“Briaaaaaaan--” 

“I said No, Justin.  Absolutely not.” 

Justin threw up his hands, lost though they were in mounds of fluffy white fabric, and put on his most supplicating expression.  The sad-little-puppy-dog-look usually got results, especially when he threw in a pout for good measure.   The outcome of that particular combination was fairly consistent -- a concession on whatever goal he was trying to attain, often followed by a rousing fuck. 

Today, however, Brian was determined not to be swayed. 

“Briaaan--”, Justin tried again, pitching his voice lower this time. 

Brian knew that tone well.  That tone promised long, sweet kisses and exquisite carnal delights.  He crossed his arms at his chest, staring down his nose at the younger man and feeling inordinately pleased at his Herculean resistance thus far.  “No.” 

“But--” 

“Am I speaking Swahili?  No fucking way.” 

With a heavy sigh, Justin threw the material on to the sofa and rolled his eyes, stomping across the room. 

“Drama princess,” Brian muttered under his breath. 

Justin whirled, apparently having caught the implication if not the exact words.  Brian merely smiled innocently, determined not to be trapped by brilliant blue eyes or a beguiling smile.  He was going to stand firm on this one.  The alternative was simply too horrifying to contemplate. 

“Fine.” Justin dropped into the easy chair, his pose languid and indifferent.  “You can be responsible for ruining Gus’s party.” 

Brian snorted.  “Me?  Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who was responsible for procuring the party favours?” 

“It’s not my fault that Gustav came down with appendicitis!” 

“Well, it sure as fuck isn’t my fault.” 

Justin sighed again, closing his eyes.  This was a familiar pose, too.  Brian could imagine him counting to ten.  In fact, Brian joined in.  Evidently, his inflexibility on the current impasse was more irritating than usual to his partner.  Justin got all the way up to sixteen by Brian’s count before his eyes opened again. 

Justin smiled. 

Brian’s back stiffened imperceptibly.  That kind of smile from Justin was never a good thing. 

“It doesn’t matter who’s fault it is, or who’s responsible for what,” Justin began reasonably. 

“Easy for you to say.” 

Ignoring the interruption, Justin pulled himself gracefully from the chair.  “What matters is that we make sure Gus has the best Easter party Pittsburgh has ever seen.” 

Watching warily as Justin approached, Brian sensibly kept his mouth shut. 

“Of course,” Justin pointed out, “the kids are already arriving.  The back yard is filling up with rugrats of all shapes and sizes.  And they’ve all been informed of the big piece de resistance… the arrival of the Easter Bunny.” 

Brian shifted uncomfortably. 

“Gus has been looking forward to it for weeks,” Justin continued, sidling a little closer.  “You’ve seen how excited he gets whenever we mention the Easter egg hunt.  I don’t want to see the look of disappointment on his face when we tell him that the Easter Bunny couldn’t make it.” 

“You’re a little shit, Justin.” 

Justin leaned across to the sofa, fingering the soft plush fabric.  “Some people won’t be disappointed that we couldn’t pull this off, though.” 

“Justin--” 

“Melanie, for one.” 

“Fuck.” 

“This’ll give her ammunition for months.  Shit, probably right up till Christmas.  The next event that she’ll now be certain we’re going to fuck up.” 

Brian threw back his head and closed his eyes. 

“But if that’s what you want, Brian--” 

“Shut up, and give me the fucking costume.” 

“I’ve never seen so many kids in my life!  And you’ll never believe it… one of the little punks just puked all over the… HOLY SHIT!!” 

Brian raised a hand, aware as he did so that not only was Mikey unable to see the finger jabbing in his direction, but also that the gesture lost most if not all of it’s threatening nature when said hand was encased in a giant faux-fur covered paw.   “Not one word, Mikey,” he warned.  “Not one fucking word.” 

He turned his face from Mikey’s goggled-eyed expression to watch Justin putting the finishing touches on the front of his outfit.  He wanted to believe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.  Unfortunately, his reflection in the full-length mirror that he’d insisted Justin fetch from the munchers bedroom proved that not only was it as bad as he thought, it was worse. 

He looked ridiculous, from the bottom of his oversized fluffy slippers, the nails of which Gustav had apparently decided to paint bright red, probably after one too many shots of tequila… to the top of his pointy bunny ears.  The lean form he spent hours in the gym to maintain was hidden beneath a mammoth artificial paunch.  Huge buttons in every colour of the rainbow decorated a bright yellow vest, which came complete with imitation pocket watch and mint-green handkerchief.  And fur. Fur fucking everywhere.   With a sigh, Brian adjusted the hood of the costume before reaching up and twisting one of the ears, making it flop jauntily.  If he was going to be a rabbit, he thought, he’d at least be a rakish rabbit. 

