances and exits are on automatic lockdown until such time as the power is restored.” He coughed, then raised his voice to be heard over the murmuring this statement incurred. “I’m sure that the fine men and women of the utility company will have all systems restored lickety-split. In the meantime, make yourselves comfortable, and please enjoy some complimentary soda and cookies courtesy of your Butler Avenue Big-Q.”

“What about the staff doors?” Brian called out.

Eugene searched the crowd until he found Brian. “I’m sorry, sir, but the staff entrances operate on the same fail safe--”

“The receiving doors, then,” Brian said.

“The receiving doors are reinforced steel, sir.”

“Fuck.” Brian shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, muttering something about how this wouldn’t have happened had Mikey still been the Big-Q manager. I tried not to roll my eyes, but wasn’t entirely successful.

“It’s not so bad,” I said.

Brian looked at me like I’d grown tentacles. “We’re trapped in a cut-rate discount store with a bunch of polyester clad breeders who’d probably love to string us up from the nearest aisle marker. This is hell.”

I cocked my head. “On the plus side, this is proof that there really is no God. ‘Cause If there was, he’d obviously have sent down a power outage while you were at Moda checking out the latest Hugo Boss.”

When Brian looked like he might cry, I bit my tongue and ran a comforting hand across his back. “I’m sure it won’t be long before the power comes back on,” I soothed.

Of course, that was before the kid with the discman discovered that all the local radio stations were off the air. And before Eugene got the cell phone call from his mother in Florida. And before we found out that this wasn’t just a power outage, but a blackout, a huge motherfucking blackout that extended across Pennsylvania, into Ohio and Michigan and north into Canada.

It was before we knew we were part of what was going to be called the Great Northeast Power Blackout of 2003.

“Well folks,” Eugene clapped his hands for attention and plastered on a big cheese-eating smile, “looks like we’re going to be stuck for longer than we thought. Luckily, your Butler Avenue Big-Q is well stocked with food and beverages, and we’ll do everything we can do make your stay pleasant.”

Brian groaned. “Where’s the liquor department?”

Eugene frowned in our direction. I was getting the feeling that he didn’t like Brian very much. “The Butler Avenue Big-Q is a proud member of Corporations for a Clean America.”

“No liquor.”

“That’s right, sir.” Eugene sounded just a little too pleased about that.

Brian turned suffering eyes to me. “Shoot me now.”

“The Butler Avenue Big-Q is also a founding member of the Greater Pittsburgh Association Against Gun Violence,” Eugene sniffed, “and as such, we do not stock firearms or related weaponry.”

“If he says ‘Butler Avenue Big-Q’ one more time,” Brian muttered, “I will stab him with a spork.”

“You don’t have a spork,” I pointed out. “But we could probably find one of those nose-hair trimmers.”

While Brian pinched the bridge of his nose and mumbled assorted death threats under his breath, I watched a procession of Big-Q drones setting up a table with candles and battery operated flashlights, warm soda, and assorted munchies. The chips and pretzels did remind me of something that could make the time go by faster.

I leaned closer to Brian and dropped my voice. “I don’t suppose you brought any--”

“No. Fuck, Justin, we were only supposed to be gone for half an hour. Shit.”

“Oh.” I briefly mourned for the lost weed, then sighed and rubbed his arm. “It’s okay. We’ll find something to keep ourselves occupied.”

Brian stopped rubbing his nose. And leered at me instead.

AS IF.

Before I could say anything, Eugene clapped his hands together primly to get our attention. “Attention, Big Q shoppers,” he said. “We‘ll be setting up some games by Register 3, and there will be--”

“See, Brian… games!” I ignored the rest of Eugene’s statement and pulled at Brian’s shirt while I grinned and eyeballed the clerk walking by. He was hot, even taking into account that he was walking a bit bowlegged and laden down with Clue and Monopoly and Risk. “Why don’t we check it out?”

Brian grimaced. “I am not going to sit around a card table and play Uno with Fat Marlie and Helga from shipping.”

“Sure,” I said reasonably. “I understand if you don’t want -- hey, they have Scrabble!”

Brian wandered off while I was contemplating the potential triple word score for Qiviut.

By the time I’d won three games, I was bored out of my skull and looking for some serious competition. The visiting businessman from Topeka had appeared to have potential, but he’d crumbled like a cheap pie crust. So, though I was loathe to give up my seat, I had no choice but to abdicate my spot in order to go searching for my fucking boyfriend.

