Justin groaned as he felt Brian jerking him off.  His lover's cock was buried deep in his ass and his senses were on overload.  He wanted to tell Brian to hurry but he couldn't get his tongue to work.  All he was capable of were incoherent moans and groans.  As if reading his mind, Brian sped up his thrusts and timed his strokes of Justin's cock to match.

 

"Oh, oh, ah, ah, ahhhhhhhh," Justin cried and came in a shattering explosion.  Brian was close behind him.

 

They collapsed onto the bed still wrapped around each other, Brian's dick still partially up his ass.

 

Justin groaned again.  He was going to be so sore.  This was at least the sixth time he had come since they had left City Hall.  Brian hadn't fucked him in days since he had been released from the hospital.  The man had seemed incapable of doing anything but sleeping.  Once it had been resolved that Brian was staying on as mayor, Brian's libido had kicked in big time.  They had fucked twice in the limo before Chuck brought them home and now this made about the sixth time.

 

Brian rolled off him and disposed of the condom.  "Are you okay?" Brian asked.

 

"I think so, but I'm not sure I can stand up, let alone sit down," Justin said his eyes still closed.  He wanted to rest.  He felt Brian's hand slide up his thigh and reach for his balls.  He groaned.  "Haven't you had enough for awhile?" Justin asked.

 

"Never enough," Brian said with his patented smirk.

 

"Remind me never to let you go longer than a day without fucking," Justin cautioned.  "Aren't you the least bit tired?"

 

"Not really.  I had all that sleep the last few days."

 

"But I didn't," Justin said.  "I was awake worrying about you."

"I didn't mean to worry you.  I don't know what was wrong with me."

"You were depressed," Justin stated looking into Brian's eyes.

 

"I don't do depressed."

"You had all the symptoms.  You were depressed … and who could blame you?"

Brian stared at him.  Justin could tell he was thinking about it, weighing the truth of his words.  "Maybe you're right," Brian admitted.  "I don't know when I've felt so hopeless since I've been an adult."

 

"I think it had more to do with your mother than with the accident," Justin told him.

 

Brian made a face.  "Why do you say that?"

"I … Are you sure you want to talk about this?"  He didn't want to set Brian off when he finally seemed to be getting back to normal.

 

"I want to hear what you have to say, Dr. Taylor, shrink extraordinaire," Brian said rubbing his hand along Justin's thigh.

 

The boy made a face at him and then sighed contentedly.  He loved how safe and warm any contact with Brian made him feel.  He hoped the contact would stay merely that.  He didn't think he could take another fuck right now. 

 

"When you told me you had asked her to be proud of you, I knew how hard that must have been.  I know how much you want her approval."  Brian opened his mouth to deny it.  "Don't say anything," Justin told him.  "Let me finish.  We all want our parents to be proud of us, to love us.  That's how I still feel about my asshole of a father.  But I at least have a loving mother.  You never got that from either parent.  Maria and Louise gave you hope that maybe you could make it right … finally."

 

Brian nodded.  "I believed what they told me, that talking could make her come around."

 

"But it never did before."

 

"No, it didn't, not that I tried very hard.  She'd piss me off in five seconds and that would be the end of it."

"But this time you risked telling her that you wanted her to be proud of you, and then she refused as always, and not in a polite way, I would imagine."

 

"She was fucking … cruel … as usual."

"Frank said something that made me realize what you were going through.  He said that you were used to having things go your way, bending the world to your will.  I know you hate to fail.  You invested a lot in that session with your mother and then she kicked you out.  That was the ultimate failure."

Brian continued to stare into Justin's blue eyes.  He nodded slightly.

 

"Then you go outside and get hit with a car that may or may not have been a deliberate attempt to hurt you."

"To kill me."

"Maybe," Justin had to admit.  "Put those two things together and anyone would want to pack it in.  You had been dealt too big a pile of crap for anyone to handle."

"You know," Brian said slowly, "you are one smart little fucker."

 

"Are you just figuring that out now?" Justin asked with his most innocent smile.

 

Brian snorted.  "I do have a question for you though."

"Oh?  What?"

"What were you and Frank doing talking about me?"

 

Justin blushed.  Brian didn't miss a thing.  He had mentioned Frank's analysis of what was wrong with Brian.  Shit!  Now he would have to explain.

 

"I … I called Frank when you were sleeping so much.  I was scared for you.  You were giving up on everything."

"So did the two of you orchestrate that fiasco at City Hall?"  Brian's eyes bored into him demanding the truth and showing the first hints of anger.

