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"Hey Justin, we're going over to O'Malley's after we finish here, you wanna come?"

Justin finished hanging the painting and was just getting the level when one of the others called over to him. They were part of a group show of second year Painting and Sculpture students. The show was part of the semester requirements. He checked his watch—almost six. Damn.

"Thanks, Kim, but I have to get home I said I'd cook dinner tonight. Another time."

"Yeah, sure."

As Kim turned away he heard Lisa make some comment about `whipped', followed by the half whispered, "…the little woman…" And… "Ethan said that…"

Fuck.

He'd heard shit like that before, but it was only lately that it had started to get on his nerves.

Little Woman. Twat. Boy Toy.

Brian was his Sugar Daddy. Meal ticket. Free Ride. Old Man.

Not that it was anyone's frigging business, but they had it all wrong. He fucking liked to cook, Brian didn't. It just made sense for him to do most of it. Besides, it wasn't like they never went out to eat.

Goddamn it.

An hour later he was tasting the spaghetti sauce when he heard the door slide open.

"Hey."

"Hey. Sunshine." He walked into the kitchen area, kissing Justin's neck. " Smells good. I'll be down as soon as I get changed."

"Sure, OK."

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah. But get changed first."

Oh fucking great. Another drama queen moment was coming. Shit. OK, fine. Changed into jeans and a black tee, Brian was ready for dinner and whatever melodramatic bullshit they'd be having as an appetizer.

"I'm just so fucking sick of it." Justin practically threw the pasta and sauce at the older man. Remaining standing by his own place.

Brian looked at him for a beat. "Bad day at school, honey?"

"Fuck you, you don't have to put up with the crap I have to listen to. I'm fucking sick of it."

"Which crap are you talking about? I mean in particular?"

"That I'm your little woman, your frigging house boy who you just keep around to cook your Goddamned dinner and fuck whenever the urge strikes you." He glared at Brian as though it was his fault.

"Who's saying that shit?"

"Everyone."

"Such as…?"

"Everyone at school your friends, my Goddamned mother—and I'm not even going to start on my fucking father."

OK, so someone obviously made a crack to the kid today. Fine. "Why do you give a fuck what they think as long as you know the truth?"

"Oh, come on, Brian. You know it's not that simple."

"Well, yeah, it is."

"Bullshit. You may pretend that you live on a frigging island, but I happen to have a group of friends and family who matter to me."

"Justin—what happened?"

He finally sat down, pouring spaghetti sauce on his pasta, topping it with enough cheese to clog an elephant's arteries. "Nothing. It was just some stupid thing at the gallery today."

Brian started to eat his dinner, knowing that in a minute or so Justin would tell him. Sure enough, within a couple of bites it was spewing out.

"They asked me to go out for a beer after we were done and when I said I had to get home they made a couple of comments like I was your piece on the side." He managed to get a forkful of dinner into his mouth before he continued. "They called me the `little woman' and said I was `whipped'. They were laughing." He looked across to Brian. "Goddamn it, it was obvious that they've been talking about it and they just think that I'm some fucking pet you have trained to do the housework and fuck and jump when you snap your fingers."

Brian watched him as he sipped his wine. "You know that isn't true."

"And they think that I'll dump you like I walked out on Ethan."

"You did, Justin. Remember?"

Justin said nothing.

"Justin?"

"…You know how shitty I still feel about that. You know I know it was a big fucking mistake—and you said you wouldn't bring it up again."

Brian gave him look for look. "I didn't." He softened slightly. "Alright, what else?"

A pause while Justin regrouped, then, "Your friends think the same thing. I'm just little `Sunshine', Brian's twat." He stared at his plate. "And my mother thinks that you're just jerking me off until you get tired of me."

"…And your father thinks that I'm a child molester. Who gives a fuck?"

Justin got up and moved over to the couch, for once not hungry. After a moment Brian followed.

"Is the problem about being gay or is it something else?"

Justin just gave him a look suggesting his idiocy. "No one gives two shits about being gay—OK, except my father. It's about fucking everything else."

