Catch Me a Catch

Author's Note:  Plot Bunny is from Amanda.

Brian threw his phone across the room, feeling a slight sense of satisfaction as it slid across the hardwood floor and slammed against the wall, the loud crack of plastic echoing in his empty loft.

Empty.

That's exactly how he felt.

Taking another swig of his drink he dropped down onto the sofa, feeling a little less alone as the soft leather enveloped him, molded against his skin. He wiggled down further into the welcoming caress.

He couldn't fucking believe Mikey. One fucking night. That's all Brian wanted. But now that Michael had become a part of the Stepford World he found a night at Babylon, sucking and fucking the time away, beneath him.

Not that he'd told Brian that. Even Michael wouldn't be so (honest) insensitive, but he'd made it clear that he was beyond that. That Ben and Hunter and JR were his life now.

Brian laughed bitterly as he recalled how his best friend used to be, how they all used to be, but weren't any more.

Ted, shit, he couldn't believe that he was wasting his time pondering Theodore's life, but as he downed the remainder of his drink he shook his head, realizing that even Ted had someone. And Blake wasn't really that bad.

And Emmett. Emmett's flame burned bright enough to be caught by Drew Fucking Boyd. Drew Boyd. Now that was a nice piece of ass Brian wouldn't mind sinking his dick into. But he was Emmett's. Fucking Emmett was even locked down.

So there Brian sat. Another shot of JB in his glass. Another night alone.

Sure, he could go out and fuck practically anyone. They all still wanted him, a fact that he was proudly aware of. But lately, when he looked at his friends, his life, he knew that something (someone) was missing.

And although he fucking hated to admit it, he was ready. Ready to (fuck, could he really do it?) settle down. The thing was, though, that he wasn't really sure how to go about it.

He thought back to the one and only real date he'd been on. He'd been so goddamned bored he'd ended up fucking the waiter (and he wasn't even that hot). He'd just had to get away from his fucking date, so he took the out.

But if he was seriously considering finding someone, how would he do it?

Inspiration hit like lightening and Brian bolted off the sofa, grabbing his discarded phone from across the room. It wasn't too badly damaged, so he punched in the familiar numbers and waited (trying desperately to keep the bile from rising). And when he heard the strained 'hello', he spoke those seven little words that he'd *never* thought he'd say…

"I want you to fix me up."

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

"Shit, Brian, I can't believe you're letting me do this."

"Shut up."

"No, seriously, I mean, this is great. It'll be great for you. But still…"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Brian, come on, it's like a whole new world for you."

"Mikey, what the fuck don't you understand? Shut. Up."

Michael smiled. He knew how nervous Brian had to be. It wasn't like going on a date was an everyday occurrence for him. But he couldn't hide his elation. Brian was finally growing up.

"Now make sure you open the door for him."

Brian smiled, indulgingly.

"And don't try anything funny on the first date."

"Michael," Brian warned, his patience wearing thin.

"And when you take him home, make sure to walk him to the door. Oh, and don't forget the gentlemanly good-night kiss. No tongue. Just a quick peck on the cheek." Michael could barely contain his laughter. And the look on Brian's face? Priceless.

"I'm leaving now," Brian stated, wondering what the fuck he was thinking letting Michael do this to him.

"Have a great time. And remember, no fucking the waiter," Michael called after Brian, the retreating man turning briefly to flip him off before disappearing from sight.

"You think it'll go well?" Ben asked, wrapping his arm around his partner's shoulder as they stood at the still opened door.

Michael's smile faltered, wanting only the best for his friend. "I really hope so."

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

"65…67…okay, 69…"

Brian smiled, hoping that the man's house number was some sort of indication of how the night would end up.

Pulling into the driveway of the somewhat modest (no, dull, the house was dull, and Brian couldn't think of anything better to describe it) home, Brian went to honk the horn, his impatience at the lack of his date's (God, that word) presence starting to rise. But he remembered that he was supposed to be a gentleman, so he got out of his car, trying not to slam the door too hard, and marched up to the front door and rang the bell.

"Coming."

Brian grinned at the man's word choice then smiled as the door was pulled open.

"Brian I presume."

Brian nodded. His eyes raking over the man before him (not too bad).

