By the time I’ve taken care of business and washed up, Carlos has my fish and chips waiting at the pick-up counter.  I snatch them up as I walk by, and I’m already stuffing a fry into my mouth by the time I slide into the booth next to Brian.  His thinly-veiled expression of relief and the not-so-subtle pressure of his hand on my thigh reassure me that my presence is desired for more than one reason.  I know what the hand signifies, but the relief? 

“I’m simply saying that we should look into all our options,” Ben is saying.  Michael looks supremely pissed, and not even Ben’s arm around his shoulder seems to be helping his sour mood.  “It can’t hurt to get a consult with another attorney.” 

“And I’m saying that we already have a perfectly good lawyer,” Michael protests,  “and Melanie is doing everything she can for Hunter.” He shoots a look at Brian for support, and when none is forthcoming… “Right, Brian?” 

Aaaaah, the reason for the look of relief is now abundantly clear. 

With a barely hidden sigh, Brian tosses his fork into his plate of fruit salad… which he’s only been picking at anyway.  I’m really going to have to start nagging him… I mean,  encouraging him… to eat more.  Brian ignores Michael completely, turning his upper body to face me instead.  “You’re late.” 

“Handed in my last assignment,” I manage to mumble around a mouthful of haddock.  I swallow quickly before continuing.  “Now I’m free for two whole weeks.” I wiggle an eyebrow as I grin.  “Got any ideas how you can keep me occupied?” 

“Hello?  I’m trying to eat over here,” Michael grouses good-naturedly.  He ducks with a laugh and bats away the burnt French fry and slice of orange that are lobbed his way.  Mine would have hit, except that I was using my left hand.  Brian just wasn’t trying hard enough. 

“Because,” I continue speaking to Brian as though we weren’t interrupted, pulling the travel magazine out of my duffel bag as I speak, “I happened to come across this fantastic deal--” 

“Fuck, Justin!” Brian swats away the magazine, a look of disgust on his face that I’ve only seen once before -- the time he inadvertently came across Lindsay’s copy of  Playboy.  “I’ve told you before, we’re not going.” 

“But Brian…” 

“What is it?” Michael’s picked up the brochure before I can object, his finger pointing out the circled airfare as Ben looks over his shoulder.  “Toronto?  What the fuck is in Toronto?” 

“Back bacon.  Mounties.  Lumberjacks,” Brian mutters.  He shudders elaborately.  “Celine Dion.” 

“Celine Dion’s now in Vegas,” I correct with a smug grin before turning my attention to Michael. 

“What’s in Toronto?  The Stones!”  Instead of the expected understanding looks and  enthusiastic vocal encouragement of two men who will now join in my quest to convince Brian of the absolute necessity of this journey… I‘m greeted with two blank stares.  I grit my teeth and forge on, trying to remain calm.  “The Rolling Stones volunteered to give an open-air concert in Toronto to help get the city on its feet again after that SARS scare.  A bunch of other bands joined in, and now it’s going to be this full-day event.  They’re expecting five hundred thousand people.  It’s gonna go down in the history books!” 

Okay, so much for remaining calm.  But shit, this is a chance to make history.  To be able to look back one day and say “I was there”.  Maybe to impress Gus with some stories of… oh shit, I don’t know.  I’m well aware that this isn’t Woodstock and it’s not about peace, love and understanding.  I just think… well… I think it would be cool. 

“Holy shit.” At least Michael is awed.  “Half a million people?” 

“Half a million people all trying to use the same washroom,” Brian throws in. 

“Fuck off, Brian.  They’ve prepared for every contingency.” 

“It would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Ben says, throwing his considerable well-muscled weight behind me and my plan. 

“What?  To watch a sixty year old man cavort like an overgrown teenager on stage while his bandmate does his best impression of a piece of Samsonite luggage?” Brian idly tosses a grape into his mouth before continuing.  “Not that you’d even be able to see the fucker when you‘re standing in a field behind, oh, three hundred or so thousand people.” 

“You have to admire Jagger and Richard, though,” Ben says thoughtfully.  “They made a commitment to continue with the band--” 

“To continue raking in millions in corporate sponsorship, you mean,” Brian interrupts. 

“It’s not about seeing the band, Brian,” I try to explain as I’ve tried a half a dozen other times this week.  “It’s about being there--” 

“… for the experience,” Brian finishes.  He pushes his plate away and nudges my shoulder, urging me to get up.  “Well, fuck the experience.  We’re not going.” 

“I’m not finished,” I gripe as I pull myself out of the booth. 

“We’ll pick something else up,” Brian tells me as he tugs on my arm, leading me away from the guys and the booth and my oh-so-delectable fish and chips.  “See ya later, Mikey,” he tosses over his shoulder as we head out the door. 

The sun is still shining brightly as we make our way out of the diner and down the street, so I pull on my shades before tucking my right hand into the pocket of my jeans and throwing my left arm around Justin’s shoulder.  I’ve stopped dwelling on how natural this comes to me now.  How it seems like he’s always here, and how when he’s here I want to be connected to him.  Somehow. 

We’ve made it all the way to the car and I’m actually thinking that he’s just going to drop the subject, when he speaks.  Should have known.  The little fucker just can’t keep his mouth shut for long.  Usually I can find other things to occupy those lips and that very talented tongue, but in the middle of Liberty Avenue on an early Monday evening, options are rather limited. 

“I’m sorry, Brian.” 

The words aren’t mumbled, or whispered, or even particularly contrite.  He’s just stating a fact.  And I could give him the same old routine about sorry being bullshit and words being meaningless but we’ve done that song and dance so often we both know it by heart.  Instead I just nudge him against the passenger door of the ‘vette and nuzzle at his neck.  Apology accepted. 