"…The age, the money?"

"And the fact that you have a hot shit job and I'm a student, the fact that you're this stud and I'm still a teenager. It's like everyone is placing bets on how long we'll last this time."

"They are." That look again. "The family are. I heard them a couple of months ago at the diner. I think Mel had us at $20 we wouldn't last three days."

"Motherfuckers."

"Justin, it doesn't matter. That shit only matters if you let it get to you."

"Thus spoke Mr. I'm a Fucking Island Man."

Kneeling in front of the youngster he wrapped his arms around him, holding him, feeling the anger and the tension, the frustration and the unfairness of it.

Shit, did he really think of Justin as a youngster when he wasn't paying attention? Well. Yes he did, actually.

But—Damnit—he was a youngster compared to Brian. He was a fucking teenager, he was a student, he still worried about his parent's reactions to the things he was doing and the people he was seeing. His idea of a party was a keg, for Chrissake. He was concerned about the frigging finals and whether or not he'd make the Dean's List.

Brian was in his thirties—barely, but he was there. He had a son to support and a home. He had a demanding job and well over two hundred people either directly or indirectly depending on him for their paychecks every week.

The simple fact was that they were at different stages in their lives and the gap—if not in actual maturity, but certainly in responsibility and expectations placed on them—were far enough apart that it was possible that they would never really dovetail.

Brian didn't tell Justin that he understood Craig's hatred of him. No, the homophobia was bullshit, but he understood why the father didn't want him around his son, why he was the worst possible role model and teacher in the life he was ready to embrace.

He was any parent's worst nightmare. He was a slut and promiscuous and incapable of maintaining a relationship. It was true. He was. He drank and smoked and took drugs. He had taken their teenaged son's virginity. He was indirectly responsible for the bashing, whatever anyone told him about it not being his fault.

OK, fine he had a few good qualities—he was smart and he worked hard. He was loyal to his friends, in his own way, but he was hardly the poster boy for stability.

Brian tried to let Justin move at his own pace, he wanted him to enjoy the time he had now. He really did. He wanted Justin to do all that college bullshit he'd done, and some of the stuff he hadn't. Justin should go to the stupid keggers and the fucking football games. He should know about pulling all nighters and arguing til dawn in some dorm room about some piece of philosophic esoteria. He should date around, get to see what's available and then, later, he could make up his mind and not wonder if he'd missed something or if he'd just done something different would his life have improved.

Much as Brian liked—OK, loved—having the twat around most of the time, he knew that most first loves didn't last. At some point this would likely end and he wanted Justin to be able to move on when the time came.

Shit.

"So, what do you want to do about it?" He was looking at Justin, asking a real question.

Justin stared at him for a second, screwing up his nerve. "I want to have a party. I want to invite all of them, the kids from school and the boys and Debbie and the girls and Gus and even my parents—all of them. I want them all to see that I do have a life and that I am happy."

"Fuck `em to their faces?"

"Yeah, fuck `em."

Smiling, Brian just said. "OK", then kissed him. "You tell me how you want to do it and we will."

"Really?"

"Yeah." If it would make Justin feel better, then so be it, but Brian knew that it would be a stop gap measure at best and could very well back fire.

"Alright, a week from Saturday. Here. I want a decent spread and good wine and all of that shit, but I want a keg and pretzels and pizza so that everyone will have something to eat that they're comfortable with. I want the family here and my mother and I want to invite my father even though the asshole probably won't come. I want Daphne and the kids from the gallery and my classes—I want fucking everyone who thinks they know us and show them they don't know dick."

"If that's what you want, we'll do it, but you're full of shit if you think it will make any difference."

Justin looked at him. "I want to do it." Brian was obviously not happy with the whole idea. "What?"

"You're full of shit if you think this will make any difference. "

"But if they see that we're…"

"That we're what? Just like a nice breeder couple who do the dishes and the laundry and have parties and all that? Justin—why do you give a crap what all the others think? I don't."