"Ready?"

"Yeah, just let me grab my keys."

Brian moved back, allowing (shit, what was his name? Brad, no, Barry, no…shit…Brock, right, Brock) Brock (what kind of fucking name was that?) to close and lock the front door. "I'm in the driveway," he stated, nodding to his car and Brock smiled, following behind him.

Brian hesitated a moment before moving around to his side of the car then climbed in. He was *not* going to open the door for him. He wasn't that much of a (pussy) gentleman.

"I hope you like Italian."

"Love it."

Brian nodded, shifting his gaze slightly with a smile. Things were going alright so far.

They made small talk on the drive to the restaurant, but Brian was relieved when they pulled up to Antonio's and he was met by the valet who quickly took care of the car, leaving him out on the sidewalk where he could finally grab a breath of fresh air. The car had felt claustrophobic.

Rolling his shoulders, Brian realized he needed to relax. He could do this. He was Brian Fucking Kinney after all.

"Shall we?" he asked, waving his date (God) inside.

Once seated Brian ordered a drink (double JB, neat, now!), nodding gratefully as it was quickly delivered. He downed the amber liquid in one swift shot, the familiar burn instantly calming, and smiled across the table. "Hungry?"

"Starving," his date confirmed.

"They make an excellent…"

"Pasta with clam sauce?"

"Yeah, that's right." Brian smiled, maybe…

"But make sure you ask for…"

"Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Justin. I'll be your server this evening. I see you've already got a drink. Can I interest you in hearing about the house specials?"

Brian looked up, momentarily startled by the beautiful man staring down at him with a questioning look on his face.

"Um, sorry?" Brian stumbled.

Justin smiled. Fuck, this man was gorgeous. They both heard a hasty grumble from the other side of the table and turned simultaneously.

"Excuse me?" Justin asked, his smile still in place, though somewhat dimmed.

"If you two are done, I already know what I want. Rigatoni in clam sauce. But not too much wine in the sauce. And I don't want those little shrimps that they sometimes throw in with the clams. And not too much garlic, wait, actually, no garlic at all."

Both men were still staring.

"Do you have all that?" Brock asked, his tone condescending.

"Of course," Justin returned, wanting to snap at (smack) the man for thinking so little of him.

With a genuine smile back in place Justin focused on Brian. "And you, sir?"

Brian felt a tingle tickle his spine as the waiter (Justin, Brian looked at his name tag. Justin) called him sir. He could definitely imagine the blond using the term in quite another situation.

"Brian," Brock called and Brian (blushed) cleared his throat.

"Right, I'll have the same, but no special orders."

Justin nodded, taking their menus, a little gasp passing his lips as his fingers brushed against (Brian, that's what the pain-in-the-ass had called him) Brian's.

"Can you believe him?"

"Huh?" Brian was busy watching the waiter's retreating ass and wondering (hoping) if maybe his second date would end as the first had.

"He was cruising you. I mean, what has the world come to when two men can't go out on a date together without being hit on by every stray?"

"What?"

"I feel that a relationship is sacred, and I know we're not there yet (ever, Brian was thinking), but who knows…" Brock smiled hopefully, and Brian tried not to grimace.

Brian decided to change the subject.

"Do you…"

"Here's some bread. It's nice and warm. Enjoy."

"Urgh," Brock groaned, but Justin just smiled and turned away.

Clearing his throat, summoning patience, Brian tried again. "Do you get out much?"

"Oh, well, I date, a little. It just seems like every guy wants one thing. And promiscuity isn't what I'm about."

Brian nodded. What the fuck? He was gonna kill Michael.

"I mean..." Brock shoved a hunk of buttered bread into his mouth, chewing and speaking both at the same time. "Where's the thrill in that? One man after another after another."

Brian bit his lip.

"So, what do you do for fun, Brian?" Brock asked, and Brian eyed him devilishly, wondering if he should really tell him.

"Here you go. Would you like some cheese?" Justin asked, unknowingly saving the man from Brian's earth-shattering reply.

"Yes. More. More. A little more," Brock ordered as Justin continued to grate the fresh parmesan over his meal. "Okay, enough."

Justin shook out the cramp in his hand and asked Brian. "And you, sir?"