 

"Brian, I swear I didn't know anything about what happened there.  Frank said he was going to look into some things, but even he couldn't have gathered all those people unless they wanted to be there."

Brian studied him.  "Maybe," he conceded.

 

"You know, a wise man once told me that a man has to know when to ask for help."  Brian grimaced hearing his own words parroted back at him.  "And also when to accept help."

 

"Maybe."

 

Brian began playing with Justin's balls rolling them around in his fingers and squeezing gently.  Justin groaned and could feel his cock begin to stiffen.

 

"Not again," he grinned helplessly. 

 

"Maybe," Brian said once more grinning at him.

 

"Seven's the charm?" Justin asked.

 

"Maybe."

 

That could mean that seven would finally result in a rest or that seven would be followed by eight or that seven could be followed by eight, nine, ten.  Who knew?  And who cared as Brian's mouth captured his and kissed him in that sweet, mind-blowing, sensual way that only Brian could.

 

                                                              -----

 

Justin pushed the buzzer and heard a voice ask who was there.  "Justin Taylor," he replied. 

 

"Come on up.  It's 708."

 

The buzzer indicated the door had been released.  Justin pulled it open and made his way to the elevators.  This was a pretty nice building, nicer than he had expected.  When he stepped off the elevator he saw Phydeau down the hall waiting for him.  He walked towards the man wondering what he would find inside the apartment.

 

"Hi," Justin said.

 

"Hi, glad you decided to come look at my work … I think.  C'mon in."

 

Justin stepped inside the open door.  The apartment was warm and inviting, lots of overstuffed furniture and dark wood.  There were fresh flowers arranged on the coffee table and unusual artwork on the walls.  That must be what Phydeau did.  Justin had never seen anything quite like it.

 

"This is amazing," Justin had to say.

 

"Thanks."

"Your home is lovely."

"Chuck and I have spent a long time decorating it and getting it just the way we want it."

 

"I had no idea being a bodyguard was so lucrative," Justin observed.

 

"It's not, but we like doing it."

 

"So how do you pay for all this, if you don't mind me asking?"
 

"We have some investments.  We own Meathook.  Have you ever been there?"

 

"Um … no, but I have heard of it."  It was Liberty Avenue's leather bar.

 

"Most of the time we work there, tending bar and running things, but then if we get a gig as bodyguards we have a guy who holds the fort for us."

 

"That sounds like a good arrangement," Justin observed.  There was so much more to this man than he had first thought.  He could hardly believe he had thought Chuck and Phydeau were just a couple of bears who didn't know their asses from a hole in the ground.  Now to find out they were businessmen, owners, artists, at least one of them.

 

"Is this some of your work?" Justin asked pointing to some pieces on the wall.

 

"Yeah," Phydeau said shyly.  "What do you think?"

 

Justin could tell that he wanted him to like them.  He walked over to one piece and studied it.  It was a combination of paint and leather and stuck on pieces.  Overall it was quite striking.

 

"I call that one 'Pastel Nights'."

 

"Kind of like Van Gogh's 'Starry Night'?" Justin asked.

 

"Geez, you see the similarity?" Phydeau asked in amazement.

 

"I sure do."  Justin studied the piece.  There were large swirls of paint in pastel colors.  Van Gogh's had the same type of swirls but in darker, bolder colors.  Into the thick paint was embedded a piece of what looked like one of Phydeau's dog collars, the leather and spikes clearly visible.  There were also some pieces of mirror and glass and a few nails sprinkled throughout.  It gave the piece a strange combination of gentleness and ferocity, of calm and force.  Justin was impressed.

 

He and Phydeau walked around looking at the rest of his mounted pieces.  Justin told him his thoughts about them and seemed to make a comment that pleased Phydeau each time.  Phydeau was very proud of his work, and he should be Justin told him.  They went into the second bedroom which acted as Phydeau's studio.  He had several pieces in progress all following the same combination of paint, leather and found objects.

 

On a large table was a sculpture in clay.  It was kind of an abstract bust, very intriguing.

 

"Is this yours too?" Justin asked.

 

"No, that's Chuck's.  He's the sculptor."

 

"So you're both artists?" Justin asked hardly believing what he was finding out.

 

"I think 'artists' is too grand a word for what we do, but we have sold a few pieces."

 

"I can see why.  You're both very good."

"Thanks," Phydeau said with a genuine smile covering his face.  "Would you like a soda or some coffee?"

 

"Sure," Justin agreed.

 

They sat down in the living room and Phydeau told Justin how he and Chuck had met at an art gallery.  Phydeau had got Chuck interested in the leather scene.  Gradually their relationship had progressed.  They had been living together for about five years.  Justin told Phydeau about how he and Brian had met, but he was reluctant to reveal too much.  He knew how Brian felt about his privacy.