I found him sprawled on one of the patio swings, staring aimlessly up at the purple fringe on its canopy.

I stood back for a moment, just watching him. Drinking in the long, lean legs encased in denim; the taut stomach; the firm chin; the full lips. The candles set out on the patio table flickered with the slight movement of the swing, and I had the urge to sketch him then, bold lines on crisp vellum, all greys and blacks. And I got that surge that I get sometimes, the surge from watching him. The surge that says mine.

I looked up to see him watching me, too.

“Tired of your games, little boy?” he smirked.

“Tired of kicking ass,” I said as I flopped down beside him and set the swing in motion.

“Yeah, you’re much better at kissing ass.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering yours?”

Brian snorted. “In your dreams,” he said, but then he smiled at me, and I smiled back, because we both know how full of shit he is.

I leaned over to kiss him and he smelled like... what the fuck? I sniffed the air. “Have you been drinking?”

“Justin, obviously you weren’t paying attention earlier. The Butler Avenue Big Q is a member of the Society for the Preservation of Alcohol Free Tree Huggers, and thus--”

“You have been drinking.”

Brian grinned and pulled a flask from his jacket pocket. “Want some?”

I quickly covered up the flask and glanced nervously over my shoulder. I was having flashbacks to junior year at St. James, and the free period when Daph and I decided it would be a great idea to get drunk behind the stacks in the library. I still have nightmares about Moby Dick. “Where the fuck did you get that?”

“Jesus, calm down.” Brian laughed and loosened the lid. “I have my ways.”

He tilted his head back and knocked down a swig. I licked my lips as his throat convulsed around the liquid. It had really been a long time since... well... I’m at my sexual peak, after all. Then my eyes narrowed and I grabbed at Brian’s arm. “Where’s your watch?”

Brian merely shrugged, and my eyes grew wide. “You traded your twenty-five-hundred dollar Rolex for a flask of cheap whiskey?”

Brian waved his arm airily. “I can get another watch.”

I leaned back and shook my head. “My boyfriend is weird,” I said to no one in particular.

“I’m weird?” Brian huffed out a laugh. “You’re the one who’s talking to himself.”

I grinned, and closed my eyes, and found his hand in the dark. But when his other hand started roaming despite the presence of at least one Happy Hetero Family in the vicinity, I stood up abruptly, pulling him with me.

“Come on, let’s play Monopoly. I need a challenge.”

Brian groaned. “I am not playing games with--”

“I know, I know, no Fat Marlie, no Helga the dyke. We’ll find other players.” He looked like he was wavering, so I pulled out the big ammo. Well, okay, so my ass is the biggest ammo, but hello, Happy Heteros. So I settled for a big smile. “C’mon.”

“Only if I can be the thimble,” he relented.

I rolled my eyes and tugged him toward the front of the store. The thimble. Always the thimble. I don’t know what his thing is with that, and I really don’t think I want to know.

When Brian’s knee nudged the table and sent hotels and houses flying, I pretended it was an accident. I asserted -- quite loudly -- that I was certain it had nothing to do with the fact that he’d just landed on my hotel-laden Park Place, that he was almost bankrupt, and that he owed me, oh, his entire fortune.

The other players were not so forgiving.

Brian stalked off, cursing. I decided that maybe he needed some alone-time.

I gave him twenty minutes.

I found Brian shredding pillows in the Bed and Bath department.

“They’re giving out free candy in Aisle 7,” I said, casually ignoring the piles of fluffy cotton piled in heaps on the floor.

He grunted and split open another pillow.

“It’s good,” I said.

Riiiiiiiiip.

“Butterscotch,” I said.

Brian dropped the remainders of the pillow into the mound at our feet.

“You know, you’re not dealing with this particularly well,” I noted.

Brian closed his eyes, rubbed at his temple, and heaved a sigh before turning to look at me. I gave him a big smile and tried to hold back a sneeze. Apparently these pillows were not hypo-allergenic. Aaaah, perhaps I’d come across the reason for Brian’s seemingly pointless pillow-rage.

“Listen to me, Justin. Are you listening?”

“Avidly,” I said.

“I have been locked in The Big Q for 7 hours and 23 minutes. That is, officially, 7 hours and 13 minutes longer than I intended to spend in The Big Q when I set out today, or on any given day for that matter. And why have I been locked in The Big Q for 7 hours and 23 minutes, Justin?”