Brian smiled apologetically and shook his head 'no'.

"Mmm, this is delicious. Would you like to try?" Brock offered, a cheesy hunk of food hanging off the end of his fork, mid-air between Brian and himself.

Brian swallowed, hard, forcing back the queasiness. "I ordered the same thing."

"No, you didn't. Mine's done the right way. Try it," Brock commanded, edging the fork further toward Brian's face.

"No (fuck off)," Brian practically barked, then smiled (at least he tried to) and placed a piece of pasta in his mouth, desperate to stop any other comment traipsing on the tip of his tongue from coming out.

They ate in silence. Brock devouring his meal with the occasional grunt of approval and Brian, well, trying his hardest not to get up and (pull their waiter into the bathroom) walk out the door.

"Can I get you anything else?" Justin asked Brian, done with dealing with the other jerk.

"Coffee. I want coffee. And a piece of that big chocolate cake I saw another waiter carrying," Brock piped up.

"And you?" he asked Brian, sweetly, ignoring the other man.

Brian licked his lips, drawn inexplicably to Justin's bright-blue eyes. "No, I'm fine. Just the check, please."

Justin smiled and went to put in the dessert order, returning only minutes later with a cup of scalding hot (let the asshole burn his fucking tongue, thank you very much) coffee, a rather skimpy piece of mile-high chocolate cake (that he may or may not have spit on) and the bill.

"Thanks," Brock ungraciously offered before he dug into his dessert.

Brian pulled out his credit card and handed it to Justin, wanting to speed the process along.

Sensing the man's situation Justin processed the bill and was back at the table with a pen and the receipt ready. "Here you go." He watched Brian sign his name. Brian Kinney. Brian Kinney. He kept repeating the name in his head. Brian Kinney.

"Thanks, for everything," Brian's eyes shifted from Justin to Brock to Justin again. Justin nodded, understanding.

"Have a great rest of your evening," Justin said, slightly saddened that the man was leaving, and went to tend to his other customers.

"Ready?" Brian asked, not even waiting for an answer as he rose to his feet, noticing out of the corner of his eye as his date (now he really fucking hated that word) shoved the remainder of the cake into his mouth before quickly following him.

The drive back was made in complete (intentional) silence.

"So, would you like to come in?" Brock was hopeful.

"No."

"Oh, okay. Will you call me?" A little less hopeful.

Sensing the other man's discomfort and not wanting to come across as a total prick, Brian replied (honestly). "I don't think so."

"Oh." Defeated. "Alright. I guess, well, I had a great time."

"Right."

Brock sighed and sadly climbed out of the car. "Good night, Brian."

"Good bye."

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

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

"What? He's a great guy," Michael defended.

Brian glared, his nostrils flaring. "Right. He is. If I wanted to fuck *you*!"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Michael," Brian tried to calm his friend (himself) down. "I'm not into monogamy, well, at least not on the first date. And I don't want some overbearing, fucking robotic house-wife wanna-be for my partner."

"Is that what you think of me?" Michael asked (whined).

"No (yes). No."

Michael sniffed (what a pussy).

"Michael, listen to me. Are you listening?"

"For fuck sake, yes, I'm listening."

"I need…" And for some reason Brian's mind couldn't help wandering back to the previous night, and the waiter, Justin. Justin.

"What do you need?" Michael asked, genuinely.

"I need, shit, I don't know what the fuck I need. But I know that Brock isn't it."

"Okay, so how about I give it a try?"

"You?"

"Sure, why not? I know this great guy. I've always wanted to give it a shot, but I never had the nerve. And now…" Ted looked longingly across the table at Blake. "Now, I never would."

Brian groaned. Looking around the table at Michael and Ben, Ted and Blake, and Emmett and Drew he knew that he had to take the chance. No matter how much the thought of trusting Theodore scared the fuck out of him.

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

"How about seven?"

"Sounds great. Should I meet you there?"

Brian thought back to the fiasco that had been his last date and answered, "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Okay, see you there."

Brian arrived a few minutes early, making sure to get a seat facing the door so he could spy his date (shit, here we go again) as he came into the dinning room. Secretly he was also hoping to make sure that their table was in Justin's section (another look couldn't hurt).