 

"Can I ask you something, Justin?" Phydeau asked.

 

"Sure," Justin replied, but he hoped it wasn't anything too personal.

 

"Does Brian have any enemies?"

Justin was surprised.  He had expected the question to be about their relationship.  "Stockwell," Justin replied.

 

"Yeah, he's the obvious one, but I don't think the chief of police is going to openly try to kill the mayor."

 

"You're talking about the accident.  Do you know that it was deliberate?"

 

"I don't for sure, but I think it likely was.  Could Stockwell be working with someone else who's out to get the mayor?"

Justin thought about it.  "Jesus," he said suddenly.  "My father tried to kill Brian with his car once.  But it couldn't be him, could it?"

 

"Your father?"

 

"Right after Brian and I first got together, but he … he doesn't care what happens to me now.  It couldn't be him."  Justin sure hoped that was the case.

 

"Anybody else?"

 

"Brian's family, his mother and sister are less than supportive, but I can't see them being involved in anything like that."

 

"So none of those seem likely," Phydeau said thoughtfully.  "Think about it, and see if you can come up with anybody else."

"I will."

                                                               -----

 

Brian sat in his office at City Hall.  He had been royally welcomed back when he arrived that morning.  Everyone he saw had made a point of speaking to him and saying how glad they were that he had decided not to resign.

 

Geoffrey had met him at the elevator and even he had been effusive, as effusive as the man could get, about Brian's return.  Cynthia had actually hugged him, right out in front of everybody.  It was the first time she had seen him since the accident.  If Brian didn't know better he would say that there were tears in her eyes.  They were both kind of embarrassed afterwards.

 

"Happy you'll have a job for a while longer?" Brian had said to ease the emotion that neither of them liked to show.

 

She had swatted him and said, "You don't look so bad.  Are you sure you were really run over?"

He knew she meant it to be funny and to get a crack in as he answered, "Yeah, I'm sure.  I've got the bruises to prove it."  He saw her eyes fill up with tears and knew she thought he had taken her comment the wrong way.  "Want to see them?" he said with a lascivious grin and they both laughed.  Everything was fine after that.

 

Brian had been reading files and trying to get caught up.  A week off for whatever reason had put him way behind.  He rubbed his eyes and tried to concentrate.

 

Cynthia buzzed.  "There's a Carl Horvath here to see you.  He doesn't have an appointment, but he says it's important.  He's a cop," she whispered at the end.

 

Brian chuckled.  He wondered what Cynthia thought he might have done to bring a cop to his office.  "Send him in," he said.

 

Brian stood and greeted Carl.  Carl told him he was looking pretty good, not too much the worse for wear.  Brian's eye was still a little purple and orange, but it was fading and the rest of his injuries weren't visible.  They didn't hurt too much anymore.

 

"You were damn lucky," Carl stated.

 

"I know.  I probably should be dead."

"I think that was the intention."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been checking into what happened," Carl said.

 

"That's not your area of expertise, is it?"

"No, but Chuck, your driver, told me that the responding officers never even questioned him at the accident scene.  I've been keeping an eye on the case ever since."

 

"They didn't question him?" Brian asked.  That surprised even him.

 

"You might be interested to know that they responded to the fight you were in just after you got elected.  And they were on duty when that car tried to run you down before.  I don't know exactly where they were, but I bet they would have responded if you had been hit."

"Jesus Christ!" Brian responded shaking his head in disbelief.

 

"I think they've known what's going to happen before it happens."

"Then it is a conspiracy."

"It certainly looks like that."

 

"Stockwell?"

"That would be my guess, but I don't think he's working alone."

 

"Those guys that beat me up?"

"They're small potatoes, but definitely involved.  We couldn't get them to rat on anybody else."

 

"Have you found the car that hit me yet?" Brian asked.

 

"That's why I'm here.  It turned up this morning in an alley downtown.  Stolen of course."

 

"Has it been there all along?"

"The guy who called it in said it wasn't there yesterday, so somebody must have dumped it last night."

 

"Which means it's been stored somewhere all this time."

 

"Right.  I checked who owned the car and reported it stolen," Carl said.

 

"Anybody we know?"

 

"No, but the owner lives within a block of where the other car was stolen."

 

"Shit!" Brian responded.

 

"So somebody from around there must be stealing them.  Also we got a print from a pop can that had rolled under the seat of the car."

"You did?"

 

"Does the name Kip Thomas mean anything to you?"

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