Justin took a moment to frame his thoughts. "I don't care if someone doesn't like me or doesn't like us—I really don't, so long as they don't like what I really am, not some bullshit idea of what they think we are."

Not convinced, Brian answered. "It won't make any difference. The people who matter know you and accept you—or don't—based on who you are. The others—fuck them."

"But that's the point—they don't know us. They think they do and so they're basing opinions on either partial or false information."

"Then they're no one who matters to me, or to us."

"Brian—please."

The older man would rather have eaten glass than go through with what he saw as a pointless exercise, but he knew how Justin could be when he got like this. It was a useless waste of time, it would accomplish nothing, but Justin had to learn that himself.

So the invitations went out, the kids at school and Justin's other acquaintances accepting for the most part with slightly raised eyebrows and the family, the older group accepting but not really understanding what the point of the exercise would be but happy enough for another reason to get together.

Besides, Brian's parties always had a way of turning out different.

Emmett, of course, offered to help, suggesting a theme centered around `togetherness'—sandwiches made of unexpected combos, clothes that clashed, mixed drinks—until Justin's face told he to put a sock in it—preferably a nice argyle.

A week and a half later the caterers had delivered the shrimp balls and the shrimp salad, the popcorn shrimp and the butterfly shrimp. "I LIKE shrimp" was all Justin would say to the raised eyebrow. The bar was set up, the keg was in place, the pizza was ordered and the bowls of pretzels and imported nuts were scattered about. The lighting was subdued and the candles were lit. Everything was ready, thank God. Justin had driven Brian close to justifiable homicide with the planning and the preparations.

By quarter to eight Justin was in a state because no one had arrived, convinced that no one would show and the party would be a disaster before it could even get started.

"We're going to be eating shrimp for the rest of our lives. Shit, I know it. We'll be stuck with all this food and …"

"Will you just shut the fuck up, please? First of all, people are going to show—didn't you just hear the elevator start? People are arriving now and secondly, we can't eat shrimp for the rest of our lives—haven't you read about what can happen if it goes bad? Christ, that shit can kill you in a heartbeat if you're not careful."

Justin was a little sheepish. "I know, I read that. You really think it's going to be alright?"

Brian kissed his temple. "It's going to be fine, darling." Before Justin could hit him, the doorbell rang. The party had begun.

Two hours later the thing was in full swing with over seventy-five people in the mix, the music cranked and the food rapidly being consumed. Another round of pizza had been ordered and the shrimp was almost gone. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, and the mingling was complete. Art students talked to GLC members (not a mutually exclusive group) and the family made a point of welcoming Justin's school friends. Everyone seemed to agree that everyone was very nice and it was wonderful that they'd all met.

Maybe they could all get together some time.

Then Ethan walked through the door, already loudly drunk and obviously looking to start trouble.

Coming up behind Justin, he put his hands around the smaller man's waist, kissing his neck thoroughly and nipping lightly. At first Justin had thought it was Brian and smiled—until he saw the hands and recognized who was behind him. He was still wearing that cheap silver ring.

Startled, he pulled sharply away.

"You used to like when I did that, Sunshine."

"Now I don't."

"The hub doesn't seem to mind." He gestured with his head over to where Brian and Lindsay were talking on the white couch. They hadn't yet noticed what was going on.

"You weren't invited, Ethan. Get the fuck out of here."

Ben wandered a bit closer. "Problem, Justin?"

"Justin and I were just renewing acquaintances, thanks. We're fine." His hands were both on Justin's shoulders, pulling them together again, his mouth on Justin's.

Ben quietly but firmly pulled Justin away, steering him over to where Brian had stood up and was about to get involved. "I believe this is yours, Brian."

Ethan had followed, muttering under his breath, "This week."

"Excuse me?" Brian wasn't going to take shit from the fiddler and Ben stood by to run interference if needed.

"The wind's been blowing in your direction lately. It'll change soon enough." He stumbled slightly.

"Brian…please." His hand was on Brian's arm.

Capitulating to Justin's wish to not have a scene, Brian backed off—barely. "Justin, would you call a cab for Ethan? I think he's ready to go home."

