Better Friends and Lovers

Chapter 27 - Part II

(Setting: Hotel in Paris; Last Week in July; POV/George)

"George, have you seen Justin?"

I managed to refrain from sighing. I'd just settled down on the balcony with a cool drink and a good book. The last thing I wanted to do was worry about where Edward's fair haired boy was, and what, or who, he was up to now. I'd hoped that he would take advantage of the decreased dosage of the "medicine" I'd talked Edward into, to work on his painting, which had been suffering for the past several weeks back in New York. His motivation to work had decreased, as had his creativity, as his dose increased. Unfortunately, although I'd managed to hit upon a combination that stilled the tremors in his hand without awakening the pains, it did so without the tranquility of demeanor that Edward preferred. I rolled my eyes; my back was to my old friend so there was no risk in that small venting of expression. If Edward wanted more tranquil lovers, he should select older men. Ones born before the Reagan administration would be a refreshing change.

"No, Edward, undoubtedly he is out somewhere painting or perhaps taking in another tour. I'm sure he'll be back soon. The sun is strong today and he knows he can't stay out long with that fair skin of his. Why don't I ring for a drink for you?" I turned to look up at him, trying to gauge his mood. The frown was deep on his forehead; never a good sign, as Edward hated to frown. It caused wrinkles. Damn that boy. I swung my legs around. So much for my relaxing afternoon.

"Do you want me to go look for him? I assume from the look on your face that he isn't answering his cell phone, which probably means he is sight-seeing in a Church or museum and not getting a signal. Although, he could be so lost in his art that he isn't even aware of it ringing. Thoughtless, but you know the artistic temperament."

Edward smiled suddenly. He really was a striking looking man when he smiled. I found myself smiling back merely from force of habit.

"No, put your feet back up, old friend. I'm sure you are correct. I should certainly give Justin the benefit of the doubt, and assume he is doing what he should be doing. If he is working, or educating himself, as he should be, there is no problem. If he isn't, I don't think it will be too difficult to discern the truth once he shows up, do you?" Edward sat down in the lounge next to mine. "I think I would enjoy a drink. Would you care for another? I'm going to ring for the girl and request something frozen, and perhaps a tray of cheeses, some fruit, anything else?"

I shook my head. I had an uneasy feeling. I wish I had just gone looking for Justin instead of trying to rationalize his absence. I suspected that Edward already knew where Justin had gone, and that his activities had nothing to do with painting or studying the great works of art to be found in the cathedrals and museums of Paris. Still, I might have been able to do a little damage control if I reached him before he returned home, depending on how thorough the investigator Edward must have had following the boy was. If he just saw Justin entering a club and dancing, for example, but not any backrooms, I might be able to salvage something. I debated whether I would do more good staying and calming Edward or going out and trying to find the blond needle in the French haystack. Of course, with Justin, he was more likely to be playing haystack to French needles, I thought ruefully. It wasn't long after Edward was served his drink and we were pursuing a desultory conversation over the state of French theatre, when I heard the sound of the suite door opening and a cheery voice greeting the maid.

"Ah," Edward said, his voice thick with satisfaction, "my wayward angel has returned home. Finally. I think it is time that the facts of life get explained to young Justin. He doesn't seem to have an understanding of basic manners. I'm afraid your services may be needed tonight, George. Would it be an imposition to ask that you stay in this evening?"

I felt slightly ill. Edward meant to teach Justin a lesson and was ensuring that his private physician would be available to patch up his handiwork. Not a good sign. It had been years since something like this had happened. I'd thought it never would again. I'm too old for this. I'm not as jaded as I once was.

"Edward," I spoke in a low voice. "I cannot consent to you...."

"George!" Edward maintained his cheery demeanor but there was an edge of warning in his voice that was much more convincing than any I was trying to convey. "What is this talk of consent? I hope you don't think I would do anything to my Bright Angel that he did not fully consent to? That is the purpose of my little talk, in fact. To explain more fully to Justin the ramifications of what he has consented to, and what I have and have not consented to. One thing I have not and never will consent to, is to be made a fool of by young boys. Now if Justin thinks that is part of our arrangement, he will have it explained to him that he is free to leave. That is all. If he chooses to stay, it will be on my terms, not his. Is that unfair, old friend? Tell me, am I an ogre not to want to sit and wait while the young man in my protection fucks his way around Europe?"

Edward turned to face me, his light eyes burning. He was furious. I forced my expression to remain calm even as I was searching for ways to defuse the situation. Why did Justin have to fall into the trap Edward set for him? Couldn't he see that Edward wasn't a nice older man who didn't mind an "open" relationship? Justin seemed to think he was playing Edward, when any fool could see that Edward was ruthless. He didn't "love" Justin such that he would turn a blind eye to his activities; he enjoyed him as he enjoyed all of his toys. Even Danny meant nothing more to Edward than as a symbol of perfection; he was something that Edward wanted to own. He obsessed over him because he couldn't have him and Edward couldn't stand being told he couldn't have something. The fact that it bothered the man that Danny was with now, that Brian Kinney, that Justin was with Edward, was probably the main reason Justin had lasted as long as he had without this judgment day. Justin was not a cooperative Angel. But troubling Kinney was sure to trouble Danny, Edward reasoned in his tortuous way. So for all of Justin's personal attractiveness, it wouldn't be worth putting up with his stubbornness and independence if it weren't for the fact that Edward relished the link to Danny that he brought. The more Justin struggled, the more Edward looked forward to tightening the golden chains that bound the boy. But in all fairness to Edward, if Justin had simply honored the "Angel Agreement," as most of the boys did, Edward would have held up his end of the bargain. That was the twisted part of my old friend's personality. He actually enjoyed it more if his "angels" had spirit, and while he put an end to any tricking, that was not punished as severely as their wanting any one man over him. To commit both offenses was unforgivable.

If Justin called Kinney for help, then Edward hoped Kinney would involve Danny, and if Edward had his way, he would end up with both Justin and Danny. But most of all, Danny.

It was all so clear to me, but I doubted Justin saw it. Kids today played video games, not chess. They just thought about the move right in front of them, not the one six, eight, ten moves ahead as a master like Edward did. All Edward had been doing these past few weeks was give Justin enough rope to hang himself, and ensure he did so far away from any immediate help. That way, when Justin did finally bring Kinney back onstage, it was on Edward's terms. For that, Justin had to be broken. Edward wouldn't risk the young man running home to Pittsburgh.

My hand tightened on my glass momentarily. As much as I might wish to get drunk tonight, I couldn't chance it. Edward had as much as told me my "skills" as a doctor would be needed tonight. Consent or not, Justin would require attention and I couldn't have an unsteady hand. I wished, not for the first time, or the hundredth, that I dared to leave. Yet somehow, I felt as though it was my duty, my penance, to stay. I owed it to these boys to do all I could for them, for the one I didn't save. I also felt I owed it to my own lost love to do all I could to ensure that the one who did get away, stayed away. And safe.

"Hey guys, is it five o'clock already? Or are we drinking on the principle that it's five o'clock somewhere?" Justin smiled his brilliant smile and stood across from me, leaning back against the balcony wall. There was a light, attractive flush to his cheeks, the very beginnings of a sunburn. I reached over and poured him some water, which I handed to him with a quiet greeting. Edward just looked at him silently, his eyes surveying his body.

"Thanks, George. I'm really thirsty. I didn't realize it would be so hot here. No wonder the movie was Paris in April; Paris in July is a fucking oven. All the outdoor cafes are picturesque, but hotter than hell. I should have worn a hat or something. I was feeling the heat within..."

"Where were you today, Justin?"

Edward's voice was light, teasing almost. That was not a good thing, however, as it misled Justin into thinking he'd gotten away with something. I debated whether intervening now would help or hurt the boy's cause.

"Justin, why don't you go take a shower and come back once you are cleaned up? I'll order an early dinner for the three of us and..."

"No, George. Justin hasn't answered me yet. I would appreciate it if you would refrain from interfering. If this is difficult for you, listening to Justin come up with excuses, perhaps you would be more comfortable in your rooms?"

Edward's voice was quiet, still outwardly calm, but there was no mistaking his serious tone.

Justin looked back and forth between the two of us, dawning understanding on his face. Next came the guilty expression, which he tried to hide. Really, someone who was so bad at hiding his emotions should never try cheating on his lover. At least not an insanely jealous lover. I watched Edward smile again, looking like nothing so much as a large cat watching a particularly amusing mouse. I debated leaving, but I wasn't that much of a coward. Yet.

Justin was bright red now, his slight sunburn lost in the flush of his embarrassment as he looked at Edward's mocking face.

"Edward, are you angry with me?"

"Why would you ask that, Justin? Is there some reason why I would be angry at you?"

Justin looked to me for a clue. I met his gaze steadily, conscious of Edward's watchful eye. If he had half the brains he was reputed to have, my very lack of expression would have warned him to step carefully now, but these young men, they are always so confident, so sure that they can outwit anyone older than themselves. Predictably, Justin smiled at me slightly perplexed, then turned the full wattage of his smile on Edward. He must have decided to charm his way through this. Not a good choice. I considered the potential advantage to be gained in spilling my drink on one of them then rejected it. Edward would see right through such a ploy and I suspected I would need my drink.

"Well, I went to the Rodin Museum for a little while to sketch, then ..."

"You didn't come in carrying your sketch book."

Justin looked nonplused for a moment but made a quick recovery. "I must have left it in the café I stopped at for lunch. Damn, I hope they didn't throw it out. I'll go back tomorrow and..."

"What café were you in, Justin?"

Silence for a moment as Justin's face went completely blank. Plan ahead, boy, I thought. You should have had the name of a café in your head before you ever entered the suite, hell, before you ever left it this morning. As he started to answer, Edward held up a hand.

"Don't lie any more, Justin. You weren't at the Rodin. You did not lunch in a café where you left your sketchbook. You didn't leave with your sketchbook today. You left the Hôtel at almost noon and after walking around the City for a short while, you met up with a young student, not even a French student, but an American, and you went back to his place to fuck."

Justin's eyes widened and just briefly he looked frightened. Then he must have decided to tough it out with indignant bravado. I almost groaned with my dismay. Abject apology would have been much the better route to take with Edward.

"Did you have me followed, Edward? I can't believe you! It wasn't George, unless he rushed back here to get so settled in ahead of me. Who was it, some private eye you hired?"

"What makes you so sure it wasn't me, my bright angel? Although you are a trifle dull today to be called my "bright" angel. You should have thought your alibi though, and not told lies that are so easily disproved. I didn't have to have you followed, mon petit chou." I noted, although Justin probably didn't, that Edward didn't deny having Justin followed, he merely said it wasn't necessary. Which is true, I thought, the boy convicted himself with his weak story. The Rodin was a stupid choice. Any other man but Edward would see that as a sign of his basic innocence. And Justin's lack of skill at French makes it less likely that he would be with a Frenchman, although Edward's specific knowledge that the boy went to an American's apartment indicated surveillance, and there was no way that Edward was going to traipse around the City after two young kids. The thought almost made me laugh. Almost. There really was nothing funny about this situation.

"It is Monday, and the Rodin is closed on Mondays. I also recall seeing you leave this morning, and the absence of any sketchbook or painting supplies did rather catch my eye since your purpose for being here is to create...at least, I understood that to be your goal."