“I mean it,” he says, and the very fact that he can still form a coherent sentence with all the work I’m putting in on his earlobe makes me pull back and look at him.  His eyes are a little glazed, but otherwise he’s still in control of his faculties.  Shit, I must be falling down on the job.  Getting complacent just because I know all those little spots that make his knees go weak and his stomach flutter in anticipation.  Just like he knows mine.  I make a mental note to start mixing it up a little.  But I’ll save that for when we get home. 

Justin rests his hand on my shoulder, pushing me away slightly.  “I know that people think I expect too much of you, or that I demand too much--” 

I’m already shaking my head.  “Who gives a shit what anybody else thinks?” 

He smiles then, just a slight upturn of his lips but enough to cause my chest to tighten and my cock to stir. 

“Considering other people’s expectations just fucks you up,”  I tell him.  “Your expectations are the only ones that matter.” I lean my forehead on his and smile wolfishly.  “And mine, of course.” 

“Yeah,” he sighs, his warm breath washing over me.   And I foolishly think it’s done. 

“It would be really cool, though…” 

I push away from him and run my hand through my hair.  “Fuck, Justin!  You want to go to Toronto…”  I tug my wallet from my back pocket, aware that he’s begun to shake his head. 

“I don’t want your money, Brian.  I’ve never wanted your money.” 

I ignore him and pull the paper folder from its place behind my credit cards, where it‘s been waiting patiently all these weeks.  “Or do you want these?” I finish, waving the folder toward him.  “Well?” 

His expression halfway between curious and cautious, he reaches out to carefully pluck the envelope from my hand.  He peeks inside, and then the expression turns to wonderment. 

“Spain?” 

I nod. 

“Are you shitting me?” 

“Does it look like I’m shitting you?” 

“Holy fuck!  Brian!” He launches himself into my arms, his body flush against mine and the stirring in my cock accelerating to a full-blown crescendo.  Funny how I can still want him so badly it almost hurts.   I try not to think about that very much, either.  It’s easier when his lips are on mine… like they are right now.  It’s easier when he’s with me.  Everything’s easier when he’s with me. 

I pull away from the kiss and raise an eyebrow.  “In two days we could be sitting on the patio of the place, sipping cervacas before heading off to the Barcelona version of Babylon.  That is, if we’re not too tired from checking out the Picasso museum.   Of course, if you’d rather go to Toronto and see The Stones…” 

“Fuck Toronto, I’m going to Spaaaain!” he crows loud enough that several passers-by turn to look. 

Well, let ’em look.  We’ve been the hottest couple in Pittsburgh for almost three years -- we’re both used to being noticed.  I start to tug him back toward the car -- his exuberant embrace has pushed us back into the middle of the sidewalk -- when suddenly he pulls on my arm.  His eyes have narrowed and he’s giving me the same look he might give if he saw an exceptionally interesting bug.   I try to put on my best innocent expression, and he merely smirks.  It’s hard for me to pull off innocent, and we both know it. 

“How long have you had these tickets?”  Justin asks. 

“What the fuck difference does it make?  Get in the car and we‘ll go pick up some Chinese.” 

“I want Thai,” he says.  “How long?” 

“Thai, fine, whatever the fuck.” 

“How long?” 

Jesus Christ!  I decide to pull out my Ace.  A little sexual diversion can’t hurt.  “You should know, Sunshine, you’re the one that sees it the most.” 

Justin sidesteps my playful grab at his cock and crosses his arms at his chest.  I can’t hold back the sigh as I slump defeated against the car.  Little fucker. 

“I got them the day after Gardner hired me back.” 

“You shit!” Justin slaps at my chest before pressing his body against mine again.  My hands come up automatically to smooth along his back.  “When were you planning on telling me?” 

I stick my tongue into my cheek before answering.  “When we were on the road on the way to the airport.” 

“You prick!” He laughs and punches me lightly on the arm but then turns his head, darting his tongue out to gently soothe the sting. 

“Biggest one you know,” I say matter-of-factly, resting my ass on the hood of the car and taking the entire weight of his body against mine.  I run my fingers through his hair as I continue.  “And anyway, what better way to spend my ‘oh shit I never should have fired you, please come back’ bonus from Gardner? It would have been a surprise had some little asshole not got his panties in a twist about attending the fucking ‘experience of a lifetime‘ in goddamn--” 

Justin silences me with a kiss that takes my breath away.   When I can focus on his face again, he’s smiling quite smugly.  Oh yeah, I’m definitely going to have to make some changes in my repertoire. 

“When do we leave?” 

Of course, I also like things just the way they are. 

“Wednesday morning.” 

“Hmmm.  Two days.”  His hands have started roaming under my muscle shirt, both our bodies responding to the touch.  “Think that’s enough time for me to show you my appreciation?” 

I grab him by the nape of the neck and pull him forward for another kiss, his lips warm and pliant beneath mine. 

“You can make a start,” I smirk when we pull apart, and this time it’s Justin that’s breathless and panting.  He smiles then, a full-on smile stripped of artifice, and my heart does a little lurch in my chest before resuming its normal rhythm.  And that’s when I acknowledge, if only to myself, that I’ll do almost anything for the kid… anything to have that smile beaming in my direction, to see that look in his eyes, to have his arms around my waist and his artwork in my home and his body in my bed. 

He rests his hand against my cheek before pulling up and away from me and moving to the passenger door.  “Think we can make it home in ten minutes?” he grins as he opens the door. 

“Seven,” I tell him as I dash around to the drivers seat.  “Tops.” 

His delighted laughter follows me into the vehicle, and I decide to see if I can set a new record.  Six minutes, if I hit all the lights.  Because I really don’t think I can hold out much longer.   I need to be connected to him.  Somehow.