For Love of Justin

Prologue

Author's Introductory Note: This story is done as a Homage to what I consider the greatest gay love story ever written, The Front Runner, by Patricia Nell Warren. Her novel was a groundbreaking achievement in its day, and celebrated its thirtieth anniversary the other year. I highly recommend it and its sequels to everyone who believes in love, and thinks the rest is merely a matter of fate and anatomy. The time setting for this story is circa the summer of 2003, about a year before the 2004 Summer Olympics. The original was set in 1976; sadly, I don't believe we have come all that much farther in terms of acceptance of gay athletes in the past thirty years. Recent articles have indicated that in most major sports, it would be a career ending move for a male athlete to "come out" while still playing his sport, although recently, a female basketball player has come out and some gay male athletes have announced their orientation after retirement. A poll taken at MSN recently indicated that readers felt that golf was the sport most likely to produce a gay athlete and hockey the sport least likely. Obviously, there are gay athletes in each of these sports, as well as basketball, football, baseball, and everything in between. But, as Drew Boyd found on Queer as Folk, the fictional Billy Sive found in The Front Runner, and indeed, Greg Louganis found after diving with a bloodied head into a pool at the Olympics, we Americans like our sports heroes straight. This story asks what if, a superstar runner were to appear on the scene now, with America so starved for gold medals in men's distance running, who was openly gay? Would he be allowed to run? And would he be safe running?

My thanks go out to Tiff for her encouragement and help with this story and many others.

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Setting: The offices of Kinnetik, Inc.

Brian glanced up at Ben Bruckner as his assistant Cynthia ushered him into his office. He raised an eyebrow.

"To what do I owe this rare honor? The esteemed professor and not so successful writer has come to my humble place of employment. Last time I checked, it was a long bike ride from the halls of ivy to get here. Trouble in paradise?" Brian smirked at the muscular man, but try as he might---and he did, frequently---he knew that it was next to impossible to perturb Ben. The man just smiled this time and sat down opposite him.

"And hello to you, too, Brian. And no, Michael and I are fine, thank you for asking." Ben smiled again and templed his fingers in front of his face contemplatively.

Brian laughed and got up to get Ben a bottle of juice from the refrigerator in his office; it was a long bike ride from the campus and no doubt that was how the health and environment conscious professor got to Kinnetik so he was probably thirsty. Ben accepted the juice and nodded his thanks before gulping it down gratefully.

Brian waited. Obviously, there was a purpose to the visit. None of his friends came to his office just to socialize, especially not Ben. That they tolerated each other was the best that could be said for their "friendship." That and the fact that they each had a deep affection for Michael Novotny were the only things they had in common. They certainly were not bosom pals; despite a hot one-night encounter they shared years before, which, by mutual silent agreement, was left unacknowledged and forgotten.

Finally, Brian grew impatient as Ben continued to sit there, seeming to meditate.

"Well, what is it? What do you want? Money? My sperm? The use of Babylon? Those are the usual choices, can't think of anything else. I would add getting out of Mikey's life but you and I haven't had those issues, so…."

"I need you to help train a runner," Ben calmly interrupted.

"What the fuck?" Brian sputtered. He spilled some of the water he had been sipping onto his Armani pants. "Who the hell told you I'm a runner?"

"Who do you think?" Ben smiled again, what Brian privately called his "Buddha" smile.

"Mikey," Brian grimaced. "Radio free Pittsburgh. Well, not any longer. Not like I could. Why do you need a trainer for a runner anyway? Don't they have them at the college? They pay big money for college coaches these days."

"Sure they do, even assistant coaches for track and cross country. I happen to be one, but I have a special runner with special needs. Hence, I need you."

Brian gave a genuine laugh. "You want me to get involved with the Special Olympics? I appreciate your confidence in me, it's heart warming, Ben, it truly is, but I think you're mistaking me for Arnold Schwarzenegger. It happens all the time, I think it's my upper body musculature."

Serious Ben shook his head. "Not funny, Brian, and not that kind of 'special.' Besides, your upper body would not be mistaken for a body builder on your best day. You really need to do more reps. This is a difficult situation and requires careful handling. As I mentioned, I'm one of the coaches for the men's running teams at CM, which is fairly competitive this year. We have some real stand-outs, runners who are nationally ranked and Olympic hopefuls. The most impressive runner is a young man who just transferred last year from PIFA, Justin Taylor. He's a junior in the Fine Arts Program."