"You said I could take a break..." Justin responded sullenly. Ah, no, Justin, you're playing right into his hands. Excuses are what he wants to hear from you, since you have none you can justifiably make and thus only dig yourself deeper. He gets you behaving badly, and then you will feel remorse, and feel that anything he does to you, you will deserve. Justin never had any pets as a child, so he never had the chance to watch a cat play with a mouse. One might think the cat is letting the mouse go, but it never does. It just enjoys letting the mouse think it is getting away. The struggling of the mouse is fun. A limp mouse is boring prey. But a mouse struggles and struggles but then once released, willingly comes back for more? Could anything be more fun for the cat?

"A break from working hard. Ah, yes. I did say that. Do you feel you've earned that break, Justin? I know that I didn't cancel this trip, despite the level of work you turned out over the several weeks before we left New York, and despite the condition you were brought home in by Mr. Kinney, due to your penchant for clubbing. But I didn't think you were so out of touch with reality as to confuse my indulgence with an actual acceptance of that mediocrity as quality work." Justin paled. The red color just drained right out as though a stopper had been pulled, leaving him pasty. I was relieved to see him sit down on a low bench placed against the balcony wall as Edward continued his quiet indictment. In truth, the boy's work had been sub-par for weeks; far below the level of what he'd been doing in Pittsburgh. Part of that was due to the drugs, and part of it was probably due to a lack of any motivation to work. Why would anyone work if they were given everything they could possibly want in the way of material needs? Lastly, there was nothing to stimulate an artist living in the golden cocoon of Edward's studio.

In Pittsburgh, Justin often painted Kinney. I hadn't noticed him being inspired to paint Edward, although I had caught him doing sketches of Danny after his one trip home in May. He'd thrown it out, but I'd gone back later and rescued it from the trash. It was the best work Justin had done since he'd come to New York if you asked me. It showed two images of Danny, one of him framed by a large window, arrogant, confident, clothed in just a pair of low cut jeans, hair long, muscles sharply defined; the twin image showed him framed by a doorway, dressed in a suit, hair pulled back, all traces of the confidence and arrogance gone. Instead, he looked shattered by whatever he was staring at. It was done in black and white, the only color his green eyes. It was a far better work than any of the pieces Justin was submitting for his show. But I was keeping it from Edward. He would enjoy it too much. So, while there was some justification to Edward's accusation that Justin's work had not been adequate, the truth was, he could have told the boy that well before bringing him here. Instead, he led Justin to believe everything was fine, and it wasn't out of the goodness of his heart. But was that Edward's fault, or Justin's? Shouldn't Justin have realized he should be working harder now that he could? That was my ethical dilemma. I knew Edward intended Justin to fail and cheat; but I had hoped that Justin would disappoint him by not disappointing me. Ironic, when you thought about it.

"I had this naive belief that you would appreciate my indulgence and repay it by working harder once you got here. I didn't even inquire into who you were with that night before you met up with Mr. Kinney. So don't you dare act indignant when I question where you go when you are here, living off my generosity. Because, dammit," at that word Edward sent his glass flying against the stone of the balcony wall, mere feet from Justin's arm. The startled boy jumped. "I will not be humiliated in Paris as you humiliated me in New York. Clearly you are not ready for the type of opportunity I tried to give you. So why don't you go home? You don't want to be with me? Fine. I've said to you more times than I can count that I'm not holding you against your will, and I'll be damned if I'll continue to fund the gay adventures of a dilettante. You want a sugar daddy who doesn't care whether you produce art or not? Go home to Mr. Kinney. I only support real artists, not children who waste their days fucking other children and their nights getting high."

Justin looked shocked. "I'm sorry, Edward, I didn't think..."

"No, Justin, you didn't think. That is a habit of yours, isn't it? But it's too late now for sorry. I'm tired of playing the old king in this little version of Meadowlark you see yourself living. Go find yourself your young man, and fly away. You want your spic waiter, go to him. You want your aging, second rate ad executive, go to him, if he'll have you. Things didn't look too promising the other week, did they? But I can tell you right now, I don't take Brian Kinney's cast offs. I don't know if a career as an artist is what you truly want. I don't think you want to make the sacrifices that an artist's life entails."

"How can you say that, Edward? For my art, I've left my home, my family and friends, my..."

Edward pounced.

"The man you loved, Justin? The one true love of your life? How touching. It was quite a sacrifice too. You gave up your love and fell into my bed within how many weeks? Three? Four? And how you've suffered, in my penthouse in the finest part of Manhattan, with a fully appointed studio at your disposal and with all your needs supplied without you having to lift a finger other than to concentrate on your art. So where is the concentration? After all, you're not quite the starving artist, are you? You aren't working in a garret? Your most onerous duties consisted of accompanying me to cultural events, such as the theater and other gallery shows. Of course, given that you were putting up with me and my riches for your art, one would think that you would have been a little more devoted to it than you seemed to be, and a little less eager to explore the nightlife of New York, Venice and Paris, but no doubt you were trying to forget your sorrows. Was that it, Justin? I was such a horrible lover that you had to seek solace elsewhere?"

"No...no, you know that isn't true, Edward, it wasn't like that. You know I love being with you. We've had a great time together." Justin's blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Please, Edward, I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd care, I didn't think that...."

"Again, you didn't think. You didn't think that I would care that the young man I took to my bed was whoring around each city we go to behind my back? Maybe Kinney didn't care about that type of behavior but I do. There are two issues here, Justin. One, you aren't working as an artist. You seem to think that as my lover you don't need to work. We had this discussion a long time ago, I believe, that I wouldn't accept that from my Dark Angel, and I certainly won't accept it from you. You saw the talent of the Dark Angel. I told you what happened to him when he didn't want to play by my rules. You didn't learn from that, yet quite frankly, as a talent, do you really feel you are the equivalent of the Dark Angel, my Bright Angel?"

I was always amazed at how Edward could weave half truths and lies and make them appear to be truth. He was able to distract Justin now with images of Danny's amazing talent, which he had seen with his own eyes, and link that in the boy's mind with Edward's nonsense about Danny not wanting to rehearse and work as Edward's protégé, which relationship only existed in Edward's mind, and thus reinforced Edward's version of the Dark Angel saga by making it seem just like what was happening now with Justin. Edward was looking pensive now, as he continued his attack. Justin was gripping the edge of the bench, trying not to shake.

"Two, as a lover, you don't seem to think you owe me honesty or fidelity. You're wrong on both counts. You're a very attractive young man but no one is that attractive, my Bright Angel. There are no free rides, not even for you. So, leave."

"Leave?" The word came out in a squeak as the young blond's voice broke.

"Is your understanding deficient? I said leave. I will not support a lazy slut. I gave you more than one chance. You are now out of second chances. I am fond of you, Justin, but as I explained to you months ago, I will not permit pleasure to interfere with business. At this point, you are proving to be a mistake in both venues. I will give you until tomorrow to pack your things. Then I expect you to be out of this suite. My New York staff will send your things to wherever you tell them to send them but do not think you can return there."

Edward got up and walked out of the room, first turning to look at me meaningfully. Taking my cue, I got up to leave as well.

"George?" The boy's broken whisper was heartbreaking. He would be in Edward's bedroom begging for forgiveness within the hour, by my estimation. He had no choice. Edward had planned his denouement well. Brian Kinney was back in the States according to Edward's sources, but busy with an O'Keefe family matter and spending a good deal of time in the hospital. It was unlikely he would be able to help the boy.

"Yes, Justin?" I paused in the doorway. I couldn't help but think of the drawing of Danny standing in a doorway somewhere, looking as lost as Justin did now. What were the circumstances, in such a short visit, that Justin got to see Danny change from top of the world to broken? I couldn't imagine that Justin was present when Danny learned of his mother's stroke. Plus, the doorway was clearly meant to be an office doorway; there were desks and whatnot in the background. I knew from Edward that Kinney and Danny had broken up for several weeks after Justin's return. Did Justin manage that when he was back for just four days, clearly intending to return to New York? What kind of fool was Kinney? That puzzle made me address Justin more coldly than I otherwise would have been able to manage.

"What should I do, where should I go?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, you're not Scarlett O'Hara, Justin! Be a man. Do what you want to do." I realized that the advice applied to me as well, so fuck Edward, I gave the boy my honest opinion. The worst Edward could do was kill me. "Go home. Call your mother or your friends and ask them to wire you the money and go home. If you need the money, and can't get it from them, I'll give it to you. But go home. This isn't the life for you."

He looked at me, shocked. "But what about my show? If I go home, will Edward still put on my show?" I stared at him, amazed.

"No, Justin. There will be no show if you go home. Edward will be done with you. You will have to start over from zero. He said he will return the work you did, so he probably will." Justin looked shocked; it probably hadn't occurred to him that Edward could keep it. I didn't point out to him that he would be within his rights to do so as the owner of the studio where the work had been done. In fact, the contract Justin had signed with Edward as his developing artist gave Edward rights to all of Justin's work, but Justin probably hadn't read the contract. In actuality, the clothes alone that Justin had received from Edward were worth more than the pictures he'd done, in my opinion. Still, the boy looked so fragile, and so alone.

"What can I do, George, to make him forgive me. I don't want to go back home a failure. And...and I didn't mean to hurt Edward's feelings. None of those tricks meant anything to me. I was just feeling restless. And...and..."

And trapped. And bored sleeping with a man more than thirty years older. I exhaled forcefully and leaned back against the doorframe.

"Justin, it's understandable that you felt restless. You're young, naturally you're drawn to young people. But, Edward has a point too. Did you really think there wasn't a price to be paid for being able to pursue your art in the finest style?" I saw him start to speak but shook my head.

"Ah... no. You asked for my advice. Now listen to it. I've known Edward a very long time. I've known each of his so-called 'Angels.' I wish you nothing but the best, Justin, but you are young. You have a lot to learn. Both as an artist and as a young man. I know you've been through a lot at a young age and I don't mean to diminish that, but you've never been on your own, have you? You always had someone to take care of you. First you had your parents, and then you had Mr. Kinney and that wide circle of older gay friends to look out for you, not to mention your good friend, Ms. Chanders and that older woman, Mrs. Novotny and her brother. You've also a lot of living still to go through. That is why partly you came to New York on your own in the first place, wasn't it? To experience life to the fullest and learn, both your craft and how to make it on your own?"

"But I did that," Justin protested. I wasn't done speaking my piece, but I realized it was pointless. He wasn't going to listen. He continued now, but whether he was trying to convince me or him wasn't clear. "I was making it on my own! I didn't contact Brian or Debbie or any of the others for anything once I came to New York! I refused to let Brian subsidize me. I worked hard and it was my work that attracted Edward's interest, he told me so. We just happened to hit it off, personally, too, and if I had realized that he was bothered by my giving attention to other men, this misunderstanding never would have happened."

I looked at Justin, amazed. In what universe did rich, successful, handsome men completely support young men and let them do whatever they wanted without making any demands of, at a minimum, exclusivity in return? Pittsburgh? And in what way did Justin consider having Edward pay for everything, from his rent, food and clothes, to his paint brushes and canvases, to the money in his pocket, "making it on his own."

"I need to go talk to Edward, see if I can make things right with him."

"Justin, are you sure that's what you want? Please...take some time, think about this."

Those intense blue eyes looked at me.

"I can't go home a failure, George. I need this show, to prove to everyone that I can be a success. I can work harder, I want to work harder. I'll show Edward."