“Michael, did you find--”  Lindsay stopped, her hand going to her mouth.  “Oh myyyy.  Brian?” 

Brian reached a hand toward his face, intending to pinch the bridge of his nose.  He felt a headache coming on, fast.  His hand stopped halfway to its target as he regarded the furry mitten with a scowl.  He closed his eyes, suddenly sure that this was simply a bad dream.  A nightmare.  He’d wake up in a minute, probably due to a hand flung in his face by a restless Justin.  Then he’d turn the boy over and fuck him senseless. 

“Brian?” Lindsay repeated.  “What exactly are you doing?” 

Brian sighed again, opening his eyes and regarding Lindsay with a baleful expression.  ”It’s a long story.” 

“Gustav got appendicitis so Brian has to fill in as the Easter Bunny,” Justin supplied. 

“Apparently not that long.”  Brian shifted in place, wincing at the sound of his feet flapping on the carpet. 

“Now this is a sight I thought I’d never see.” 

Brian rolled his eyes at the sound of Emmett’s voice.  “Don’t you start,” he cautioned, the threat sounding lame even to his own ears.  It was difficult to be aggressive, he was learning, when stuffed into a giant bunny suit. 

“Oh please, honey, I’ve always thought faux-fur was you,” Emmett drawled, leaning against the doorjamb. 

“Not to mention that simply fabulous vest,” Ted pointed out, taking up his place at Emmett’s side. 

“Brings out the colour in his eyes,” Emmett agreed. 

Brian scowled.  “Shit, is anybody actually outside watching my fucking son?” 

“Mel and Ben are out there,” Mikey waved off the question.  “Ben’s great with kids.” 

“So is Brian,” Ted indicated with a nod in Justin’s direction. 

“Fuck you,” Brian said conversationally as Justin rose from his last minute adjustments. 

“Okay, just a couple more things and you’re ready to go.” Though Justin’s voice was confident as usual, Brian watched with trepidation as the younger man reached for the small trunk containing Gustav’s various costume embellishments… or instruments of torture, as Brian liked to think of them.  He backed away slowly when he saw what Justin came up with. 

“No way.” 

Justin laughed.  “It’s just plastic tubing and glue.” 

“You are not putting that shit on my face.” 

“Briaaaaan.” Justin put his hands on his hips.  “This is the same stuff that they use in the theatre.  Gustav assured me that it’s simple to apply and painless to remove, and leaves absolutely no residue behind.” 

Brian grunted.  “Really, sunshine.  And just when did he assure you of that?  When he was being wheeled away in the back of the ambulance?  Or was it from the operating room as they were removing his fucking spleen?” 

“Appendix,” Lindsay corrected. 

“Whatever the fuck.” With difficulty, Brian crossed his arms at his chest.  He’d given in a ton today, and this was the final straw.  “I’ve spent too much time and effort and money on this face to let any two-bit clown’s greasepaint get anywhere fucking near it.  I don’t even know where that shit has been.  Fuck, no. This is going to be one whisker-less fucking rabbit.” 

Justin regarded the items in his hand regretfully for a moment before letting them drop back into the box.  “Last thing, then,” he announced, digging around in the container for a moment before coming up with a poof of plush white fur. 

Brian groaned. 

“Oh, come on, Brian,” Ted teased.  “We know you like getting a bit of tail.” 

“So turn around and let me give it to you, baby,” Justin giggled. 

Brian bent over, watching nervously over his shoulder as Justin approached with bunny tail and safety pin in hand.  “When this is over, your ass is mine.” 

Justin wiggled his eyebrows provocatively.  “Promises, promises.” 

Brian felt immensely proud of himself for surviving the afternoon without killing anyone. 

First, there was Gus.  Brian didn’t begrudge his kid showing enthusiasm.  But hearing Gus announce to every child within a three block radius that his DADDY was the Easter Bunny was just a bit much.  Then there was story time.  He was able to get through a bastardized version of “Peter Cottontail” only with Justin’s spirited assistance.  Unfortunately, that was the only kind of spirit he had all afternoon.  Justin had also seen fit to lock Lindsay’s liquor cabinet. 