“Because the power went out?”

“Because YOU fucking dragged me here!”

Geesh, and people say that I’m the drama queen.

I took another long slow lick of my butterscotch stick before replying. “I would like to point out that if it weren’t for YOUR over-exuberance, not to mention your weird Jack Black fetish--”

“I don’t have a fucking fetish! I think he’s funny, that’s all. Funny!”

“-- we wouldn’t have needed to come here in the first place. I‘d also like to remind you--”

“You dragged me here,” Brian insisted. “You owe me.”

“Whatever.”

“You owe me a blow job. Right here, right now.”

I caught the flash of colour and heard the gasp of shock at the same time. At the end of the aisle, a well-coiffed woman wearing a brightly coloured caftan stood with her hand pressed to her heart. She was old -- like, at least my mom’s age -- and looked about ready to expire on the spot.

Brian smirked at the scandalized woman. “What? Jealous? Do you want to give me the blow job? ‘Cause trust me, lady, it’s been 10 hours and right now I’m not picky. Your mouth is as good as the next.”

“Brian!” I slapped at Brian’s arm and tried to suppress my grin as the lady shuffled off, muttering something about the preservation of saints. “She’s probably going to rat us out to Eugene, you know.”

Brian rolled his eyes before grabbing my hand and pressing it flat to the front of his jeans. Fuck. He pressed our bodies together, running his tongue along the underside of my jaw before lifting his mouth to my ear. “Right here, right now,” he said.

“Oh fuck...” I muttered.

Brian leaned back, already leering, and popped the top button of his fly.

“I dropped my butterscotch stick into the pillow gunk,” I said.

“WHAT?”

I pushed off from his chest, grinning like a loon. “Please. You don’t really think I’m going to go down on you in the middle of the linens department, do you? I mean, there is insanity, Brian, and then there is--”

“Fine,” he interrupted, grabbing my hand. “Come on.”

I let him pull me along, casting one final glance back at my forsaken butterscotch stick.

We ended up in the Home and Garden Centre. I stood, hands on my hips, and surveyed the array of power mowers and weed whackers. I shook my head.

“It’s private,” Brian insisted. “You think anyone’s going to get the sudden urge to pick up a sprinkler or an ugly ass garden gnome?”

Brian kind of has a way of putting things into perspective, you know. I felt myself wavering. “Well...”

And then I was pushed against the shelf, Brian’s lips on my neck, Brian’s knee pressing up between my thighs, Brian’s hand underneath my shirt, palm flat, Brian’s mouth pulling at my earlobe, Brian’s lips on mine… and okay, after a few minutes of that, sucking Brian off in the middle of the Home and Garden department seemed like a very fine idea indeed.

Still, it wasn’t my best performance. I mean, despite the enthusiasm of my partner, I couldn’t quite blank out the vision of being discovered by some little old granny who took a wrong turn looking for the bathroom or something. Performing for the leering tricks in the backroom is one thing; having to perform CPR on somebody’s Aunt Mildred after she’s seen your boyfriend’s cock halfway down your throat is quite another.

But then Brian’s fingers twisted my hair, his hips pistoned slightly beneath my grip, and god, he’s so beautiful when he comes.

I pulled myself up onto my feet, still licking my lips. Brian’s hand fisted in my shirt as he pulled me close into a lingering kiss. And then his hand dropped to my zipper and long fingers dipped inside my jockeys and before I knew it he was on his knees, and fuck, what was I worried about? My head lolled back against the steel shelving and I closed my eyes and licked my lips and fuck, this is fine. This is more than fine. This is... this is fucking...

“Justin!”

I scowled down at Brian, who had for some inexplicable reason stopped sucking me off. “What the fuck?”

“Will you shut the fuck up!”

He retook my dick in his mouth, and okay, sometimes I get a little loud when he’s going down on me. I bit my lip and tried not to think about the way his tongue laved along my shaft, or the amazing things he did when my dick bumped the back of his throat, and felt the moans rising no matter what I did. Blindly, I reached behind me onto the shelf, grabbed the first thing I found, and bit down. Hard.

That’s how I discovered that plastic garden hoses taste really fucking gross.

Then Brian’s hand cupped my balls and his mouth took me all the way in, and I stopped thinking and just gave myself over to the sensation. I came with a stifled groan and didn’t even realize the length of hose had slipped from my mouth until Brian scooped it up from the floor at my feet.