"Can I get you a drink?"

Brian looked up at the sound of the slightly familiar yet strangely comforting voice.

"Hey, you're back again."

Brian smiled. "Yep, another date. And I figured if I had to suffer through it, so did you."

Justin laughed and Brian was certain he'd never heard such an amazing sound. He fucking wanted to hear it again (forever), but then…

"Brian."

Brian stood, offering his hand. "You must be Harvey." (Harvey? What the fuck? That should've been his first clue when Ted told him the guy's name).

"The one and only," Harvey smiled, taking the seat across from Brian.

"Hi, I'm Justin. I'll be your server tonight. Can I get you a drink?" Justin asked Harvey.

"Thanks. I'll have a rum and coke."

Brian nodded. Okay, not a sissy drink, but rather generic. And the guy wasn't ugly or anything, but standing next to Justin he couldn't hold a fucking match, never mind a candle.

"I hope you like Italian. The food here is excellent." Brian felt like he was repeating himself, having only dined at Antonio's a few nights before in exactly the same situation.

"Oh, I've been here before. My book club comes here once in a while."

Brian nodded. Book club.

"That's nice." Really, what else could he say?

"You should join us. Right now we're finishing up on a delightful little novel of 748 pages. It deals with the civil war and I find it intriguing."

Brian nodded again. He felt like a fucking bobble-head doll.

"Would you gentlemen like to hear the specials for tonight?" Justin smiled at Brian, the heat between them sizzling.

"No, I'm good. I'll have the rigatoni in clam sauce."

Fuck. Again?

Justin smiled. "And you?"

"I'll have the antipasto appetizer." Brian wasn't ready to make a whole-meal commitment again. He didn't think he could stomach it.

"Good-luck," Justin whispered as he walked away, and Brian realized he hadn't ordered his drink. Shit.

"So, what do you do, Harvey?" Brian tried not to gag, fucking loathing small talk.

"I'm an accountant. That's how Ted and I know each other."

Brian grimaced. A fucking accountant.

"And you? I believe Ted said you were in advertising?"

"That's right. I own Kinnetic. We're just off Liberty, in the old bathhouse."

Harvey nodded. "Right, I know the place. Well, I don't actually *know* the place, if you know what I mean. But I've heard of it, heard how it used to be. That is, well, whew, it certainly is hot in here." A crimson blush covered the timid man's cheeks and he began fanning himself with his hand.

Christ. Virginal. Perfect.

"Here you go," Justin placed their drinks in front of them, and Brian was never more grateful for the familiar liquid. He smiled thankfully up at Justin, downing the alcohol and holding up the glass for another. "Please."

"Be right back."

"You sure you want another already?"

Brian stared blankly at Harvey in answer.

"So, what do you do for fun?" Harvey ventured.

Brian toyed with the possibility of answering truthfully, but decided the other man just wouldn't be able to deal with the reality, so he said, "Nothing much. Hang out with my friends."

"Oh, that's nice. I like to read, well, I guess you already know that," the man laughed (snorted) and Brian cringed. "And I like to play chess. And backgammon. I've actually won several championships," Harvey gloated.

"Swell." Brian was almost at the end of his rope when Justin appeared, holding his refill and their meals.

"This looks wonderful. But you've only got an appetizer. You must share mine."

"No, I'm good."

"I insist. Waiter, can I have some cheese, please."

"Of course. Say when."

---

---

"Say when."

---

"Good. Sorry, when. I love lots of cheese. Don't you?" Harvey asked a rather green looking Brian.

"No."

"Enjoy," Justin smiled down at Brian, containing his laughter as the man silently mouthed the word 'help'.

"I had a great time. I hope you did too," Harvey said with a heartening gleam as they stood outside Antonio's, next to their cars.

"Sure. Great." Brian was distracted, trying to catch a glimpse of Justin moving around inside the restaurant.

"Maybe we could do this again?"

Brian looked at Harvey and knew that no way in hell was that ever gonna happen.

"Drive safely," he said before swiftly climbing into his car and peeling away from the curb without a single look back.

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

"I'm so sorry it didn't work out. I don't get it. Harvey's such a great guy."