"Edward isn't going to be satisfied with just that, Justin, don't you understand?" I felt desperate. How much did I dare tell him? I weighed my words. "Edward is going to want proof that you are loyal to him, that...that you will be faithful to him, and only him. Please, take some time to think about that before you rush into a decision."

Justin ran his hands through his hair.

"I don't need to think about it, George, I know that I want this show...and I care about Edward. I appreciate your concern, but I know how to take care of myself. I've been doing it longer than you give me credit for. Sure, I had help from Brian and my friends, but I've essentially been on my own since I was seventeen. Brian may have given me material things, but he wasn't always there when I needed him, I had to learn to rely on myself."

Oh little boy, if that were true, you wouldn't be so afraid now, I thought. I shrugged. I did my best. All I could do now was wait until summoned to repair the damage that the exacting of Edward's punishment inflicted on that pale skin. I relied on Edward's assurance that he wouldn't do anything without consent, and surely Justin wouldn't consent to anything he wasn't comfortable with. Part of me knew that I was merely accepting that promise to comfort myself, since I knew how stubborn and foolish Justin was capable of being, but I told myself I'd done everything for him that I could reasonably be expected to do.

Besides, Edward didn't usually do too much damage, certainly nothing permanent. It was just that Justin wasn't a strong boy; he wasn't a young baseball player or dancer, his body wasn't used to physical abuse. Nor, I suspected, was he used to the rougher aspects of certain popular forms of sex. I suspected that Kinney had kept him sheltered from that for the most part. Justin liked to think he knew all about the wild side of life, but his vanilla ways merely amused Edward. My background check revealed that Kinney carefully controlled Justin's exposure in the partying they'd done. Any trick who got too rough with the boy was summarily ejected from the play. I hoped that Edward kept the boy's true innocence in mind in doling out his punishment tonight. To be on the safe side, I decided to make sure that my medical bag contained all of the proper equipment in sterile condition and that I reviewed Justin's list of allergies. It had been a while since my medical bag had been needed but I had brought it with me on this trip just in case.

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(POV/Justin)

I groaned. I didn't know what time it was. Morning probably but the blinds were drawn so it was still dark in the room. I was on my stomach. George had said not to try lying on my back. There was no need for that advice; I couldn't move if I wanted to. Thank God George had helped me piss before he left. I had no idea how long ago that was. Whatever he gave me for the pain must have knocked me out for awhile. I think he must have finished his examination then too. From the pressure in my ass, I was pretty sure he packed something in it, maybe even gave me some stitches. He told me he might have to do that, or he might just put some antibiotics up there to prevent infection. Normal infection. He told me he would draw blood later, and at the necessary intervals to test for HIV. Because I'd let Edward fuck me raw. I'd never barebacked with Brian but I'd begged Edward to come in me, to prove to him how much he meant to me. If I could move, I'd throw up some more. As it was, I didn't even have any more tears in me. For once, I was all cried out.

Edward was rough last night, rougher than he'd ever been. He tore me. And told me I was lucky that he would even have sex with me, considering where I'd been. The scariest part was, he wasn't even angry. I think if he'd been angry, I would have known to leave. He'd seemed sad and disappointed at first. I was so eager to win my way back into his good graces. I would have done anything. I let him hurt me. I thanked him for it. I guess my tears weren't all gone; I could feel them stinging my eyes. My back and buttocks felt raw but George has assured me that there would be no marks. Edward sent him in to me after he left. How could I have been so stupid? George didn't say anything like "I told you so" but I felt it in every move he made to ease my pain. He knew what was going to happen, but I couldn't really be angry at him. If he'd said to me yesterday what Edward would do to me, then...I couldn't even say in my own mind the things that Edward had done, and worst of all, he'd made me ask for it, beg for it even. A large part of the night was blocked out. I guess that was a blessing. Like the bashing. Only I didn't beg for Hobbs to smash my head with a baseball bat. Somehow, begging for one's punishment made it so much worse.

I turned the pillow over, trying to find a cooler resting spot for my burning face. That's when I saw the cell phone. It wasn't mine. Staring at it, it looked familiar. I was pretty sure it was George's. He was giving me one more chance to call home, to get away. But that would make everything I went through last night in order to stay a waste.

I found myself dialing. I waited numbly while the phone rang, until Cynthia's voice answered.

"Kinnetik, may I help you?"

"Cynthia...it's Justin...may I speak to Brian?"

There was silence for a moment. Then, "Hi to you too, Justin. How are you?"

I felt almost hysterical. I was almost in shock and she was going to bitch about my manners? I forced myself to stay calm.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry, I'm kind of dealing with something here. I need Brian. May I speak to him, please?" Please, you fucking bitch.

"Brian isn't here right now. I could give him a message for you and he'll call you back as soon as he can."

"I called his cell phone number. What do you mean he isn't there?"

"Brian is tied up with an emergency at the moment and his cell phone calls are being forwarded to the office. I will be happy to relay a message to him if you simply let me know what it is."

"I need to speak to Brian personally. It's, it's kind of an emergency."

Again there was silence. Then, "Well, I'm afraid you'll have to tell me what your 'kind of' emergency is, Justin, as Brian has been busy dealing with a real emergency lately. Or give me a number and he'll call you back as soon as he can. But he's at the hospital right now..."

"Oh no, is he okay? Is Brian sick?"

"No, Brian isn't sick. But…" again there was that pause. "The daughter of a close friend of his has been very ill, and Brian has been giving his support to him, so he's needed there. Now I'm sure that if you really need him, he'll help you out, but..."

Implicit in her tone was, don't bother him with your trivial problems, Justin. Danny O'Keefe and his little girl come first in his life now. I swallowed hard.

"No, don't worry about it, I'm fine. Sorry to bother you."

"Justin, I'd be happy to give him a message if you'd just give me a number where you can be reached. Is your old cell phone number good? Aren't you in Europe now?"

"It isn't important. I...I just thought I would ask him a quick question, it wasn't really an emergency. I guess Daphne is there too, huh?"

"Well, yes. Briana is her fiance's niece too. She is Danny's adopted daughter, actually, but he's raised her since she was a baby and she's been very ill. Brian and he rushed home from Ibiza to be with her."

"I hope she gets better soon. Please, please don't tell Brian I called. It wasn't all that important. Take care, Cynthia. See you soon. Bye."

I hung up. I found that my tears were far from used up. I had plenty left in me after all.

******************************

(Setting: Divas' Club in Soho section of New York City, Last week of July, POV/Miguel)

I looked around the small piano bar. I just wanted a drink and maybe to listen to some of the old queens tell stories of the good old days, before Bush, before AIDS, hell, before Judy died. Of course, I never would have been welcome in this bar back then, with my dark skin and non-Anglo features, but my abuelo raised me to be too polite to point that out. Just as I'm too fucking polite to bring up the fact that back in those same good old days, a lot of these old guys had wives and kids because they were too damn afraid not to blend in with the rest of the frat boys. It was only after the kids were grown and those marriages fell the fuck apart that they let their flames burn. Spare me those good old days, thank you much.

That wasn't all of them, of course. Arthur wasn't like that. I ordered two Manhattans and carried them over to a small side table near Sam's piano where I could see the old gentleman sitting alone for once. Few knew of his financial involvement in Divas' since he preferred to keep it secret. I knew because I took him to my firm once I found out he was thinking of throwing his life savings, his retirement money, into preserving his favorite old "gentlemen's musical club" from closing due to financial difficulties. The guys in the corporate, tax and real estate departments worked out this smart deal where Arthur, a quiet retired schoolteacher who'd made some extremely clever investments during the eighties, bought the building and rented three levels back to the club; he lived on the top floor himself and rented out three other floors as living quarters at reasonable rates to his managing partner, and some of the steady employees. So far it was working out great and was the beginning of Arthur becoming this fag mogul. Someday, with luck, he'd be on par with Edward Simon. Only not a lunatic. He loved art and music, he just didn't feel the need to fuck the artists and musicians, or fuck them up. He truly did try to give them a leg up on their careers. The walls were covered with work by new artists that you could buy right off the wall.

Arthur had another thing in common with Simon. He loved Danny O'Keefe. Along with other more standard celebrity photos, studio shots of Judy and Liza, Billie Holliday and others, there were several signed pictures of the Dark Angel on the walls, some from when he was dancing with Cher, some from modeling shoots, and others from various plays he'd been in. Arthur even had one of him from his college days dressed in his soccer outfit. I wouldn't mind a copy of that print myself. Those little shorts and the long socks on those muscular legs had the makings of a wet dream even more than the ones of him in his tights in the dance picture if you asked me.

Sam Maximilian was on the keyboard tonight. He was one of Divas' rotating piano players/singers. He usually performed in the small club several months out of the year, shifting between Philadelphia and New York, to stay fresh. I'd been surprised to see him performing at the Babylon Benefit, until Arthur explained that he and O'Keefe went way back. The older Maximilian had taken the younger man under his wing when the Dark Angel first hit the City a decade ago. Sam had often accompanied the talented kid on his auditions, it seemed, and his career had been damaged by Simon's vendetta as well. The patrician looking Maximilian had not been any more prone to taking orders than young O'Keefe had been. I'd often wondered why a man of Sam's obvious talents was spending his time playing piano in a quiet little club like Divas'; he had a rich baritone that rivaled anything you heard on Broadway and his piano skills were second to none. He was probably in his mid-forties now, but like any good looking gay man who worked at it, he could pass for younger. At the very least, he could be playing the better cabarets and clubs, instead of the small ones that he did. Learning about the Dark Angel connection answered the question. Sam had actually left music altogether for several years when it got too hard for him to find work, thanks to Simon. Danny talked him into coming back to it and wouldn't work any place that wouldn't hire his friend as well. Once Sam was back, he built up his own following again and Simon must have decided to leave him alone, satisfied he'd gotten his message across. Neither man was where he belonged, after all.

Edward Simon was one sick fuck. I thanked God once again that Juan was across the country from the bastard.

Arthur gave me a gentle smile in thanks as I handed him the Manhattan. On the rocks, bourbon, extra sweet, with three cherries, just the way he liked it. I eased myself down on the stool next to him. Sam nodded as I raised my glass at him in greeting. He was in the middle of a Sondheim medley.

"Getting a nice crowd these days," I commented after waving off Arthur's offer of money for the drink. He always felt like he had to treat "the boys," which meant any fag under forty.

"The boys are glad to have Sam back. Paula was a bit much for them. With Roz at the bar, it was one drag queen too many, even if Roz is retired. You can take the boy out of the lame` and pumps, but the bitch is still there." Arthur's faded blue eyes twinkled at me as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "And when it came right down to it, Paula was a mere amateur when it came to being a bitch queen; Roz may be a bartender now, but in her day, she could out Diva the best of them."

I looked over at the tall, slightly portly, bald man tending bar with cool competence. My skepticism must have shown on my face as Arthur chuckled and pulled out a wallet size photo of an old style beauty queen, very movie star glamorous, like Jean Harlow or Marilyn Monroe, only on queenly proportions. I looked at it closely then glanced over at the bar again.

"No way, man."

"Yes. Roslyn Russell, in her glory days," Arthur said proudly, then lowered his voice even more. "Russell Owens on his birth certificate, actually. One of the best. But after he got adult onset diabetes and the neuropathy in his feet made walking in those heels too dangerous, he switched to the bartending, which he's damn good at too. He and Sam make a good team."