He showed me the puncture marks, eyebrow raised. “I am not paying for this.”

I rubbed a hand along the back of my neck, grinning sheepishly. “Well, you wanted me to be quiet,” I pointed out quite reasonably. When he only frowned, I took the hose and shoved it to the back of the shelf, partially hidden by a garden gnome that looked eerily like Carrot Top.

“There,“ I said, patting Carrot Top on the head. “Nobody will EVER notice.”

At midnight, Eugene announced lights out. He seemed to find this very amusing.

Brian and I threw caution to the wind and lugged a double sleeping bag back to the garden centre. Not that we were planning on actually doing anything, but... it was nice to be able to feel him beside me, to have his arm around my shoulders, to kiss him in the dark. It was also frustrating as hell not to be able to do more, but we had to draw the line somewhere. Blowjobs among the weed whackers -- fine. Fucking by the potted plants -- a big no.

“I’m going to sue the ass off this place,” Brian announced just as I was about to drift off to sleep.

I yawned. “You can’t sue Q-Mart for a multi-state power blackout. It’s not their fault.”

“No,” Brian agreed, “but I can sure as fuck sue them for their Fail Safe bullshit. Have you thought about the potential consequences, Justin? What if there was a fire?”

That... yeah, I hadn’t thought of that. And there’d been candles burning all day. And one of those candles could possibly still be burning, because how could we know how vigilant Eugene was about patrolling the store? And everything inside was combustible. Including us.

I sat up. “Holy shit.”

“Fuck, relax.” Brian tugged on my sleeve, urging me back down. “There’s not going to be a fire.”

“But there could be.”

“A meteor could strike the earth without warning and destroy us all. There’s no point fucking yourself up over something that will probably never happen.”

“Actually,” I told him, “with the advanced detection systems in place, we’d have at least several months warning if a meteor were on a collision course with Earth.”

“Great,” Brian snorted. “So we’d have a couple of months to worry ourselves into early graves.”

“And to make sure we didn’t leave anything unfinished,” I said quietly into the dark.

I turned on my side and pressed against him and closed my eyes. And thought about the little things I hadn’t done lately. Like tell Daphne that she’s beautiful. Or let my mom know how proud I am of her. Or listen -- really listen -- to Deb when she tells yet another tale of Michael’s childhood.

Or tell Brian that I love him.

I draw in a breath. “Brian--”

“Let’s Hear It For The Boy,” Brian said softly.

I blinked. “Huh?”

“That was the song that was playing the night you and Daphne came to Babylon. She was in some pink monstrosity, and you wore a silver shirt. You were covered in glitter and sweat and I knew that I had to have you.”

“Again.”

“Again,” he agreed, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

“I love you,” I whispered into the dark.

And Brian kissed me, softly, and loved me back.

I awoke sometime after 6am, confused and disoriented and blinking in the sudden brightness. It took my brain a moment to process, but finally it came to me.

“Uh... the power’s on,” I called out. When that got no reaction, I stood up and whooped and hollered and generally made an ass out of myself. ‘Cause really, would I ever be seeing these people again? “The power’s on!” I shouted again, and soon the echo of it was going around the store.

I turned back to the sleeping bag, grinning like a fool, to see Brian squinting up at me sleepily. “And you,” I said. “When we get out of here, I am going to fuck you until you pass out.”

Brian licked his lips. “You’re hot when you’re cocky.”

“I’m always hot,” I told him, and wiggled my ass for good measure. I held out a hand and he took it, hefting himself out of the sleeping bag. Even rumpled and sweaty, he looked hot.

He stretched, scratching at the back of his neck. “Is there coffee?”

I boggled at him. The man amazed me sometimes. I took his hand and tugged him toward the door. Fresh air. Sunshine. And very shortly, my cock embedded in his ass. Life was so good.

“That sleeping bag was a piece of shit,” he groused as we made our way down the aisle.

“Uh huh.”

“I think I twisted something in my back. Fuck.”

“Jesus, Brian. Stop whining.”

“I am NOT whining.”

Yeah, shopping with Brian was always an adventure.

Authors Note: Many thanks to Dorset77 for bidding on me at the auction, and for waiting so patiently for this fic to be finished! Thanks also to Liz for looking this over before I posted it. And yes, I was actually part of the 2003 blackout.