There was one incident during the colouring of the Easter eggs where he was pretty sure he was going to lose it.  Fortunately, the padding on his costume provided ample protection against flailing elbows hitting one’s nether region.  And if the blue dye didn’t come out, that was Gustav’s problem. 

The chocolate egg hunt had been successful, if the goo-smeared faces of the surrounding ankle-biters were any indication.  Brian was just about to admit that the whole event hadn’t been as ghastly as he’d feared, qualms about justifiable homicide notwithstanding, when the parents began arriving to collect their deviant offspring.  And with each new influx of parents, Gus saw fit to again broadcast the amazing news that his father was, indeed, the Easter Bunny. Brian fought the urge to squirm as he felt each fresh pair of eyes skim over him as Gus admiringly pointed him out.   Dykes and queens with mouths bigger than Emmett’s, hard as that was to believe, would have the news spread up and down Liberty Avenue within hours.  Brian envisioned his entire meticulously constructed persona crumbling before his very eyes. 

A movement from the left caught his eye, and he whirled as quickly as his floppy feet would allow.  “Try it,” he gritted out, “and I won’t be responsible for the acts of carnage these children will witness.” 

Melanie lowered the camera with a frown. 

“Come on, Brian,” Lindsay coaxed.  “Don’t you want Gus to have a photo of this for his memory book?” 

“Fuck no.“  Irritably, Brian swatted away yet another brat trying to pull off his tail. 

“Language!” Lindsay and Mel scolded in unison. 

“Language.  Right.” Brian pressed his lips together, watching as his tormentor scampered off with an evil glint in her eyes.  “Do you know who her mother is?  That fucking bitch Karla has a more exhaustive vocabulary of obscenities than your average drunken sailor.” 

“And if anybody should know about the communication skills of drunken sailors, or lack thereof, it would be you, Brian,” Emmett put in. 

“Aaah, but that’s all in the past, Em.  Brian’s in a ‘committed relationship’ now.” 

“We can always count on you to state the obvious, Theodore,” Brian snipped back, sticking out his tongue. 

And that’s when it happened.  The whiny brat and the ensuing conversation had distracted him. If he’d been paying attention he would have seen the pass-off.  Would have noticed the oh-so-casual, I’m-not-doing-anything, don’t-even-bother-to-look-at-me expression on Justin’s face.  Would have caught the nonchalant motion of hand to face. 

As it was, it wasn’t until the flash went off that he knew his photo had been taken. 

Brian’s head snapped up, eyes burning into Justin’s.  The younger man had the audacity to grin. 

“It’s just one picture, Brian,” Justin pointed out quite reasonably. 

“You.  Are.  Fucking.  Dead.” 

Justin rolled his eyes.  “Please.  You’ll be happy later when Gus has something to remember this day by.” 

Brian stalked forward, never taking his eyes from Justin’s face.  The kid apparently didn’t realize how serious this was.  “Give me the camera, Justin.” 

“No.” 

“Give me the fucking camera!” 

Justin’s grin widened.  “Hmmm.  Let’s see.   Uhhhh… No.” 

Brian drew himself up to his full height.  “Don’t make me come after you.” 

Justin looked Brian up and down for a long moment.  “In that?” he laughed.  “You couldn’t get ten yards before tripping over your own feet.” 

Brian shook his head.  The boy had no idea how close he was. “Don’t tempt me, Justin.” 

Justin stuck out his tongue.  “Try it.” 

Without preamble, Brian lunged.  Justin yelped as he frantically tossed the camera in Mel’s general direction before taking off at a frantic pace across the yard.  He risked a glance over his shoulder as a fur-covered projectile almost smacked him in the head, and realized that Brian was removing his floppy slippers as he ran.  Justin abruptly changed course and headed for the relative safety of the house. 

Brian hit the door at a run, only a few paces behind Justin.  He took the stairs two at a time, tackling the younger man half-way up the staircase.  With practiced ease, he flipped Justin onto his back before pressing along his length. 

“Shit, Brian.” Justin’s voice was breathless from more than the run and the tackle. 

“I warned you,” Brian growled into his ear.  “No fucking pictures.” 

“I couldn’t help it.  I think you look--” 

“Don’t say it.” 

“Cute.” 

“Fuck you, Justin.” 

“And sweet.” 

“Shut up.” 

Justin stretched, his body flexing provocatively as he skimmed his lips briefly over Brian’s mouth.  “And adorable, really.” 

