Written for Improv #7  For the LiveJournal on__impulse

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Babylon is packed tonight, which is why Michael, Emmett and I are crammed together near the end of the bar. It's retro night here this evening, and the theme is 'Relive The Sixties-Make Love, Not War'. It appears that most everyone around us is taking it to heart.

We stand there, drinking and watching as the hot guys pass us. We casually discuss their attempts at hippy-wear, as well as our chances to score with them. A gorgeous redhead slithers by-all three of our heads turn to follow his progress.

"Damn, I'd go for him any day of the week," I stutter. I think there's a bit of drool on my chin, so I casually swipe at it. "Not that I would have a chance, of course."

"Honey, you don't want him. He has atrocious taste in clothing," Emmett scoffs. "Some people have no sense of style whatsoever. If I were him, I wouldn't be caught dead out in public with that outfit."

Michael and I exchange looks. Big mistake-we both burst out laughing as we glance over at Emmett. He's wearing a loose-fitting embroidered tunic, ragged bellbottoms, and about ten strands of multi-colored love beads. He's even found some sort of headband that he's wrapped around his forehead. I'm not sure in what attic he discovered his outfit, but he really has no room to criticize.

Emmett just rolls his eyes at us and turns back to the bar. He asks us if we want anything while he's ordering. Both Michael and I request beers. As Emmett is putting in his order, Brian saunters up and slides his arm around Michael's shoulders. Brian, unlike us, has totally ignored the theme for the evening-he's dressed in a sleeveless black button-down shirt and tight jeans.

Michael instantly goes into what I call 'puppy dog' mode-all big eyes and hyper movements, as he tries to retain Brian's interest. God, I hate to witness that-Michael deserves so much more than fighting for the attention of the man he loves. He should have a man who wants only him, not nameless tricks in the backroom.

"Brian, I thought you were going to meet us at Woody's earlier. What happened?" Michael grins up at his friend.

"Oh, you know… something came up."

Yeah, right. We all know what that means. Fucking some guy was more important than showing up at a bar for drinks with his friends.

"Where the fuck did you three get those pathetic clothes? Goodwill?" Brian smirks as he looks at us.

Emmett launches into a story about his quest for the perfect look, which Brian is obviously not listening to. Michael, on the other hand, tugs his tee shirt down self-consciously. I decide to step in and change the subject. "So, where's Justin tonight?"

"How the fuck should I know? He'll probably show up soon-he always does." Brian's attention is focused on a muscle-bound hunk nearby. "See ya round, guys-I found something that looks promising." Brian strolls over to the guy and whispers something in his ear. The next minute, Brian is leading the muscleman toward the backroom. He's just fucking amazing. Not even here five minutes and he's already scored.

Emmett smirks, "Hmm, I wonder if that's a record for him? Anyone know?"

Michael laughs at the question, a bitter, hollow sound to my ears, "Shit, I've known him for eons now, and I don't bother keeping track of his so-called records, not anymore. There's no point."

I move over to place my arm around Michael, trying to comfort him in my own, awkward way, "Cheer up, Michael. The tricks don't mean anything to him, after all."

As the words leave my mouth, a certain blond twink bounces up to us, blowing my consoling words out of the water. Justin-the one trick who actually does mean something to Brian, whether he wants to admit it or not. I peek at Michael's face and see the brief flash of dislike cross it. My arm tightens around him as Justin speaks.

"So, have you seen Brian tonight?"

Emmett opens his mouth, but Michael quickly responds, beating him to it, "Yeah, he was here just a minute ago. He's now back in the backroom with a trick, of course." A touch of malice tinges his voice.

I stand there, glancing between the two of them; Michael, watching Justin with a satisfied, slightly cruel expression on his face and Justin, who slumps dejectedly at Michael's words. I'm not sure which man I feel the sorriest for at this particular moment. Fucking Brian-I hate the fact that he has the ability to hurt people without even trying.

"Come on, baby. You can dance with me until his majesty gets back here and claims you." Emmett tugs on Justin's hand, leading him to the dance floor. They're both good dancers and are soon moving around to the beat of the music.

Michael gazes at me and states, "You know, I don't really hate him. Justin, that is. I just wish he would disappear, so everything can get back to the way it was." He puts his beer to his lips and drinks, then continues, "Although, if I'm honest with myself, the time before Justin showed up really wasn't such a great place to be, either. I only wish Brian would… Ah, fuck it. He'll never feel the same way I do-I should just admit it and move on."

I nod sympathetically. How many times have I told myself that exact same thing, in relation to the man I'm standing with? Unrequited love really sucks. I am so thankful that Michael is unaware of my feelings toward him-unlike his situation with Brian.

The two of us remain there at the bar, a comfortable silence between us as we watch Emmett and Justin move to the music. I glance over to the right and spot a tall, familiar figure gliding toward the gyrating couple. A second later, Brian pulls Justin away from his dancing partner and spins him into his arms. Emmett is smiling faintly as he rejoins us.

"Hmm, I guess I should be glad I got two dances in with Justin before Brian showed up." Emmett fans himself as he orders a bottle of water.

My eyes drift to the closely entwined couple in the middle of the floor. The crowd has edged away from them, as if acknowledging the exotic creatures dancing in their midst deserve center stage. Brian and Justin are completely engrossed in one another-unaware of anything surrounding them-their bodies flowing from one sensuous move to another.

I can only stand there, a dull ache in my chest, silently commiserating with the man I adore as he watches the man he loves love another.

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