And within minutes he was gone, it was over.

Most of the guests didn't hear or see what had happened. Good.

Justin was pulled aside to hear compliments about the food, the furnishings, the loft itself and how gorgeous his boyfriend was. He was astounded to be told that Brian was incredibly sweet and he was lucky to have him. He responded with the expected "We're lucky to have each other."

The reply was a smirk, which pissed him off.

Lindsay and Mel were the first to have to leave, apologizing that the sitter had to be home by ten thirty.

Michael and Ben followed—Ben was tired. His new series of meds seemed to drain him a bit.

Vic and Debbie were next. She had to get up early for the breakfast shift, but thanks for a lovely time.

Emmett and Ted wanted to hit the clubs.

By twelve thirty the college kids had drifted off, too, thanking them for having them and raving about the evening. They'd see Justin on Monday.

By one in the morning they were cleaning up after the crowd had left. There was no food at all left, which amused Brian for some reason, and the liquor had been largely consumed, too. There were a couple of inches left in the keg and that was about it, though Brian seemed to have found an unopened bottle of JB somewhere—likely one he had hidden. Taking it over to the couch, he sprawled, gesturing for Justin to join him.

They cuddled together—or rather Justin snugged up against Brian.

"Are you happy with how it went?"

Justin wasn't sure what answer Brian was going for. He opted for safe. "Everyone seemed to have a good time. Didn't you think so?"

"They seemed to have a good time." The agreement could best be described as bland. "What the fuck was Ethan doing here? And why didn't you tell me that he's been following you around since you walked out on him?"

Taken aback, Justin's reply was stammered. "It's not a big deal. Honest. He just is having a little problem letting it go. He'll get over it."

"That's not what some of your friends were telling me. When were you going to clue me in to the fact that he's been stalking you?"

"He's not fucking stalking me."

"Flowers? Candy? Love letters? Phone calls? What the shit would you call it?"

"He'll get over it."

"And the point of the party was to show him that we're together? Was that it?"

"Partly, sure, but it was to show everyone. You know that."

Brian seemed about to snark back some probably unforgettable retort, but surprised Justin by speaking quietly. "If he was a problem, why didn't you tell me?" He seemed hurt.

"I didn't want you to worry. I thought that I could handle it. I can handle it." He corrected himself a little too quickly.

Brian didn't answer. He stood up, turned partially to Justin, "I'm tired. We can finish cleaning up in the morning." They went up without speaking, undressing quickly and getting into their respective sides of the large bed.

A few minutes later in bed, Justin took Brian's hand. "Are you still upset about Ethan?"

"I don't care about Ethan. I care that you didn't tell me that he was a problem."

"I told you, he's not, I can handle…"

"How often do you see him?"

Brian Kinney jealous? Shit. "I don't see him. I see him around school sometimes. It's not that big a place, I couldn't avoid him if I wanted to."

Brian turned over, his back to Justin. "I'm tired."

They didn't say anything more that night.

The next morning Justin woke up, glanced at the clock. One- thirty. Shit. He got up, threw on some sweats and a tee, went out to the main room. It was spotless; everything put away, every surface clean, nothing out of place.

Well, either Brian had been up for hours dealing with the rubble left from the party or the whole fucking thing had been a dream. He wasn't sure which was the better choice.

He was alone. The place had that particular stillness when you know there's no one else home. Where the fuck was Brian and how pissed/hurt was he?

He looked around. No note.

Shit.

At a loss, he booted up the computer and started work on a project due for rendering. It was a boring assignment, but it might take his mind off what had happened.

Shit.

Why the fuck hadn't he told Brian that Ethan was still hanging around him? What did he think would happen? Stupid twat, the problem was only a problem if he tried to hide it—and stupid twat, that's exactly what he did.

The one thing Brian would never put up with was dishonestly and that was what he'd been guilty of. He had lied to Brian about the stupid ass party. OK, OK, he really had wanted to show everyone that they were good together, that was true—he just didn't let on that he wanted to show one person in particular.