Brian pressed down, retaking Justin’s lips and deepening the kiss.  His tongue probed the warm confines of Justin’s mouth, his throat seeming to swallow the soft moans that his touch drew from his lover.  Brian drew back with a gasp, needing his teeth to rip the mittens from his hands.  Before Justin could protest, his mouth had resumed its attack while his hands roamed along Justin’s body, eagerly seeking out the sensitive places that would make Justin squirm with pleasure.  His questing hand found the waistband of Justin’s pants and dipped inside, slender fingers expertly brushing Justin’s arousal. 

“Brian!” Justin pulled back, panting as he placed a restraining hand on Brian’s chest.  “We can’t.  Not here!” 

“I want you NOW, Justin.” It sounded reasonable to his own ears. 

A slow blush made its way across Justin’s cheeks.  Brian ducked his head, nipping at Justin’s delicate earlobe.  The action caused the supple body beneath his to writhe eagerly. 

“One of the kids might see us!” 

“Fuck the kids,” Brian growled. 

Justin squinched up his face. “That’s illegal.  Not to mention disgusting.” 

Grunting, Brian pulled himself to his feet in one sinuous motion before reaching down and slinging a shocked Justin over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.  Justin’s protest -- “Briaaaaan!” -- only caused him to quicken his pace.  His long strides rapidly ate up the distance along the hallway. 

“Brian,” Justin giggled, his voice muffled by both costume and laughter, “your fur is tickling my nose.” 

Brian considered a variety of verbal retorts before settling for a quick smack on Justin’s rump.  Actions, they had both learned from experience, were often louder than words. 

The bedroom door crashed against the wall as Brian roughly pushed it open before tossing Justin unceremoniously toward the bed.  By the time Justin had righted himself, Brian was already forcefully ripping the costume from his body.  Justin licked his lips, the subtle movement causing the ripples of desire coursing through Brian’s body to increase and intensify.  He stalked toward the bed, a smirk covering his lips. 

“I told you… when this is over,” he reminded the boy, “your ass is mine.” 

“So, judging by the speed Justin was moving, he must be halfway home by now,” Michael said as he walked past Melanie with a handful of dirty dishes. 

“Are you kidding?  They’re probably doing it up against a telephone pole as we speak.” 

“Mel!” Lindsay scolded half-heartedly. 

Michael frowned.  “It’s the middle of the day!” 

“Since when did that ever stop Brian Kinney?” Ted put in reasonably. 

“Well, it might not stop Brian but it will sure as hell stop Justin!  Anyway, Brian’s--”  Michael’s defence of his best friend was abruptly cut off by the very recognizable thump and squeak of bedsprings being tested.   Vigorously. 

“Oh shit.” Melanie was the first to speak.  “They’re… they’re… that… in OUR room!” 

Lindsay smiled, tucking her arm in Mel’s.  “I think it’s sweet.  They just can’t get enough of each other.” 

“I think it’s disgusting.  That’s it.  I’m not using that bed till it’s been fumigated.” 

“I think it’s hot.” Michael flushed as all eyes turned in his direction.  He leaned back into Ben’s comforting and tolerant embrace.  “Well, I do.” 

Brian drew Justin into his chest, luxuriating in the lingering aroma of their mingled scents. Justin’s nails lightly drew complicated patterns along his arm.  He groaned when Justin raised his head.  It was far too early to move. 

“The costume is ruined,” Justin said. 

Brian grunted.  He didn’t have to look to know that the outfit was in tatters.  He was, after all, the one responsible for said tatters.   “We’ll buy Gustav a new one.” 

“And I’m pretty sure I ripped the sheet.” 

Brian raised an eyebrow.  “Really?  Damn, I’m good.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“Why not? Nobody else does.” 

Justin grinned, pulling himself up until they rested forehead to forehead.  “I do,” he said softly. 

Brian lifted a hand to gently trace Justin’s lips.  “I know.” 

“I love you, Brian.” 

Brian smiled as Justin resettled himself, tucking his head into Brian’s chest and draping his arm over his back.  Soft lips pressed against his flesh, soft hair brushed against his chin.  He sensed more than felt Justin’s eyelashes flutter as sleep tried to claim him.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t their bed.  Brian brushed his fingers delicately along Justin’s spine.  Fifteen minutes, he thought.  I’ll allow us fifteen minutes. 

Fifteen minutes to bask in warmth and sunshine. 

“Love you, Justin.” The words were barely a whisper, all that he could manage now, all that he could ever manage.  But he knew Justin heard, and understood.  Because actions were all well and good, but sometimes words said it best.