"Right, if I wanted to date you!" Brian accused, and Ted had the decency to look chagrined.

"Brian, don't worry. I've got the perfect one for you." Emmett smiled.

Eyeing him warily Brian nodded then dropped his head down resignedly against the wooden table, banging it ever so slightly, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into this time.

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

Brian pulled up into the driveway, feeling a wave of déjà-vu wash over him. How many torturous dates had he been on so far? Thirty? Shit, it was only his third, and he was getting fucking nowhere. And he'd been suckered into picking this one up again. The fucker didn't even have a car. What a prize.

Dragging himself from the car he noticed an odd illumination emanating from the front of the quaint little house and realized that the porch light was fuchsia. Fucking fuchsia.

Instantly he was on guard. What the hell had Emmett done to him?

Having not noticed in the darkness as he'd driven up to the home, Brian now saw clearly that the aluminum siding covering two-thirds of the house was painted bright orange. And the garage was chartreuse.

It looked like a goddamned fun-house.

Shit.

Sighing, he rang the bell and froze as the tune to, 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,' assaulted his ears.

"Just a min-ute," came sing-songed from inside the house.

Double shit.

Could he make his escape? But before he could duck away the door opened and Brian came face to face with Marty.

"Well hell-oooo gorgeous," Marty cooed.

Brian was speechless, his eyes mapping a path down Marty's body.

The man (queen) standing before him was donning a pair of deep-red leather pants along with a matching shirt sporting rows upon rows of ruffles down the front.

"You like?" Marty asked with a spin.

"I'll meet you at the car," Brian deadpanned before turning and practically racing to his 'Vet waiting (pissed off at being parked in front of such an offending structure) in the driveway.

He started the engine and was just about to high-tail it out of there when the passenger door flew open and Marty jumped in.

Fuck!

"You're a quick one," Marty laughed.

Brian was practically fuming (crying). He needed to calm down.

"So, where to?"

"Um, I hope you like Italian." Shit, he really didn't think he could go through with it. Chancing a glance at his date (ohmygod) Brian slammed on the breaks.

"Shit, careful, I almost made a mess," Marty scolded, wiping the glob of pink sparkly lip gloss off of his cheek.

FUCK!

"Ooh, I love this place."

"Great." Brian walked up to the maitre'd. "Kinney. For two."

"Yes sir. We have a lovely table over in…"

"Justin's section."

"Of course. This way."

As the two men took their seats Brian saw a beautiful face moving toward him, only noticing the glass as he placed it down in front of him. "Figured you could use this."

"Thank you," Brian sighed, taking a healthy gulp.

"Can I get you anything?" Justin asked Marty.

"Sure, sweetie, something frilly, with an umbrella. Surprise me."

"Will do," Justin smiled, turning to Brian, brows raised in equal parts sympathy and amusement.

Brian closed his eyes, praying that the night would soon be over (and that not a fucking soul who knew him was there).

"Brian!"

Too late.

"Jim, how are you?" Brian rose, offering his hand to his client.

"Wonderful. It's great to see you out of the office." The older man looked down at the table, slightly taken back by Brian's dinner companion. "Jim Danther, nice to meet you," he smiled, holding out his hand.

"Delighted," came Marty's reply as he took Jim's hand in his and held it.

"Uh," Jim huffed awkwardly, pulling back. "Well, you boys enjoy yourselves."

And Brian watched in horror as Jim left the restaurant, taking a little piece of his dignity with him.

"He seemed nice," Marty commented, sipping his fluorescent drink that Justin had placed in front of him.

"Mr. Kinney."

Brian looked up at Justin, feeling a sense of need and desperation and longing all bundled up inside of him and smiled. "Brian."

Justin returned the gesture, his smile practically blinding Brian in its intensity.

"Brian, would you and your, um, date (wish it was me) like to hear the specials?"

"No, that's alright, honey, I know what I want."

Both Brian and Justin held their breath.

"I'll have…"

Yes?

"I'll have the rigatoni in clam sauce. But could you add a little extra sauce, sweetie? You know us girls like it nice and slippery."

Brian looked at Justin, both wearing a 'nofuckingway' grin on their faces, and they laughed out loud.

"Something funny?" Marty asked, a little perturbed.

