Play Ball

"I see that your Pirates lost again last night," Brian told Justin as they got themselves into position in front of the fireplace.

"Why do I think they might just be your Pirates if they ever won big," Justin responded.

"They did win the World Series once when I was a kid," Brian remembered, "They must have been my Pirates back then all right. They couldn't have been your Pirates because you weren't even born yet."

"OK, Kinney," Justin challenged him, "I can see you're looking for some kind of an argument, so let the games begin. I'm ready for you."

"I am not looking for an argument at all. Twink," Brian defended himself, "If I wanted an argument, all I'd have to do is wait till you started one."

"Well it looks to me like the argument tonight is going to be about the argument, Honey," Justin laughed. "You are not the least bit interested in baseball. When I go to a game, I have to go with Ethan or Malcolm, or somebody else, because you won't go. So why are you talking about the Pirates all of a sudden if you aren't looking for an argument?"

"Maybe I have a reason, and maybe I was just making small talk," Brian pretended to grouse. "I was not trying to start an argument."

"Cut it out, Brian," Justin laughed at him, "I know you have some ulterior motive and you're not nearly as good at sneaking up on subjects you want to discuss as I am."

"Lack of practice," Brian surmised.

"Probably," Justin admitted, "But why don't you just tell me what you want to tell me?"

"I have to go to the ball game Friday night and I want you to come with me," Brian came to the point.

"You have to go to the ball game?" Justin echoed.

"Yeah," Brian continued, "You've heard me mention Bill Evans of Consolidated. He's a good client. Well, his big boss from Texas is going to be in town. He wants to go to the ball game, and he wants to meet me. He likes our advertising campaign. Some people do appreciate me, you know. So Bill has this luxury box at PNC Park and we're invited."

"Do they know about us?" Justin wanted to know.

"They know about me," Brian grinned, "So they won't be surprised when they see you with me. I guess they might be surprised once you open your mouth though."

"Do you really want me to go?" Justin asked him. "It's OK for you to go without me if that would be better."

"Without you is never better," Brian told him, causing a bright smile to erupt on Justin's face.

"Every once in a while you say something that makes putting up with you the rest of the time really worth while," Justin told him.

"That really warms my heart, Sunshine," Brian had to laugh, "Who the hell are they playing Friday night?"

"Let me look at my schedule," Justin answered as he pulled out his wallet. "Atlanta," he told Brian, "And you know what, Bri, Friday is Bobble-Head night. We will each get a free Bobble-Head doll when we enter the park. That's great. You do know what a Bobble-Head doll is, don't you, Honey?"

"I'm in advertising, Twink," Brian retorted, "So I know what a Bobble-Head doll is, but I never include them in my campaigns. I think they're dumb."

"Everybody loves Bobble-Head dolls, Bri," Justin insisted, "I bet they sell out the game just because of the dolls."

"Well don't get any ideas about displaying your Bobble-Head doll on my Ludwig Mies van der Rohe table, Baby," Brian warned him. "I have to go to this ball game but I don't need a permanent reminder of it."

"It never occurred to me to display our Bobble-Head doll on our Mies van der Rohe table, Sweetie," Justin responded. "I know how fussy you are about our loft."

"I'm just going to throw my Bobble-Head doll into the nearest trash receptacle as soon as I get it," Brian groused.

"You are not either, Brian Kinney," Justin insisted, "Gus would love it."

"Or I could give it to Mikey," Brian smiled, "Mikey loves works of art. Or I could give mine to Gus and you can give yours to Mike. That's what we'll do."

"You're making me go to this game, and you're not even letting me keep my Bobble-Head doll," Justin complained. "You are pretty mean, Brian."

"One bobble-head in this loft is enough," Brian countered, "And the one I have already is the only one I want to keep."

"Brian," Justin smiled admiringly at him, "You are the only person in the world who could call somebody a bobble-head and make it into a romantic statement."

"I guess I'm just an incurable romantic," Brian proposed.

"That's it," Justin agreed, burrowing himself closer into Brian's side. Brian did not complain. And they just sat there for several minutes, happily watching the fake flames dart hither and yon.

"You know what, Bri," Justin broke the silence, "My favorite times at Pirate games were the times when I went with my dad. I enjoy going to the games with the guys but I always think about the times I went with my dad. I think going with you will be my new favorite memory of the ball park."

"Didn't you once tell me that your favorite ball park memory with your dad was when you slathered your hot dog with mustard and then dropped it on yourself," Brian grinned. "So maybe no hot dogs on Friday, OK?"

"You don't have to worry about that, Honey," Justin informed him. "You know that mustard colored shirt I have that I never wear. Well I always wear it to the ball park."

Brian couldn't think of a romantic rejoinder for that statement so another period of quiet fire-watching ensued.

A little later, Justin again restarted the conversation. "I won't embarrass you Friday night, Brian. I won't yell too loud or root too hard." he promised. "I'll be on my best behavior."

"Sunshine," Brian assured him, "Just be yourself. You couldn't embarrass me whatever you do. I kinda like you just the way you are."

"Gee Brian," Justin said, "This is the best argument we ever had. I'm really enjoying this evening, but you look worried and that bothers me some. What is it?"

"Well, if you want to know," Brian told him, "I'm wondering why you seem to be eying up our Mies van der Rohe table. I know I shouldn't worry because our Bobble-Heads are spoken for, but I am wondering, that's all. I guess that's crazy."

Justin didn't answer so there was another silent period.

Eventually Justin ran his fingers sensuously through Brian's hair. "Maybe Bill Evans or his big boss from Texas won't want their Bobble-Head dolls," he told Brian.

Brian threw both arms around the kid. "Baby," he answered, "This argument is over. I'm ready to make up."

"Me too," Justin agreed.

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