Brian interrupted, "why in hell would he leave PIFA to go to Carnegie Mellon if he's an artist? If he could get into PIFA in the first place, you'd think he'd want to stay, it's a hell of a better school for artists!"

Ben looked down at his hands for a moment, seemingly trying to compose himself. He looked up at the flippant ad executive, his eyes burning with intensity, all traces of his Zen-like placidity gone.

"It wasn't his choice, Brian. He was bashed a little over a two years ago, leaving a party. He took a baseball bat to the head. It took him weeks to come out of the coma, then months to regain the use of his hand. His therapist recommended running as a means to cope, to deal with the trauma, as for a long time he could not stand to be around people. He used to play team sports but could no longer stand being close to people. He discovered he's an outstandingly gifted runner."

Ben took a breath, using his yoga techniques to calm himself. "So, he's a runner, but he has to be a front runner. He always goes out fast, and stays in front, using everything he's got to stay ahead of the crowd and not let them catch him. He lost his scholarship to PIFA when he could no longer master the standard art disciplines. Carnegie Mellon is more liberal; when he submitted the work he does now, which is computer aided, it is absolutely brilliant; our art department people were thrilled. The fact that he was a top-notch runner was the icing on the cake as far as admissions was concerned. He needed the scholarships he was awarded for art and sport because we are so expensive, and his Dad apparently disowned him when he came out. It's hard for an upper middle class kid to get any needs-based financial aid."

"And you are going to tell me he needs a trainer of his own because…." Brian was leaning back against his desk, legs crossed casually, but hazel eyes intent on the man in front of him.

"Because his first year with us, Justin got increasing amounts of attention as his standings improved. We'll be going into the summer soon and the boys will be expected to continue to train. Justin is living and training alone. Even when we get them together for long runs, he is on his own, as he takes off and is far enough ahead that no one is even close to him for most of the run. He is vulnerable to attack."

"Why do you think he is going to be attacked? Don't you think you are over-reacting a bit?" Brian scoffed. "So you have a gay runner who likes to run out in front of the pack, and you're convinced he's Billy Sive! Ben, I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but that book has already been written, sadly for you, since it's been on the best seller list for decades and published in a million countries, not to mention read by every gay boy runner for thirty years, and this publisher's wet dream was not written by you, so give it up. I'm not going to play Harlan to your little front runner, if that is your plan. Even if I were in shape, which I'm not." Brian walked back around his desk and flopped down into his chair, wishing it weren't too early for a drink.

Ben remained undeterred by the insults to his lack of writing success. "There have been threatening letters. Multiple ones."

"What the hell?" Fuck, Brian thought. "What kind of threats?" He sat up in his chair, and then glanced at his watch. One-thirty. Not too early for a drink after all. He reached into his desk drawer. He pulled out two glasses and the Jim Beam. He indicated the bottle to the professor and to his shock, Ben nodded acceptance of the offer.

"The kind you would expect. 'Gays deserve to die.' 'A fag will not represent our country.' 'Fags belong in hell and we'll send you there.'" Ben repeated the hateful comments in his deep, calm voice, but he followed it by taking an uncharacteristically deep swallow from the glass of whiskey. He continued to brief Brian on the situation.

"Justin is a ten thousand meter runner in track. College cross country requires an even lesser distance, which you know. He wants to go for the marathon, which is wide open for the Olympics. You are, were, a marathon runner. Twenty-six point three miles is a hell of a lot longer distance, and requires a lot more stamina. I know for a fact that you're still running. I've seen you out early running when I go for my bike rides. And I know those aren't little jogs you take; you're out there for a couple hours when you run. I didn't say anything because I figured if you wanted anyone in the gang to know, you'd say something about it. You're not as fast as Justin, few are, but he can't go as far as you can, either. I need someone to run with him on long runs this summer, fifteen, twenty mile training runs to build his stamina. Someone he may trust He doesn't trust his teammates and they don't like him. Quite frankly, he hasn't given them much reason to like him. You, he may like."

"Why?"