"Private joke," Brian answered, adding that he would have a side-salad. A small one.

"Just a salad? You're too thin. You should eat more," Marty voiced.

"I'll remember that," Brian said sarcastically, sneaking a glance at his watch, wondering when the fuck he could end the date (farce). He would've ditched him immediately but he knew that Emmett could be one scary bitch and he wasn't prepared to deal with that.

"So, what do you do for fun?"

Shit, did every date come with mandatory questions?

Brian sighed, deciding he'd had enough of Mr. Nice Guy. "I like to hike. Shoot off a couple'a rounds at the firing range. Shit like that."

"Hike? Shoot guns?" Marty looked like Brian'd just told him he was into skinning live animals (like the ones his offensive pants had come from).

"Yeah, I like to live life on the edge. You know, no holds barred."

"Mm-hmm, right. Good for you, honey."

And if Marty seemed a little bit scared all of the sudden…and Brian looked a little happier, well…

"Here you are. The rigatoni in clam sauce for you," Justin smiled, placing the dish brimming over in sauce down in front of Marty. "And for you, a small side-salad."

"Thank you," Brian said, both him and Justin grimacing as Marty dug into his saucy mess.

Justin was almost afraid to ask. "Cheese?" he ventured quietly.

"Uh-huh," Marty mumbled around a mouthful of food. "Lots."

"Shit," Brian groaned, his face buried in his hands.

"Would you like to come in?" Marty asked as Brian pulled up in front of his house.

Brian was terrified. The man's blatant disregard for anything tasteful was evidently displayed on the exterior of his home, so he couldn't fathom what the inside might look like.

"Don't think so."

"Oh," Marty sulked. "That's too bad. I was thinking…"

A wave of nauseas swept over Brian at just the thought of fucking, a reaction he'd never experienced before.

"I should get going (get out!)." Brian reached over, pulling the handle, opening the passenger door while still seated.

"Right. Well, I guess that's my cue. Will I see you again?" Marty asked, easing out of the car.

Brian leaned over, grinning up at the man's hopeful face and said, "Not fucking likely," then pulled the door shut and tore away from the curb, leaving Marty's stunned face watching.

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

"It must've been you!" Emmett accused.

"Right," Brian nodded. "It was me. All fucking me. All fucking leather pants and frilly shirt and lip gloss in fucking blinding colors that I may never recover from. All. Me."

Emmett waved his accusations away, turning toward Drew. "He's so hard to please."

Brian gritted his teeth. "I am *not* fucking hard to please. All I want is someone normal. Someone with a nice head of hair, maybe blond, and bright-blue eyes, and a killer ass, and…" Brian daydreamed out loud.

"Sounds like Cole."

"Cole?" Emmett asked with a note of jealousy.

Drew smiled, pulling his partner in for a brief kiss before continuing. "Cole Freeman. He's a quarterback. Great legs."

"Great legs, huh?" Emmett wasn't thrilled.

"Not as great as yours," Drew praised and Emmett smiled, satisfied.

"Cole Freeman?" Brian asked. "I don't know if I can go through with another date."

"You can do it," Michael assured his best friend. "You've gotta kiss a lottta frogs before you get your prince," he advised with an encouraging smile.

"So far not one of the guys you've set me up with has been fuckable, much less kissable. My poor neglected dick's ready to call the whole thing off."

"I'm sure we can call Marty and he'd be happy to take care of the dick problem for ya," Emmett offered with a grin.

"Fuck no!" Brian frowned, placing his hand protectively over his covered groin. "He'd scare it away for good."

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

"Cole will meet you at seven-thirty. Is that good?"

"Yeah, alright."

"Why didn't you want to call him yourself?" Drew asked, confused.

"So far I've been set up with a Stepford fag, a loser and a queen. I'm not taking any chances this time. If he walks into the restaurant and I don't like what I see, I'm outta there."

Drew smiled. Brian was in for one hell of a great surprise

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

"Hey, I'm gonna start to think you're coming here for reasons other than our fabulous food," Justin joked, his smile beaming brightly when he saw Brian sitting in his section.

"It's definitely something else," Brian admitted, his eyes traveling the length of Justin's body, sending an unmistakable message.