I knew most people called the older man at the bar Roz, but I'd noticed that after hours, during the few times I'd stayed late to talk, Sam generally called him Russ. There were some things you didn't ask about, however, and real names versus public names were one of them. That was something I'd learned as a kid in the old neighborhood. If someone wanted you to call them by their real name, they'd let you know. Otherwise, you showed respect. A lot of men in places like this didn't use their real names, and a lot of drag queens preferred that you used their female names, but the reasons behind the two preferences were like night and day. In the former cases, the men often were hiding who they were; in the latter, they felt the female name was the more accurate way of describing who they really were. Personally, not that it was any of my fucking business, I had more respect for the queens.

"So, why were you looking so down tonight? Young man like you, handsome, fit, you should be out at one of the dance clubs finding someone to take home, not sitting here with us old queers, talking about the old days." Arthur nudged me lightly.

"Ah, I'm just too stubborn for my own good, Art. I was sure I was onto something and it was a dead-end. I spent weeks checking out all of Simon's old Angels, positive I would find evidence that he'd been fucking around with their heads, maybe getting them hooked on boutique drugs or something. But I came up with nothing. They all seem to suffer from an amazing lack of drive for guys who started out strong in their various fields, and that old pervert has played in a lot of them, but other than that, there isn't anything wrong with them. He gives them nice fluffy angel wings to cushion their landing and they float off into gay mediocrity, which is probably where most of them would have ended up eventually anyway."

Arthur looked a little uncomfortable. Which was odd for him. I'd expected him to give me some type of verbal hug, maybe even a real hug and then a verbal one. Kind of, don't feel so bad, Edward's still a bad man even if just for what he did to Danny O'Keefe, no wonder you thought there might be something more to it with those other boys, and you did your best. Or even, keep looking, Miguel, you'll find something, there's bound to be something more to it. Instead, he said nothing, just stared at the floor. Not at all an Arthur thing to do. I searched over what I'd just said, trying to figure out why. Usually he was up for a nice bout of Simon bashing over how the jerk was ruining young boys' lives or a debate over whether Simon was doing some good for these loser twinks who weren't going anywhere on their own. While this didn't quite qualify either way, since I'd neither praised Simon nor buried him, I couldn't see anything in the topic to make the nice old guy shift his gaze away from me in such a weird way. Unless....

"Arthur, you know something and you aren't telling me!" I played up the indignant voice. Juan wasn't the only drama queen in the family. "How could you hold out on me? You know that bastard has another young gay boy in his clutches and you know he's been eying your Danny again! You do know that, don't you?"

"Danny? Edward hasn't gone near Danny in ages, has he? Danny's safe in Pittsburgh with that new man. He told me all about him last time we spoke. He's happy...."

"Arthur, what do you know?" I switched to my best "future DA" voice, thinking maybe that would work better for me, since my drama queen obviously needed work. I would have to visit with Juan and get a refresher. "Danny O'Keefe may be okay, for the moment, he might even be able to take care of himself, but that young Taylor boy doesn't have anyone looking out for him. I'm trying to determine if Simon might be drugging him and if you know something...."

"But you said yourself you checked into all the other Angels and they're all fine, right?" Arthur definitely looked uncomfortable now. Sam was looking over and I expected him to do something soon to break up my little session with his boss. He tended to be protective of Arthur. Hell, I was protective of the sweet old guy. Just then, another voice broke in.

"Why not tell him, Artie, tell him about the Angel that no one can talk to because no one will ever be able to find him? He can't talk anymore, much less sing and Simon's hidden him away too good so no one can ever discover his little mistake."

Great, drunken Pete. For a moment, I thought it was going to be news I could use. Pete was a fixture at the end of the smaller of the two bars in Divas. He came in most weekends, drank his way steadily through a fifth of scotch and stumbled his way home. In the winter, Arthur would call a cab for him so he didn't die of hypothermia in some alley. He used to be good looking. He probably was only about thirty five, but looked ten years older due to the drink. I wasn't sure what he did for a living. He held it together well enough during the week to pay for his drinks on the weekend. He looked at me now.

"There was one Angel who didn't make it through his whole year. Like your Bright Angel won't if he keeps up with his tricking. Edward doesn't like his boys to fool around on him. Oh, they might think they're getting away with it, but they don't. Two tried it before. One stopped right away. All it took was a broken arm. He learned his lesson. Said he fell down some stairs. But he got really shy after that. You never saw him in public alone and all his old friends dropped off. The other one was Simon's Silver Angel. Pretty blond boy. Not like your painter friend Taylor, with his light hair. This boy had hair that was truly almost silvery blond. Longer too. He was a singer like O'Keefe. But his voice was high, what they call a counter-tenor. Simon wasn't just marking time with him as he was with his other angels, he was fascinated by him. He was like the anti-Dark Angel. He was nineteen years old, like O'Keefe had been when Simon met him. Had light gray eyes, which was how he got his nickname, even before Simon decided to make him his new Angel. O'Keefe's sister befriended him. She was BFF with Simon then and he loved to go out with her on one arm and Silver on the other. Thing was, Silver was just like any other gay boy loose in the City. He wanted to have a wild time and he did."

Arthur just sat there looking down. Sam was singing songs from "West Side Story" as this story of impending doom played out. There was something surreal about the whole thing. If I hadn't had only a few sips of my drink, I'd think I was imagining the whole thing.

"What happened?" I asked as Pete stopped talking and just stared at the wall. He spoke again, his voice all raspy. "Buy me a drink, lawyer boy, and I'll tell you the rest."

Shrugging I got up and went to the bar. Roz looked over at Arthur and Pete. I nodded my head toward them.

"So, is Pete a nutcase completely or only partially?"

"Depends. Which story is he telling you, handsome?" Roz gave a practiced smile even as he peered shrewdly over my head and exchanged some type of signal with Sam.

"Silver and Simon. With Angel O'Keefe thrown in for good measure."

There was a pause. Then Roz met my look squarely.

"Pay attention. Sometimes, in vino, there is veritas. Even more so in Scotch. Not always, but in this case, it may be the only way you'll get the truth. Take the bottle. Arthur will need a lot of lubrication to start talking about that episode. A lot of people feel a lot of guilt over that stupid boy. And that even stupider twat, Danny's sister." Roz made a face and covered his mouth coyly. "Oops, did I just speak poorly of the dead? My bad! Too much veritas!" He pushed the bottle over with a couple more glasses and waved off my payment.

I walked back over to the table half nervous, half excited. I didn't know if I was going to get fed another load of Divas bullshit, or whether I would get some real dirt on Simon.

I poured a glass for Pete and another for Arthur and waited for one of them to start talking. Arthur and Pete just sat there for a couple of minutes staring at each other, however, and I debated whether I should try jump starting them with questions or let the story come at its own pace. I wasn't all that surprised, however, when it was Sam who came up behind me and spoke first. He must have announced his break and put the canned music on while I was intent on pouring the drinks and watching the staring contest.

"So, you want to hear about Silver, Miguel? That is a rather distressing story to some people, so would you mind explaining why you think it might be pertinent to you?" Sam's cultured tones had a way of making me feel like I just got off the boat, back still dripping wet. I was sure the effect was completely intentional at times like this. Once again, I pulled out the DA voice and demeanor. Man, I was going to need to go someplace to unwind after this "relaxing" evening at Divas.

"Certainly, Maximilian. I have reason to believe that Edward Simon's current 'Angel' Justin Taylor, you've seen him, he was at the Babylon Benefit with Simon, well, there is ample basis to suspect that unbeknownst to Taylor, he is being fed drugs to keep him with Simon." I could not believe I fucking used the word "unbeknownst" in actual conversation; I was going to have to call Juan tonight and tell him about this Twilight Zone conversation.

"Taylor always seems pretty happy with Simon," Maximilian interjected.

"Did you know that he's from Pittsburgh and that he was with O'Keefe's current man, Brian Kinney, for several years before coming to New York?" I got the attention of all three of them with that one, although Maximilian didn't look surprised, O'Keefe probably already told him about it when they were at Babylon, I realized. No one did a deadpan better than Sam, however, and he merely sipped at his water and waited for more information. I was the only one here who would care about Justin, but any O'Keefe connection was sure to grab attention; none of them at Divas would think that was merely fortuitous as Justin did. I doubted the Dark Angel thought it was chance either. All the twinks that come into New York each year and Simon happens to find Kinney's, who just happens to be the man that Danny O'Keefe had crushed on since he was a teenager? Yeah, right. And the Lincoln Tunnel is for sale this week, cheap. I kept talking, fast, now that I had their attention.

"Kinney was O'Keefe's boyhood crush, they get together, but not until after Simon has his claws into Taylor. You know, Arthur, that Simon keeps a tail on O'Keefe when he's in Pittsburgh, so he's got to have known about Kinney. Did he know about O'Keefe's past with him? Hell, he probably knows when he got his wisdom teeth out."

"Fourteen."

"Huh?" I was confused for a second by Arthur's interruption. Pete and Sam looked at him as blankly as I was sure I was.

"Danny got his wisdom teeth taken out when he was fourteen. He met Kinney when he was barely twelve. Kinney was seventeen and his brother Joey's roommate at college. Danny once told me he fell in love for the first time when he was sixteen, and he meant Brian Kinney." Arthur sighed heavily. Okay, so Arthur was a bit obsessed. At least he was harmless. I tried to remember where I'd been going before we got sidetracked by O'Keefe's wisdom teeth.

"Yeah, well, apparently the two of them didn't hook up then, good for Kinney. Must not have been into underage kids then." I couldn't resist a smirk although I did manage to refrain from rolling my eyes. Arthur probably knew when O'Keefe got potty trained, although knowing the wonder-boy, I bet it was by age one and no doubt he could do it en pointe. Sometimes I had total sympathy for Justin's hating the guy. Then, I'd look at that dimpled grin and those legs in that soccer photo, not to mention that sexy voice on the phone the night he helped me with Justin, and I didn't begrudge O'Keefe any one of his achievements. Hell, he's a fucking great guy.

"Kinney was very honorable, he was like a mentor to Danny, and looked out for him as he learned about the life," Arthur explained very seriously. "Kinney was into a wild lifestyle back then and not ready to settle down. Nor was Danny, for that matter, he was pursuing his career."

"Okay, well, the point is, when Justin Taylor came along, Kinney was twenty-nine and the local ruling stud, Taylor was a sweet young seventeen, and your Danny was long gone from Pittsburgh. Kinney took Taylor under his wing, and although he fought off the attraction, Taylor was a persistent little bugger, and eventually the hard core stud fell hard for the little Twink that wouldn't go away. At least that's how Taylor's best friend and fag hag told it to me. Kinney and Taylor were together, off and on, for almost five years before Taylor came to New York; they almost got married."

"What does this have to do with Silver?" Sam asked the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

"It's obvious what it has to do with Silver!" Pete snapped. "Simon is repeating his own little history, and trying to get it right this time. Only no one has bothered telling some of the main players that the play is on and Taylor doesn't know he's the understudy." Pete slammed back his drink and sat up straighter. Finally, I thought, here it comes.