"Same reason they all like you at that age, Brian. You're Rage. When Michael and Lindsay created that comic book hero in your likeness, they depicted you as you appear, which is everything every gay boy wants to be. Tough, cool, sexy." Ben paused, and looked the other man in the eye. "Just try not to fuck him up more than he already is?"

"So you want me to be his running buddy, not his fuck buddy?" Brian smirked. "And how is that supposed to happen?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. From what I understand, Justin has a rule: no repeats, no first names, and no relationships when it comes to tricking. Plus, he already has a fuck buddy, a violinist from PIFA whom he knew before the bashing. So, the two of you should get along just fine…as running buddies." Ben smirked back.

"Listen, I'm not making any promises, but it wouldn't hurt to come meet the kid, I guess. I still think you're making a mountain out of a molehill. And another thing, Mikey isn't to know about this, okay?" Brian warned. Michael tended to get anxious about anything that took too much of Brian's time, and about Brian and Ben spending too much time together.

"I won't keep it a secret, but I see no reason to tell him about it at this point," Ben agreed, with a touch of relief in his eyes. He was no more eager to deal with his boyfriend's insecurities and whining than Brian was. "Can you come out to practice today? Three-thirty?"

Brian buzzed Cynthia and made sure his calendar was clear.

"Okay Professor, you have me for the afternoon. Now, shall we have some lunch and I drive you and that Schwinn of yours back to campus in the Jeep, or are we going to race?"

Ben smiled. "I think I could manage a salad or some Thai, while we go over a training schedule. You could fill me in on what your times and distances have been and we can discuss what you want Justin to be running to build up his strength. He tends to flag at the end of a race, his biggest problem so far."

Brian snorted, "the failing of every front runner, they don't save any kick for the end so they get passed by the smarter runners who pace themselves. Have you tried…."

Brian threw on his jacket and the two men walked out, intensely discussing running strategies and theories of speed over distance, all worries of threats and homophobia forgotten for the moment.

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"I still think you're over-reacting to a few letters from crazies, Ben. You're the Coach, you make this kid do what you tell him; he sticks to the splits you give him, or he's off the team, simple as that." Brian was strolling across the Carnegie Mellon field with Ben. He had changed into shorts, an old college T-shirt, and his running shoes, a pair of his favorite Sauconys.

"Guess which one is Justin," Ben murmured. Brian looked up. They were early but about a dozen young men were already stretching in the space next to the track. All of them were lean, as befit runners, quite a few were hot looking, and more than one, quite frankly, set off his gaydar.

Then he saw him. He was leaning against a light post, one arm reaching above his head, one leg pulled back to extend the hamstring. He had longish, almost white, blond hair, and eyes so blue Brian could see the color from where he stood. The boy, and indeed, he didn't look any older than seventeen or eighteen, although Ben had said he was twenty-one, had fine, delicate features, with full, pouty, lips that Brian wanted to suck. This was the boy he was supposed to protect from predators? Who was going to protect Justin from him, Brian wondered, as he sucked in his bottom lip and said "found him."

Ben smiled. Brian's instincts were correct, as usual. He had indeed found Justin, but Ben's instincts were correct as well. He knew that once Brian got to know Justin, his highly developed "protector" instincts would kick in, along with all of those other Kinney traits. Ben trusted Justin to be strong enough to handle the other Kinneyisms; he was more concerned that he had found someone strong enough to protect the headstrong boy from being his own worst enemy.

Brian walked over to Justin.

"Hey."

"Hey." Blue eyes met hazel ones.

"You want any help with those stretches? I know a better one for warming up the hamstrings."

"Uh, sure. And you are?"

"Brian. I guess I'm the new trainer. I'm a friend of Ben's. I'll be working with you for a few weeks."

"Oh. That's okay then. I'm Justin." Suddenly, Brian was flashed a brilliant smile.

"Well, okay, Sunshine, let me show you some stretches; the one you're doing won't work all that well. Try this." Brian placed his hands on Justin's legs and moved them to a different position. Justin quivered, as a bolt of electricity seemed to shoot through his body. He looked into the eyes of the older man, who was giving him a knowing smile.

"Something wrong?"

"No, I don't think so." Justin flushed red.

"Well, let's get you warmed up then, so we can go running. Okay?" Brian smiled. This was going to be a lot more fun than he had expected.

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