Justin blushed.

Brian smiled and was just about to…

"You must be Brian."

Brian looked up to find one fucking gorgeous blond-haired, blue-eyed man watching him. "I am," he managed, taking a moment to find his voice.

"Cole. Cole Freeman."

Brian shook the man's offered hand, waving to the vacant seat facing him.

Justin cleared his throat, breaking the spell suddenly cast over the table.

"Oh, sorry, Justin. I'll have a double JB and…?" Brian gestured to Cole.

"I'll have the same."

"Okay, be right back." Justin left to get their drinks, looking over his shoulder to find the two men engrossed in conversation. He wanted to feel happy for Brian, but he couldn't help the wave of sadness (jealousy) that suddenly washed over him.

"So you're in advertising, is that right?"

"Yes. I own Kinnetic. Off Liberty."

"Kinnetic. You did the campaign for Brown Athletics. Excellent work. I love how you played it perfectly toward the gay market. No bullshit trying to drag us in. Straight-forward. Pardon the pun." Cole laughed out loud (no snort or cackle involved) and Brian relaxed back in his seat.

Justin walked up to the table, placing a drink down in front of each man. Neither one even noticed his presence.

"Would you like to hear the house specials?" Justin asked.

"No, I'm good. I know what I want."

Both Brian and Justin held their breath as Cole began to order.

"I'd like the rigatoni…"

A small gasp slipped past both of their lips.

"…in tomato sauce. And a side salad. Thanks."

They exhaled. Relieved.

"Brian?"

"I'll have the same."

Justin was stunned. Brian had ordered a full meal. He'd never done that on any of his previous dates (disasters). And Justin was certain that what he was witnessing was definitely a date (winner).

Justin left to put in the orders and Cole asked, "Do you come here often? It's just that, well, you're on a first-name basis with the waiter."

Brian laughed. "Yeah, well, let's just say I've begun to frequent the place quite a bit lately."

"Alright. So tell me about yourself."

Usually that would turn Brian off. Preferring fucking rather than talking, but something about Cole made him eager to get to know the man. Maybe the guys had finally come through.

As they got to know each other Justin continued to wait on them, serving up their salads then dinner then even coffee and dessert, all the while a feeling of devastation worming its way into the pit of his stomach.

"Can I get you anything else?" Justin asked, directing his question to the table, rather than at either man in particular.

Brian saw the sadness in Justin's eyes and realized that he hadn't seen him smile the entire evening, well, except for when he'd first found him sitting in his section.

"Hey, Justin, everything okay?"

"Sure, of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Brian shook his head, not sure what else to say. He looked across at Cole and had to admit that he was gorgeous. He'd caught a glimpse of his legs when he'd excused himself to use the restroom, and yeah, they were great. And his ass wasn't bad either, but…

When he looked up at Justin, those fucking piercing eyes and that cherub-like face, it made his head spin. And that ass (perfect). Shit, he couldn't get enough of staring at that ass (fucking perfect).

And for some reason Brian hated the fact that Justin was sad.

He wondered if it had anything to do with him.

"Brian?" Cole questioned, noting the look passing between his date and their waiter.

"Sorry. Justin, could I get the bill, please?" Brian asked, handing over his credit card.

"Sure."

Justin turned away, a sense of loss overtaking him. "Glenn, could you do me a favor? Give this to table 12?" Justin handed the folder containing Brian's bill and card to his co-worker then headed into the break-room. He didn't want to face them again.

"Where's Justin?"

Glenn shrugged. "He asked me to take care of this," he answered, handing back the receipt and credit card. "We hope you enjoyed yourselves tonight. Please come again."

Brian looked around for Justin as he headed out of the restaurant, but couldn't find him.

"Do you maybe wanna come back to my place?" Cole asked.

Brian's eyes locked with Cole's. Blue. A beautiful blue. But not the right blue.

"I'd really like to…"

"But?" Cole sensed the apprehension.

"But I've got someplace I've gotta be."

Looking toward the restaurant Cole nodded, knowing exactly where Brian needed to be. He smiled and leaned forward, brushing his lips against Brian's in a soft yet inviting kiss. "Too bad," he whispered then turned and walked away.