"Silver was a stupid young kid who came to the City from head liners. He had an incredible voice, so pure and high you would have thought he was a castrati. His range went from normal tenor up to soprano and the counter tenor parts. If I hadn't seen his birth certificate myself, I would have thought he was a girl or a very young teen, he didn't even shave, but he was seventeen the year he hit town. Hadn't even finished high school, but we were able to get him a full scholarship to one of the colleges here in the City, fuck, I forget which one. Juilliard offered him one, Parsons did, NYU, they all did. But instead, he dropped out and took this 'internship' with Simon, who'd heard him sing during a summer opera program. Just like he'd heard O'Keefe. You remember, Sam. They did Wagner the year before and O'Keefe performed the lead, and then the following year, they did Handel, and Silver performed Bertarido, from Rodelinda."

Maximilian nodded tightly as Arthur's eyes teared up. "It was a beautiful performance, Peter. He was simply amazing, and so lovely."

Pete's voice stayed tense as he continued, almost as though he hadn't been interrupted.

"The fucking brat should have gone on to college. Instead, all the attention went to his head. He loved having a millionaire after him, and being told he was as good as 'the Dark Angel.' He knew there'd been a couple of other angels, of course, I told him myself, but he just laughed, and said, but Pete, none of them could sing like an angel. They were just copies, I'm unique. I'm the counter-dark angel. Damn stupid twink." Pete looked broodingly into his glass.

It struck me then. Pete had been the Silver Angel's Kinney. I shot a sidelong glance at Sam and raised an eyebrow questioningly in Pete's direction. He nodded again, slightly. He glanced at his piano but Arthur seemed to be fine with him staying so he put a hand on Pete's shoulder and continued the story.

"Pete had been the one who had been keeping an eye on Silver when he first came to the City. He'd been one of the headliners at that Festival two years before and the kid kind of tagged around after him. Pete was always getting him out of one kind of problem or another, finding him a place to live in the Village when he found out his folks kicked him out when he came out. Pete helped hook him up with the right auditions to get those scholarship offers, and got him the role with the Opera Festival. Even got Arthur to tutor him so he would pass High School finals, and Danny and Pete took turns teaching him Italian and German for the Operas. I helped with his vocal training but to his credit, Silver didn't need much tutoring, he picked it all up very quickly."

"Especially the extracurricular lessons Pete gave him," Arthur added dryly. I was ready to move between the drunk and the old man if need be, but Pete merely glanced at the older man.

"Yeah, especially those," Pete agreed, twisting his mouth bitterly. It was hard to wrap my mind around the thought of drunk Pete as an Opera star. Unlike Sam and O'Keefe, his voice was totally shot. Sam continued.

"Danny left town to tour since Simon caused him to lose yet another part on Broadway, and he was getting fed up, quite frankly, with his sister trying to get him to make nice with Simon. Angel loved to party, and being on good terms with Simon did get one invited to all the best parties. I'd gone to Philadelphia for a while, deciding that I wanted to take a break from music myself, so it was just Pete and Arthur up here holding down the fort. Pete had to go on tour too. He tried to get Silver to go with him but the brat wouldn't go, as I understand it. Silver claimed that he was more than capable of handling himself in the City. Arthur was living a quiet life here in the Village back then and merely observing. He tried to curb Silver's wilder tendencies, and in fact, since Silver was living with Arthur as his nominal guardian, the boy should have listened to him, but we set that up based on the belief that Silver's parents had officially disowned him. Arthur did what he could but Silver was spending more and more time at Angel's place. Or at least, that's where he claimed he was. By the time Pete got back, Silver had dropped out of school and was moved in with Simon. Trouble was, he still wanted to be with Pete. And he wanted to be able to go to the clubs and see his friends. It was Angel who tipped off Danny in a phone call that Simon was getting pissed off and Danny called Arthur, who in turn warned Pete. Pete tried talking to Silver, but the kid insisted he had everything under control."

This was sounding suspiciously like Justin's story so far. I waited for the denouement.

"Sam, you go back to the piano and play so we don't get overheard. I'll tell the rest." Arthur spoke quietly. Sam walked casually back to the piano and within a few minutes was playing Cole Porter tunes for several older couples who had just come in from a gay film festival.

"Silver was supposed to have his debut of his own cabaret act at one of the larger clubs uptown, when he came down here to see Pete at one of the dance clubs just a week before. He was very agitated, and accused Pete of threatening Edward and risking his new career. Pete told him he had to make a choice, either to stay away from Edward and go back to school, living with me again, or to return to Edward, but to never bother him again. Silver laughed and said it was no choice at all." Arthur stopped as Pete made a strangled sound and put his head down on the bar. Arthur put a comforting hand on the other man's shoulder and continued in his soft voice.

"Silver grew more excited, saying that all of the stress was upsetting his voice and asking Pete why he couldn't be happy for him, and understand. His ramblings just got more and more incoherent and Pete couldn't calm him down. It was strange, because up until that night, he'd been strangely calm for weeks whenever I'd seen him, much more so than had been his usual demeanor. Then Edward showed up with that strange bodyguard of his, the British fellow, and Silver just seemed to collapse. The British man carried him out. We all thought it was perhaps drugs that night, that Silver had taken something, although he'd never been known to, but Angel said that she found out from the British man that in fact, Silver had been taking drugs but they'd been interfering with his voice and he'd stopped them on his own without telling anyone. Then there was some added complication that it turned out that Silver was an epileptic, and had managed to keep that fact a secret from all of us, and the combination of drugs he was taking interacted badly with his epilepsy medication..."

"Wait, are you telling me that he lived with you folks for almost two years and you didn't know that he was an epileptic? How the hell did he pull that off?" I was skeptical.

"He left home with his prescription card and his parents never cancelled it, it turned out," Pete said tiredly. "The kid was an accomplished liar. He was thrown out, but he was in touch with his sister back home, who got his meds to him even after he turned eighteen. He never told us about the epilepsy, I guess figuring it wasn't cool. We'll never know what his reasoning was. We only know what we suspect, which was that Simon was giving him something to control him, and that it didn't mesh well with his seizure medication so he stopped taking the one, and then when that didn't work, and he got caught, he stopped taking the other, but eventually he took both together, and crashed. When Simon got him back, he became very docile, but had a small seizure, according to Angel, but it happened with only her present and he made her promise not to tell anyone. Then, on the night before his big debut, he collapsed at the dress rehearsal and they couldn't revive him. When Angel told George, the British guy, about the seizure and the fact that the kid was epileptic, she said he flipped out on Simon. Apparently he's some type of doctor and Simon had him treating the kid for 'stress.'" Pete's voice was dripping with bitterness.

"Where is Silver now? Why can't anyone talk to him?" I looked back and forth between Arthur and Pete.

Arthur answered me sadly, "Silver went into a coma. We don't know if he ever came out of it, and if he did what type of condition he was in. That was over six years ago. His parents were found by Edward and quickly agreed to move him to a sanitarium, which Edward no doubt pays for. They got a restraining order to keep Pete and me away from him when we tried to visit."

"Didn't anyone investigate, check into what type of drugs Simon and his private doctor were giving the kid?"

"Don't you get it, lawyer boy? We were two fags who had kept this kid from his parents when he was a minor. Simon was the rich man who had been helping him and he collapsed for the first time while in our company. His second collapse was made to seem as merely the residual of whatever we'd done to him the prior week. Stupid Angel O'Keefe blamed Silver. Even said it was all his fault for not telling 'poor George' what other drugs he was taking and felt sorry for the sick fucker for doping the kid up on Simon's orders. Nobody was willing to listen to us, we were lucky we weren't thrown into jail. "

I looked at the tears filling Arthur's faded blue eyes. "What about Danny O'Keefe? Couldn't he have gotten his sister to tell the police what happened?"

Pete looked at Arthur and again made that twisted mouth expression before gulping more Scotch. "No one told Danny. He had enough problems with Simon on his own, and was making plans to go to France. So Artie here, and Sam, they didn't want their boy bothered, and fuck it, it was too late to help my boy anyway. Simon was looking around frantically for a new angel to distract people's attention from the Silver situation, so it would have been a bad time for Danny to come back to the City. Silver was the sacrificial lamb that season. Simon picked a new Angel by Christmas, a Tawny Angel, I believe, a God damned baseball player if you can believe it. Danny was told that Silver got sick and went back home to his folks, which was true, more or less."

Fuck. I ran my hand through my hair. I looked at Pete.

"Listen, I'm really sorry, Pete, for..."

"For what? For what happened to some dumb twink years ago? He was a stupid kid who ran away from home and in a way, Angel was right. He took drugs and they mixed badly with his legally prescribed medications; that is the situation in a nutshell. The fact that he was this little princess from a rich background who didn't have a clue how to survive in the big city, whose looks and talent and fucking charm made all of us faggots who should have known better turning cartwheels trying to keep him alive despite his best efforts to kill himself doesn't mean that we were going to succeed at it. And your friend Taylor is another one just like him. Only here's a word to the wise, Miguel. Simon has gotten a lot crazier and a lot more possessive. He didn't try to kill Silver. Whatever happened to him, I'm pretty damn sure was an accident. He just wanted to control him. And when I went to confront him, I got roughed up a bit, but I got out of that gilded cage of his intact. Arthur and I got served with restraining orders, not clubs in a dark alley. You won't be so lucky if Simon finds out that that cute actor brother of yours has a twin."

I maintained a deadpan, but inside my mind was whirling. If someone as seemingly out of it as drunk Pete knew about me pretending to be Juan, it would get back to Simon, if it hadn't already. I wasn't worried about myself. I wasn't some opera singer; I was a damned sight tougher to hurt than your average maricon. Leon had seen to that. Any club wielding thug in a dark alley would meet up with my knife. That is, if I were stupid enough to go walking alone in any dark alleys. But Justin, he wasn't so tough. Kinney was willing to help him out before, maybe he would be willing to listen to the story of the Angel that didn't get away. I didn't have Arthur and Sam's compunction about protecting O'Keefe from the story either, or from his need to play hero. From everything I ever heard about him, I was fairly sure that he wouldn't be willing to let Simon get away with harming Taylor, even if he had to confront the bastard himself.

Arthur was looking at me anxiously. "Miguel, you aren't going to tell anyone about poor Silver, are you? It was a long time ago."

"I won't do anything without thinking about discussing it with you, Arthur, promise." I looked at the old man solemnly. As expected, he didn't notice that I omitted to promise that I would discuss it with him before doing anything. Pete looked at me with surprising sharpness for a man who'd drunk as much as he had, but he didn't say anything. I raised my glass to my lips as I said, "To Silver." The others joined me, Pete holding my gaze. I think he knew my intentions but he didn't speak another word, even when I poured him into a cab an hour or so later. It wasn't winter, but he was in no condition to stumble home. I wasn't surprised by now to find that home for the drunk, washed up singer was the Dark Angel's New York apartment, which he allowed Pete to live in while he was out of town, which was most of the year these days. When he came to the City, Pete stayed with Arthur. Other than the odd voice lesson here and there, Pete had a small job in a record store in the Village. Quite a comedown for someone who used to be one of the best opera baritones in the City.

Chalk another notch on Edward Simon's belt was all I could think as I watched the cab drive away.