Shit and double shit.

Around five-thirty he stood up, stretched, looked at what he had so far on his monitor and hit `delete'. Talk about crappy.

Walking to the kitchen, he rummaged through the fridge, wondering what he could find for dinner, wondering if Brian would show up at all.

There was a piece of salmon he could bake, make something to go with it, maybe some wild rice. Brian liked that.

First he'd take a shower and get cleaned up.

At six the dinner was well started.

At six thirty, he turned it all to warm. At seven he turned the oven off. At seven thirty he was worried. By eight he was getting scared and thinking about whom he could call without looking like an ass.

By nine he didn't give a crap who thought what and just wanted to know where Brian was.

By ten he had called everyone he could think of—no one had seen Brian since last night, sorry, Sunshine. Oh, except the munchers who weren't home.

By eleven, in tears and with his hands shaking, he was calling the police and the hospitals with no luck.

At eleven thirty-five he heard the door slide open. Not even caring if Brian was still mad, he had his arms around him, "I was so fucking worried."

"I'm fine." He slipped off his jacket, placing it over one of the bar chairs.

Shit.

"Have you eaten?"

Brian shook his head. Getting the fish and the rice, he began trying to make them edible again. It would give him an excuse not to look directly at Brian quite yet.

Brian spoke without preamble. "Ethan will leave you alone now, if that's what you want."

"How did you…?" He was stopped by a look. OK. Obviously that was where Brian was for at least part of the day.

"If you want him around, he'll do that, too."

"Brian?"

"If you want him, that's your choice, you can have him, but I won't go through it again. Get your shit and get out." He was speaking without anger, just speaking calmly, just stating facts, afraid of the answer since they'd been there already.

"You know I want you."

There was a pause, a short one. "He said it last night: `This week'. Will you change your mind again?" Brian's eyes bored into him.

"I want you." His allergies were threatening again. He'd be damned if he was going to cry like some stupid faggot. "And I want you to want me. I don't want to go."

"Are you sure? Haven't I heard this song before?"

He nodded and walked around the counter to stand behind the older man, his arms around him and his head resting against his back. "I'm sure." He rubbed his cheek against Brian. "You won't hear it again."

He could feel Brian nodding, but instead of turning so they could hug or kiss he slipped off the stool and headed up to the bedroom, removing his clothes and getting into the bed. Pulling the duvet up, he gave every appearance of going to sleep.

Sighing, putting the food away for the second time that evening, Justin turned out the lights and joined Brian. The gulf between them was wider than the two feet separating them. Justin spoke to the dark. "I don't want him. I told you that when I came back. I want you and I thought that you wanted me or I wouldn't be here."

"You know what I want."

"What did Ethan say to you today?"

"That you two were still fucking." Justin started to protest. "Stop. I don't believe him. I'd know if you were."

"Then what's the problem?"

"…A couple of weeks ago you were upset because people had the wrong impression of you, of us, right?"

Justin nodded, "You know that. And you said it was bullshit what other people thought."

"It is, but when I saw that Ethan believed that he still has a chance, that he thinks that you'd still go to him—I kinda freaked."

Justin rolled over, his face close to Brian's. "If I wanted him I wouldn't be here. If I wasn't sure that you're the one I want, I'd be living with Deb or Daphne or my mother." He kissed Brian's cheek. "You're what I want and fuck everyone else."

"But you might still leave."

Justin realized that Brian was as open right at that moment as he'd ever allowed himself to be with him. "And so might you. But right now, this—you—are what I want—and I can't imagine that changing. And fuck everyone else."

Brian's hand came up to hold Justin's hair, a gesture he'd been doing a lot since his hair had gotten longer. "If you ever want to go, promise me that you'll tell me."

"If I ever do, I'll tell you." Brian's arms came around Justin's back, pulling him down to lie across Brian. Speaking into the smooth chest he added, "But I never will."

As Justin drifted off, finally, to sleep, still held in Brian's arms, the older man listened to the soft even breathing, felt the steady heart beating against him and wondered how long it would last.

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