Brian sighed.

Fuck.

It'd pretty much been the perfect date. Except for one small detail.

With a confident smile Brian pulled the heavy wooden door to Antonio's open and stepped inside. He caught site of a blond head weaving through the dinning room and instantly he knew what he had to do.

"Good evening, sir, can I get you a drink to start?" Justin asked glumly, not even bothering to look at the customer seated alone at the table, choosing a spot on the floor instead.

"I think I've had enough for tonight, but I was hoping you could help me out with some information."

Justin looked up. "Brian?" He looked around for his dinner companion (competition), but didn't see him. "Where's your…"

"Date?" Brian finished.

"Yeah."

"Home, I guess," Brian shrugged.

Confused, Justin asked, "And how come you didn't go with him?"

Brian smiled, eyeing Justin warmly. "Because what I want is still here."

"Brian," Justin purred, sending a jolt right to Brian's dick.

"So about that information. I was wondering, would you like to go out with me, say, tomorrow night?"

"You mean like a date?"

"Yeah, a date," Brian confirmed.

"Sure," Justin beamed then leaned in, and Brian's head began to swim from the mere closeness. "But you'd better take me any other fucking place but here."

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

Epilogue:

"Brian, come on, we're gonna be late."

"Calm that pretty little ass of yours, Sunshine. They're not gonna start without us."

"I know, but I really don't want to…"

Justin was stunned into silence as Brian headed down the bedroom stairs, dressed to perfection in a black-on-black pinstripe Armani suit.

"Fuck," Justin breathed, feeling his dick pulse in his pants.

"Is this for me?" Brian whispered, his strong hand encasing the impressive bulge tenting the front of his partner's trousers, his hot breath washing over Justin's skin as he leaned their foreheads together.

"Brian," Justin groaned, licking his lips.

"Mmm, you always know what I like," he breathed with a squeeze.

"Maybe we can be a little late…"

"Uh-uh-uh," Brian admonished. "Not the guests of honor."

"Brian!" Justin whined at the loss of contact as Brian spun around, taking hold of his hand, dragging him out of the loft.

"I just want to say, for all of us, how happy we are to be here today. To share in this most amazing (unbelievable) event. We knew it'd happen one day (hoped), but to see it, to see how happy (in love) you are, well, it makes me, sorry, us, thrilled." Lindsay raised her glass and continued. "A toast, to Brian and Justin. Congratulations."

"Congratulations!" echoed around the room.

Brian and Justin smiled, clinking their own glasses together.

"Thank you all for being here. It means a lot to have those closest to us present to celebrate this momentous (whoeverthoughtitwouldactuallyhappen) occasion." Brian took a moment, his arm secure around Justin's shoulder, his eye catching the gleam off the shiny new band of white gold wrapped around his ring finger, then continued. "I never imagined myself here, never thought I would want a partner…"

Justin cleared his throat and Brian smiled.

"…sorry, a committed partner (thank you very much), but now that I have one, and fuck knows I suffered through enough shit to find him…"

Everyone laughed, having been filled in on Brian's horror stories (dates).

"…I can't understand what made me wait so long (chicken shit) to do it."

The room oohed and ahhed appropriately.

"I know why," Justin stated.

"You do?" Brian asked.

"Uh-huh," Justin nodded confidently. "Because you were waiting for me."

Brian smiled. "Fucking right I was."

Leaning their foreheads together, their lips pressed softly, intimately, the rest of the room faded away as they basked in the glow of their commitment.

"Everyone take their seats. That means you two," Debbie bellowed.

Reluctantly pulling apart, Brian and Justin took their respective seats at the head of the long table.

"Good evening. I'm George and I'll be your server tonight," a handsome young man practically shouted, trying to get the table's attention. He smiled, glad to see everyone in such a good mood and briefly wondered if maybe Dan would go through with the whole commitment ceremony thing with him. He'd broach the subject when he got home. 'Nothing to loose,' he thought with a smile.

"I'd like to share the house specials with all of you, if I could." Everyone quieted down.

"We've got a wonderful sea bass tonight, done in a white whine and shallot sauce, as well as peppercorn encrusted steak, and of course, our best seller, rigatoni in clam sauce."

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

The End.

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