*****************************

(Setting: Pappagano's Restaurant, Pittsburgh; First Week of August; POV/Daphne)

I looked across the table at Brian. He was as impeccably dressed as ever, even for just a lunch with me. Whenever I saw him like this it was hard not to feel like a seventeen year old kid again, faced with the grown-up that somehow my best friend had gotten involved with. Out-matched, out-classed and out-done at every turn. It was hard to remember that we'd come a long way since then, and that Brian was every bit my friend now. Sitting opposite from me was that older, sophisticated man who so intimidated me when I was younger. It wasn't long before I figured out back then that he would listen when I needed him to listen. I think that was the problem now. So far he'd been the charming host, asking about my work at the clinic and if my schedule was set for the new school year, ordering a yummy lunch for me, salad for him. But for the first time in years, I was afraid of Brian again, and wasn't sure we were still on the same side. It was hard to keep up a cheery front when on the inside I was sick, waiting for the anvil to land on my head.

I knew he'd invited me to lunch because he was angry at me over Briana's illness. Not over her getting sick; he'd never be that unfair, but over the fact that I didn't do what Emmett did and overrule Mary Pat. I knew as soon as our eyes met at the hospital last week that he wondered why I didn't call Danny and him home from vacation. He was going to want an explanation and I didn't have one. At least, not a good one. In my heart, I knew all along that I should have insisted that Danny be called home. I should have stood up to Mary Pat and made Jamie listen to me, but I was afraid to go against Jamie. As a result, Briana suffered and Danny had a horrible twelve hours and I knew Brian was blaming me. Hell, I blamed me. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. I put down my fork.

"Brian, out with it. Just let me have it before I end up losing this whole lunch in the ladies room, which would be a waste, because it's really good, and any other time, I would be loving every bite of it, but I can't enjoy any of it when I'm waiting for you to take my head off."

"Is there something wrong with the crab ravioli today? I can ask Angelo to bring you something different? Perhaps the Fra Diablo sauce over cappellini? You like spicy foods, don't you?" Brian raised an eyebrow as he looked at my barely touched plate.

"Don't, Brian, please." I blinked rapidly. I really didn't want to start crying in front of him like some girl. He hated that.

"Don't what, Daphne? Have I done something to upset you? Why are you almost crying?" He spoke in his quietest tones, leaning forward slightly. He glanced at the hovering waiter, and a silent signal was sent that was enough to keep the man away from the table.

"You know you haven't done anything. Listen, I know I was wrong. I should have called you, or Danny about Briana, and I didn't. I know you're mad at me, so stop being so nice to me, yell at me or something so I can say I'm sorry and start working on getting you to forgive me. I can't stand having you treat me like some kind of stranger. I thought we were friends."

Brian leaned back in his seat and gave me an impassive look.

"I thought we were friends too, Daphne. Better friends, isn't that what we said?" I sniffled as Brian reminded me of our conversation so many months ago. He continued, "But it isn't me you should be apologizing to. And I don't know that I'm as much mad at you as honestly confused. It isn't like you to hold back when you know something to be wrong. You're the one who faced down Jamie when you barely knew him or Danny, and you thought he was making the wrong medical decision on the soccer field. I just never figured you to be the type of girl to place loyalty to your boyfriend over doing what you knew to be the right thing. Hell, you risked losing Jamie when you thought you owed it to Justin to stay with him when Mama Rose was dying and Jamie needed you. Didn't Danny deserve even a phone call to tell him that the child he loves like a daughter might be dying? Even if Jamie didn't give you the go ahead?"

Brian's tone had grown harsh by the end of his speech. I bit my lip. How to explain to someone who was always the best looking man around what it was like to be someone like me, and for the first time in my life, not be on the sidelines watching the beautiful man you love twirling around the dance floor with someone else? To see that beautiful man look at you with love in his eyes? And to be so afraid that you might do something to make that love go away and leave you on the sidelines again? When Jamie got mad at me during Justin's visit, I told myself I would never put anyone ahead of him again, that I would never put either of us through that type of pain.

In halting words, my eyes fixed on my hands as they twisted the linen napkin that had started the lunch in a fancy flower shape, I tried to explain some of what I felt to Brian. My words sounded lame even to me; however, all I could think of was Briana crying for Danny during that horrible ordeal, and then the terrible look on Danny's worn face as he held Mary Pat in the hallway, thinking the worst had happened but still trying to comfort his sister. I'd had to bury my face into Jamie's chest to escape the shattered look on his face. Even knowing that Briana was okay, I'd been too petrified with guilt to jump up and tell him everything was okay. Thank goodness Brian had looked into the room and realized the truth.

I looked up at Brian and all I could see was his perfect face, "the face of God", and I knew there was no way I could ever expect him to understand. Nor should I expect him to; there was no excuse for what I'd done. I'd never acted like one of those girls who put the opinion of a man first before, and here I was, for the first time in my life, I got the hero from the cover of the paperback romance novel, the one with the big, rippling muscles and dimpled grin, and I let it take away my common sense. I hated the me I'd become. I threw the crumpled napkin down on top of the congealed remains of the expensive meal.

"I'm sorry, Brian, more sorry than I know how to say. You're right, I need to apologize to Danny too. I became the kind of girl I always despised and in trying to hold onto Jamie, I've probably made him despise me too. I hope some day you can forgive me, because I don't know if I can forgive myself."

I jumped up and started to dash out of the restaurant. Trouble with running when you're crying is that you can't see where you're going very well. I ended up running right into a very solid object as soon as I cleared the dining room and almost went flying backward except two arms wrapped around me and pulled me tight against a hard, flat chest.

"Vince, you go on to the table, I'll be there in a minute. Go on, I'll explain in a few, I know this tackle." A warm hand pressed my head firmly down and stroked my hair comfortingly as the familiar voice softened to address a new person as the first set of footsteps died away. "Well, you want to explain what you've been doing to upset my favorite sister-in-law to be? Hush, no picking your head up yet, you....I reserve full rights to keep you where I have you since you almost knocked me over and you've no doubt made a mess of your face and the front of my suit with those tears I saw. So we're going to sidle over into this convenient alcove, and Brian is going to use his magical charm to get us a waiter with some water and some seltzer with some clean cloths for my coat, and maybe then after we sit here for a minute and compose ourselves and wash your face and my coat gets taken away to get freshened up we'll talk, yes?"

Danny kept talking in his light teasing voice as he half carried me, half led me to a seat in a dark corner. Brian silently took the coat he shrugged out of, which I was embarrassed to see did have mascara stains on it, and just as silently handed Danny some dampened cloths which he used to gently wash my face. Brian handed the coat to a waiter, to whom Danny gave a few instructions in rapid Italian. He then looked between Brian and me, slightly perplexed. I flushed.

"So, this is rather awkward. If I were a man given to jumping to conclusions, or if Brian had one trace of heterosexual tendencies, I would be torn between calling you out for upsetting my brother's fiancee`, Bri, and bitch slapping you, Daph, for being out with my man and enacting some drama queen moment. As it is, I think I need Emmett here to help me figure this one out." That mobile eyebrow shot up inquiringly as he continued to look between the two of us.

I looked down at my shoes as Brian stayed silent, his mask firmly in place. Danny sighed.

"Did I mention I have my agent, well, actually, my agent's son, waiting for me, in order to conduct a business lunch? Could one of you say something? Hi Danny, nice to see you, or fancy seeing you here, would be a start."

Brian gave a small grin then winked at me as he bent down and kissed Danny. "Hi, Danny, nice to see you, fancy seeing you here," he said in a falsetto.

"Prick," Danny retorted, fondly. "Now that we have that out of the way, who wants to tell me why Daphne was running out of the restaurant crying? If it was something she ate, I would like to know what to avoid on the menu. If it was something Brian said, tell me and I'll beat him up for you, Daphne, not that I would think you'd take anything Brian says all that seriously after all the time you've known him. And if it's something Jamie has done, hell, then I really will kick his ass, though why you'd run out on Brian, I can't understand, as he'd always up for kicking Jamie's ass."

I stuffed my hand in my mouth to stop myself from bawling any more. Danny was being so sweet, trying to make me laugh and I'd been such a terrible friend to him. Brian made an impatient noise. Danny looked at him confused.

"Okay, cut it out, Daphne. Enough with beating yourself up here. No one hates you, least of all Danny or me. I was a little pissed off but that doesn't mean we're not friends or whatever cwazy idea you got into your little head there. Danny loves you, I love you, and even the jock doc is smart enough to love you and always will. I know you think I don't understand what you were explaining, but I do understand being insecure in a relationship. Even if you think beautiful people have it easy." Being Brian, he didn't waste time denying he was beautiful. Danny's mouth twitched; he seemed to pick up on that much of the conversation, even coming in as late as he did. He stood up and pulled me to my feet.

"I think this is something we can talk about later. I can confirm, Daphne, that if you have any doubts that I love you, you can put them to bed. I adore you. I also know that Jamie loves you as deeply as he is capable of, which is far more than I thought the big galoot had in him. And for all his physical attributes, he gives thanks every day that someone as smart and perfect as you loves him back and cares for him, the man, and not just his looks. You are a special person and I couldn't imagine anyone better for him or for a new little sister. I don't know why you were crying, but since it seems to have something to do with me, and I know you and I are okay on my side, why don't you dry your eyes and come back and have lunch with my agent and me? Brian too." He gave Brian a mischievous smile.

"That guy you were with when Daphne barreled into you? The one who checked me out?"

"He did, didn't he? By now he's probably checked out half the wait staff, but if he thinks there is any chance I'll bring you back, he'll bide his time if I know my Vince. He's nothing if not patient. I could use a little distraction, actually. So, if you two aren't done your lunch, you'd be helping me out to join me....."

"Why do you need help?" I rubbed my cheeks, trying to put a little color back into them. Danny stopped me.

"That's making them worse. Let me see what I can do. I have some things in my car, some modeling stuff I just picked up. Bri, go join Vince and introduce yourself. He should be happy to discuss the advertising for Etienne's movie with you. He's here to discuss my doing that part. He wants me to take it and we're arguing over it. Daphne and I will be back in five minutes once I make her beautiful again."

Brian smiled slightly and bent down to kiss my cheek.

"Sure, kiddo. No more than five, though. I like her just the way she is."

"Of course. No one will even know she has a thing on."

"Then what's the point of putting any makeup on?" Brian asked.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Sometimes, Bri, I really have to wonder if you're straight. Come on, Daph, we only have a couple of minutes. Go, Bri, to the table. Entertain my agent, don't agree to anything."

Danny watched until Brian walked away then reached for my pocketbook.

"Aren't we going to your car?"

Danny snorted. "Are you telling me you don't have anything in your bag?"

"Just lipstick, blush, a little powder, maybe some mascara, shadow..."

Danny smiled. "Trust me, that's more than I keep in my car. But I can apply it better for you than you can, even in this dark. So, you sit still and I'll fix your face and you tell me why you were crying without handsome Kinney glowering and scaring you silent."

I looked back at him surprised.

"I'm not stupid, Daphne. I love Brian, but I also know he can be intimidating when he gets in protective mode. He does love you, but he was also very much in protective mode with me the other week over the whole Briana thing. Was that it? Did he give you shit over not calling me home?"

I tried to look away but he had a firm hand on my chin as he applied fresh shadow to my lids.

"Listen to me, Daphne. Your first loyalty is to you and Jamie. Not to me. Or Brian. Don't let him convince you that you have to choose sides or that in any side choosing, he has any right to demand your first loyalty. Jamie and you are going to get married. That's important."

"But that's just it, Danny. I was afraid to stand up to Jamie, even when I knew he was wrong. I was afraid if I did, he wouldn't love me. That can't be right. I should have done what I knew to be right, even if it made him mad at me. Brian was right to be angry at me for being a coward. Emmett wasn't."

Danny frowned, but I wasn't sure if he was thinking about what I said or looking at his make-up work. Until he spoke.

"That is a separate issue. Don't think that my love is contingent on you never fucking up. God knows Brian and Jamie's sure shouldn't be, as those two fuck up a lot." He gave me a quick grin before continuing. "It does seem like Brian nailed it when he said you had this idea that beautiful people got a pass on the insecurity thing. I know Jamie has always had to worry that women only wanted him for his looks, and even yours truly has had his share of women, and men, who were more interested in my looks than in what I was like as a person. And Brian, we won't even get started on how stunted his relationship skills are. We'll never make it to lunch. But he's a hell of a lot better at it now than he used to be. I understand Justin really helped with that. I think he's better now than he was six months ago so I hate to think how bad he was when Justin started with him. The mind boggles." Another grin came my way and this time I had to grin too. If Danny only knew.

"The point is, Daph, you have to talk to Jamie when you think he's in the wrong, because that's the way you are. Pretending to be someone you're not never works. Not in the long run. And isn't that what you're looking for? The long run? I know I am, so I can't pretend to be someone I'm not, even if I think it might be someone a little easier for Brian to take. Someone less independent, for example. Someone less, um, how to put this?"

"Alpha?" I suggested.

Danny laughed, his low, sexy laugh. "Yeah, something like that. But, in truth, for all my alpha tendencies, there are times when it feels so good to be taken care of, you know? To be able to just let go and know that he'll be there, holding me up. I've never had that before in my whole life, and learning to trust it is hard, but it is so worth it. The only thing that compares is the feeling I get when he lets me take care of him. To know that I'm the only one he lets get that close? I feel like I would do anything to keep him safe from any harm or pain."

Danny leaned back and smiled at me, his beautiful, double dimpled smile.

"You look beautiful. Ready to go back into the room and wow them with me?"

I hugged him, careful not to get makeup on his shirt.

"I love you, Danny. I'm sorry for not calling you about Briana. Forgive me?"

"Always, Daphne. It's over now, and Briana is fine. I love you too. Let's go eat."

*************************

(POV: Brian)

Danny had full out stayed his five minute allotment with Daphne but I was glad those two were having the chance to work things out, even if it did mean I was being forced to fend off the advances of this New York stud. At least this agent was the executive version, all two thousand dollar suit, intense but low key approach, as opposed to, "meet me in the men's room and let's fuck" style that worked so well in Pittsburgh. It was easier to ignore, even if it didn't go away with a quick fuck off.

"So, is there anywhere around here to get a decent game of racquet ball? I'll be in town for a few days and would really love to get in a workout."

I surveyed the man again. Vince Russo was the son of Danny's long time agent, and I knew him to be at least forty; the father was in his late sixties and planning on retiring soon due to his health. Yet, to look at him, you'd never guess he was a day over thirty. He had the hard, trim body of a born athlete. His brown hair was cut close to his head, in the style many gay men favored, and he had light hazel eyes, that were set off by the surprisingly long curly lashes many Italian men had. He held his wine glass in long, tapered, well manicured fingers. He really was a very attractive man and he gave me a knowing smile as I completed my survey.

"Do you play?" he asked softly. His eyes roamed over my body with a connoisseur's air.

"I used to, not anymore," I told him, well aware of the double entendre.

Danny walked up just then, accompanied by a radiant looking Daphne. Damn, that man is good at putting a glow back on a woman's face. If she looked any better, I would have thought he fucked her. I raised an eyebrow at him and he gave me a mock shocked look, reading my mind easily. He had a habit of doing that. Then he glanced at Vince and raised his own eyebrow.

"Ahh, Vince, you have that predator look on your face. Didn't I remember to put the no poaching sign on Brian? Not that I think I need it. I take it you two have introduced yourselves. Thank you, Brian, for entertaining Vince for me. Vince, this is my soon to be sister-in-law and a good friend of Brian's and mine, Daphne Chanders. Daphne, this is Vince Russo, the son of my long time agent, Dominic Russo, whom I love dearly, Dom, that is. Vince, I tolerate for Dom's sake."

Vince stood for the introduction and smoothly kissed Daphne's hand, a slightly over the top gesture, I thought. Daphne handled it well, though. She was used to me. I pulled out the chair between Danny and me for her to keep her from the New York barracuda. I gave her a quick hug as I seated her. She smiled up at me as I dropped a quick kiss on her head.

"You okay?" I whispered.

"Yeah, I'm sorry..." she began to apologize again. I gave her shoulders a squeeze as I bent further to whisper in her ear. "Sorry is bullshit, so cut it out, it's over. Enjoy watching this show. I think it'll be a good one."

Danny was giving his biggest smile to Vince as he sat, shaking out his napkin.

"So, what did I miss? Did you tell Brian how I have to take this part in Etienne's movie or once again my career will be in the toilet and I will be an albatross around your agency's neck, or did you skip right to asking him if he knew of a place for you to fuck, I mean, play racquetball?"

I burst out laughing. Russo had tried his pitch about the movie to me, but then I told him Danny made his own career decisions without my input. That wasn't strictly true, he had asked my advice about the movie, which I gave and now he was leaving the negotiations to John to get him what he wanted, which involved other accommodations, not money, if he was going ahead with it, something his agent wouldn't want to hear. Once he'd realized he couldn't influence me to influence Danny, Russo had moved on to hitting on me.

Vince shifted in his seat uncomfortably, but then made a quick recovery, smiling to show a lot of very white teeth in his tanned face.

"You know I like to work out when I'm on the road, Danny. I don't know why you make it sound like something decadent. You're such a suspicious boy; you always have been. You would think as two gay men, we should be able to get along, but Dad's straight clients accept me better than you do." Vince tried to look affronted.

Danny grinned appreciatively. "That's good, Vince. Play the persecuted gay man card with me. And tell Brian and Daphne what your Daddy says when you tell him that? You know he'd never send you down here if he were feeling up to par." Danny turned to us. "Dom's been one of my Uncle Sean's friends ever since Sean moved to New York and joined the fire department up there. They've been buddies forever and Vince here went to school with some of my cousins. But that hasn't stopped him from trying to bugger their little cousin every chance he gets. I really should tell my cousin Dennis on him."

Vince paled beneath his tan despite his reply smile. "Very funny, Danny. Maybe we should list comedian on your resume along with all your other talents?"

Danny smiled sweetly but his voice was cold. "I'm sure you would prefer I tell Dennis than I tell your Dad I won't deal with you at all, now wouldn't you, Vince. For all your whining, this albatross hasn't done so badly by your agency if you add together my earnings as O'Keefe, Luke and Feeney over the past ten years, so how about you start acting professionally, and we have a pleasant lunch with the working assumption that no one at the table wants to have sex with you? Then, if you're good, I will arrange a racquetball game for you, just racquetball, for tonight, for four of us, John, Brian, you and me? Assuming you're free, Brian?" Danny looked over at me.

"Sure. What will be the teams?" I noticed that Vince's eyes were gleaming and I didn't think it was the idea of sex that had him excited this time. The guy honestly did seem thrilled at the idea of a competitive game of racquetball. The change in subject worked. Danny knew his man. He cocked his head as he considered my question.

"You real players can decide. I've hardly ever played racquetball but John is pretty good at it. I think it is the official sport of lawyers. Right after golf. I've no doubt you're good at it, too, and I know Vince is like a champion at it or something. So, unless one of you is willing to take on a challenge and take me based purely on youth and presumed stamina, the best player should get me as a handicap." I smiled back at him. Danny might not be experienced at racquetball, but his basic athletic prowess would stand him in good stead. He was over ten years younger than the other two, and fast as hell, with amazingly quick reflexes. His ability to jump would more than make up for John's greater height and reach and I wasn't concerned about my ability to outplay this New York fag who was several years older than me; I had claimed my own share of club championships and I had several inches and years on the cocky bastard. I was ready to claim Danny as my partner when Russo spoke up.

"How about I get Brian and you two O'Keefes play together? That way we're split fairly evenly on age, height and experience?" Vince suggested. "I've not played John before but I've heard he is almost as good as I am, and Brian looks to be close to you in age. John and I are close in age, so that works well."

Danny narrowed his eyes at Vince but before he could say anything I interjected.

"Damn, there goes my evening," I sighed.

"Why?" Daphne asked. She'd been quietly eating her salad through this and watching the interaction between Danny and Vince, fascinated.

"Daphne, you've seen the way O'Keefes play sports. Do you have any doubt in your mind that Danny and John will kill themselves before they will lose to me and some outsider. Tactical error there, Russo, big one. A coin toss was your only hope of survival." Danny laughed.

"Are you saying you won't play your best?" Russo looked annoyed.

"No, he isn't saying that at all," Danny replied, insulted on my behalf. "If there is anyone as competitive as an O'Keefe, it's Brian. I don't think you made an error at all, if your goal was to win tonight. Brian is probably just anticipating that I will be dead on my feet, however, and no good for anything afterward, win or lose, since John will kill me if I don't play up to his standards. Damn, I should have just begged Brian to take me as his partner. Or even you, Vince, I got stuck with the one person I can't make it up to if I screw up the game by screwing my partner."

"The one person, green eyes?" I gave Danny a look.

"Speaking hypothetically, of course. Vinnie here knows I never would give him sexual favors, though it never stops him from hoping. Besides, I plan on winning tonight." Danny winked at Daphne and turned his attention to his salad. Damn, he was in a good mood today. He'd better have some energy tonight. It was our first night together without Briana since we got back from Ibiza. It was great to see him back to his old self. I smiled at the confused New Yorker as I also turned my attention to the food. I found I hadn't been able to eat much of my earlier lunch any more than Daphne had. This time, we both did justice to the food, peace restored.

**************************

(Setting: Racquet Club; Later that same day' POV/Danny)

John looked at me as I started my warmup exercises. Hunter was setting some spare towels and water bottles by the side of the court. He'd picked up a second job for the summer working at the Club; Brian had gotten him the position. I could tell from the appreciative look in the kid's eye that my strategy was likely to work, although I was going to get a tough time from my big brother first.

"Danny?" John's voice was deceptively soft. He shared that trait with Brian. Where many men, especially O'Keefe men, would yell, John would speak even softer. It forced you to be quiet too and pay close attention to what he had to say.

I bit back a grin and looked up at him with my most innocent expression as I continued to stretch, my legs in a full straddle, my hands gripping my ankles.

"Do you intend to finish getting dressed before we commence playing?" John posed the question in a perfectly idle tone. Hunter snorted out a laugh. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from doing the same. John started doing his own stretches as he continued, still in the same reflective tone of voice. "It is customary to wear, oh, I don't know, a t-shirt or short sleeved jersey, and perhaps cotton shorts over top of lycra shorts, especially lycra shorts as obscenely tight and short as those. Yeah, a shirt and some fucking shorts over what looks like underwear would be good. Do you honestly expect me to partner you with you prancing around in that outfit, baby brother? In a fucking gay gym? I don't think so."

I had to laugh. There was no way I could hold it in. John was wearing very correct apparel, lycra bike shorts that came down over his hamstrings with loose cotton shorts over them, a baggy but stylish jersey over that. He looked down that long nose of his at me. I leaned back on my elbows.

"John, I have played racquetball all of maybe four times in my life. I checked it out around the club here. Brian is one of the best players in the city. You are one of the best players in the city. So far so good. If you were playing him, that would be an even match up. You even have an inch or so on him, and your conditioning is better, so I'm not bothered by the fact that he is several years younger as I know you aren't either. You're both cut-throat competitors. But, Vince is one of the best players in fucking New York City. He may be a good twelve or so years older than me, but his conditioning is excellent, and we are fairly evenly matched in size. I have no pretense to knowing this game. I know one sport, and that is soccer. I barely know the rules to this game. Therefore, we need every advantage we can get, right? Now, I think our main advantages are that we are brothers and are used to playing together. Brian and Vince won't be able to work as a team."

John nodded thoughtfully at that. He knew, however, that there was more to come. He also knew that the next part would be the harder part to swallow, so to speak. I grinned again. He looked at me suspiciously.

"Just spit it out, Danny boy. I know you're up to something. Why are you practically naked?"

"Emmett reminded me of the soccer game when he took advantage of Brian and me being gay to parade our girls' assets in front of the other team...remember?" I could see the dawning realization in John's face. "Exactly. I can pretty much guarantee my playing like this will be a distraction to Brian and Vince. Even if Brian should try retaliating, it won't have any effect on you, and will have an even worse effect on his own teammate than it does on me, as I'm used to being around naked dancers all the time and maintaining focus. Plus, I know he won't show up with any shorts like this, so the most he could do is take off his shirt.

I couldn't help smirking. Hunter laughed as he brought me some water. He really is a cool kid. John gave him a look but he returned it undaunted.

"You know, Mr. O'Keefe, you might want to consider upping the ante. You'd look pretty good without your shirt too."

I snapped my towel at him. What was it with Emmett and him? Did they want to get killed? To my surprise, John merely gave him a considering look. "You know, kid, that isn't a bad idea. It isn't like it would be the first time I'd have Kinney drooling on me, and who gives a shit what that little worm Russo looks at; he isn't going to be touching." John pulled off his jersey, showing off his toned chest; he was still shaving it, I noticed. I was happy to see he stopped there and left his outer shorts on. Brian drooling at John? Before I could question John, Hunter gave me a knee to my back. I looked up and caught the twinkle in John's eyes. He was obviously waiting for my reaction. I bit my jealousy back down and calmly replied. "Well, there you go. Time to work it. I would guess all that time as your roommate in college must have built up some unresolved fantasies."

Hunter chimed in, "Yeah, now that he's staying in the townhouse with both of you, the idea of a threesome has got to have crossed his mind...I know it has Emmett's."

The horrified look on John's face made me lose it. I fell back to the ground and was laughing with Hunter when Brian and Vince walked in. Brian looked at me questioningly. Vince was staring at John hungrily. He may have left both shorts on but they were riding low on his hips; for a straight guy, he looked damn fuckable if I did say so myself.

"Nice to see everyone so happy. How are you doing, baby hustler? You on towel duty, tonight?"

"Just making sure your balls are nice and bouncy, Mr. Kinney, sir!" Hunter replied with a smile.

"I see." Brian walked over and gave me a hand up. His hand moved to my ass as he pulled me close for a kiss.

"No manhandling my partner, Kinney. You give him a boner and he won't be able to walk in those shorts." John called his wisecrack over his shoulder as he walked over to shake Vince's hand.

"Hey. You ready for racquetball?" Brian murmured his question as he tipped my chin up.

"What is this thing you call racquetball," I teased. I ground my pelvis against him. I was rock hard from his kiss and John was right in that these shorts left nothing to the imagination. That was kind of the plan. From the corner of my eye I could see Hunter biting his hand and making a pained expression. I really was going to have to smack him later. The funny thing was that Brian had a very similar expression on his face.

:I know what you're doing, brat, and it won't work," he told me, his voice cracking slightly.

"What am I doing? You kissed me!" I pouted. I am such a good actor. I admire myself sometimes. I made as though I were pulling away.

"You are going to lose this game, and then you are so going to pay for that outfit. And you are also going to tell me how you got John to take his shirt off. Damn, he looks good. If I didn't think I'd have that weasel agent of yours pawing me every chance he got, I'd take mine off too, but it wouldn't do any good, would it? John wouldn't care and my own teammate would be more distracted than you would. You're evil, O'Keefe, pure evil."

I laughed and kissed him again.

"May the best team win, Bri, and to the victor go the spoils...."

*************************

(POV/Brian)

"Where's Danny?"

Hunter was waiting outside the steam room with an armful of towels. After the initial set, which the O'Keefes took, thanks to my partner's inability to stop leering at their bodies. Damn John O'Keefe had a torso and legs that didn't quit, fuck him, we tried playing one more. But Vince got a little carried away and when he tried a few too many body hits on Danny, given that racquetball is not a contact sport, and I was one step away from calling him on it, since he wasn't trying to get the ball so much as to grope him, John switched places with Danny and "accidentally" sent Vince sailing across the room. Danny walked John out after that match and I agreed to play singles with the agent to pacify him, at Danny's request. If he thought I'd let him win to cheer him up, he had a surprise coming; I don't let anyone win, although I did just barely beat him. He was a really good player when he focused on his game. I admit that was hard to do with a couple of barely covered O'Keefes on the court. Danny's tight shorts emphasized his cock and his ass, and when he bent over and shook his bottom, waiting for the serve.... You'd have to be straight and his relative to ignore it. It wasn't any better watching one of them serve, all abs and pecs, and bulging leg and arm muscles. I vowed to hit the gym more.

Hunter was waiting for me to return to earth. I forgot to pay attention to his answer to my question. He was giving me one of those looks of his.

"Spare me the look. Just tell me where Danny is."

Hunter rolled his eyes. "As I explained to you, already, your hotness, Danny said to tell you that the victor can claim his spoils within, and assuming as we do, that you were indeed the victor in your matches against the wonder from New York City, head on in....but you might want to lock the door. Although rest assured that my official shift is over and I'm now on private guard duty, making sure your privacy is not disturbed. This steam room is closed to other business for the rest of the evening...if you catch my meaning."

I raised my eyebrow. I started to hand Hunter a couple of twenties but he waved them off.

"No thanks. I've been compensated, gorgeous. Here are a few more towels. I see you hit the showers first, good move. Enjoy."

He held the heavy door open and I slipped inside the humid room. The steam was so thick I couldn't see a thing from the doorway. I took a few steps inside. There, stretched out on the bench was Danny, nude but for a small towel draped across his groin. He had one leg up on the bench, bent at the knee, and the other, the closer one, on the ground, giving me a full view. Similarly, he posed himself so that one arm was bent under his head, this time the one closer, and as I came closer, he pulled away the towel with his left hand and used that hand to slowly stroke his shaft, which was already semi hard as it rested against his left thigh, rising up from the nest of black curls.

He was beautiful.

His black hair was fanned out on the white towel beneath his head. His eyes were closed and I could see his long lashes against his tan cheeks. Beads of sweat were already forming on his chest and abs and I couldn't wait to lick them off.

I knelt next to him and leaned down to tongue the cleft at the base of his throat where some sweat had pooled, steadying myself on his hard thigh. His hand continued to stroke, just a little bit faster, and his tongue came out and wet his lips slightly; other than that he didn't change what he was doing at all or acknowledge my presence. He was like a perfect offering just for me.

I made my way down his body, licking away the drops of sweat, tracing each ridge of muscle, each dip and crevice. I tongued his navel and he couldn't hold back a moan. I smiled. Pushing away his hand, I ran my thumb over the head of his cock, collecting the juice that was dripping, then I ran it over his lips before bending down to kiss him.

"What would you like tonight, beautiful man?" I whispered.

Long fingers came up to tangle in my damp hair as he pressed me even closer. "I want you to ride my cock until we both scream, I want to be buried so deep inside you, to feel your ass clenching around me that I can't tell where my body stops and yours begins...and to feel your sweat slick body sliding on mine as we thrust together, so hard, so good...that's what I want...."

I kissed him again, tasting his precum on his lips.

"What a coincidence, that's exactly what I want tonight too." I felt him smile into my kiss, his tongue delving deep. Then there were lube slick fingers caressing my ass, parting my cheeks. His hands left for a moment and I heard him rip open the condom and he put it on his cock which was still standing tall. Still, he was just using his fingers to stretch me slowly. Even after months of Danny topping sometimes, there was always an initial tension when I felt that invasion. Still, being on top of him made it much easier. No wonder he seemed to prefer this position when I penetrated him. I eased myself up on my elbows and looked down at him. His eyes were open now, and smiling up at me.

"I want you so badly right now," he whispered huskily, his green eyes soft moss in the smoky mist of the steam room. I couldn't help grinning back at him. I loved how much trouble he went to in his efforts to accommodate my love for sex in public places. In the old days I would have just fucked a trick quickly in one of these steam rooms and taken my chances on someone coming in. He probably arranged for this one to be closed for the night and paid for Hunter to stand guard as an added precaution in order to have his way with me in it. But he was a hell of a lot better than any trick I could remember ever having a one of with in one of these rooms.

I leaned down again, tensing slightly as I felt his long fingers stretching me. He leaned up to kiss me again, his other hand stroking my sac and cock.

"So good, Bri, you feel so good to me," he murmured. His hard chest felt so fantastic pressing into me and I grabbed his shoulders as I pulled away from his questing fingers. He looked at me questioningly.

"I want more, want you now, fuck me," I breathed. I lowered down as Danny positioned himself at my hole. He was well lubed and rock hard. I started to press harder but he stopped me, his strong arms holding me up and forcing me to lower down maddeningly gave me a lazy smile.

"I want this to be so good for you that you want it all the time, Bri. This way, you're still on top, but I get to feel you around me and oh God, Brian..."

I pushed a little harder and managed to get a few more inches inside me. I could hear myself echoing the cry of pleasure Danny made. It felt fucking amazing. I placed my hands on his chest for support and he raised both of his legs up behind me, planting his feet on the bench as I rode his cock for all I was worth, hitting it against my prostate on every fucking stroke as hard and fast as I wanted. I couldn't last long, it was too good.

"Danny, I'm gonna come, it's too good, too intense."

"Fuck yeah, Brian, make me come with you, ride my cock, that's it, harder." Danny urged me on in his deep voice, one of his hands leaving my hips to grab my cock and start fisting it. Fuck, that was it. I started shooting my load across his chest, Danny's hips lifted off the bench as his own orgasm hit.

He pulled me down into the sweaty, sticky mess of our two bodies, wrapping his strong arms around me tightly. I could still feel his cock in my ass. I knew I should have him pull out, but it felt good to just lie there, in the sweat and the spunk.

"Hey, Danny?"

"Hmm?" He sounded half asleep.

"We really should go hit the showers."

"Yeah." He didn't budge. If anything, his arms tightened around me.

It occurred to me that despite having a half hard cock still rammed up my ass, and the fact that I was lying on top of a fairly sticky, sweaty man, I was more comfortable and content than I could remember being in a long time. I made one more attempt, purely for form's sake.

"You want me to move?"

"Not in any rush."

Hearing that, I adjusted my head to a slightly more comfortable spot on Danny's shoulder. To the victor go the spoils, Hunter said. If that was the case, victory was proving pretty sweet indeed. I placed a kiss on the bare shoulder in front of me and closed my eyes. Knowing Danny, he'd probably planned for a wake-up call at some point, so it was safe to let myself drift off for now.

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