Dear Brian, a queer as folk fanfic

Title: Dear Brian

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian

Rating: R

Summary: Brian has a secret admirer

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Dear Brian

Chapter One

It had been a Hell of a long week, a Hell of a long day and a frigging long year, too, if you wanted to come down to it. It was Friday night and Brian had just managed to finally approach his own front door at almost ten o'clock at night. There had been meetings all day long followed by a lunch meeting with some potential contacts he'd had to schmooze, then more meetings and all wrapped up with Vance going to dinner with clients and leaving him at the office to clean up loose ends and problems left behind by the moron twins when they left.

Fuck, he was tired.

There was a package leaning against the painted gray steel, a brown paper bag of some kind of take out—Chinese by the smell.

Justin, thank you.

He slid the heavy door open, walked through with his briefcase in one hand and the bag in the other, putting both on the counter. He was too tired to go out, Damnit, but he'd have some of the food, a shower and then just fall into bed. After all, tomorrow was another day.

Taking off his suit jacket, he opened the food. Cold noodles, beef and broccoli and steamed dumplings, all his favorites, and they were even still hot—except for the cold noodles, of course. Excellent. He'd thank the boy in the morning when he stopped by the diner, but right now all he wanted was food, and bed to sleep.

He liked this part of sort of having a boyfriend, or whatever Justin was to him at this point—a friend, certainly—he liked that someone was actually thinking about him. It was a nice feeling.

He took the food over to the couch, eating while he watched the news and weather. He'd promised to take Gus tomorrow and he wanted to see if the weather would allow a visit to the park.

Yes, clear skies for tomorrow. Setting the alarm, he turned off the lights, decided that a shower would wait until the morning, stripped off his clothes and went to bed. He was asleep by eleven thirty, content that Justin had thought of him even if he hadn't come over tonight to stay.

The next morning he was at his usual booth at the diner with the usual friends. It was a Saturday morning ritual to meet around ten there, have a late breakfast and then get on with their days. Justin came over for their usual orders carrying the coffee pots.

"Did you have to work really late last night, Brian?"

"I got home about ten or so."

"You had dinner?"

"I had takeout." Justin just nodded a 'that's nice' and filled his coffee cup without comment, playing it close to the chest with everyone around. OK, that was fine. It was no one's business, anyway. "I'm picking Gus up in a little while, you want to come with us?"

Justin brightened. "Yeah, that would be great." He looked over at Debbie, knowing he was about to ask if he could get off early, she just shook her head. "Uh, why don't you pick me up here after you get Gus, OK?"

Brian had seen the look, too. "Yes, I think that might work."

Two hours later he three of them were in Schenley Park on a perfect spring day. The sky was blue and cloudless, the temperature was warm and the flowers were blooming. Gus was running now and starting to speak partial sentences, making his wants known with the determination of a toddler.

"Daddy—push me higher!" that was the swings.

"Daddy—again!" more swinging.

"Daddy—ice cream!"

"Gus, you know how to ask."

"Daddy—ice cream, please!"

"Alright, but no telling your Mom's, OK? This is a secret, got that?"

"OK."

"Brian, he's wearing that ice cream. There's no way they're not going to know." Brian knew that, he didn't care.

They had exhausted the entertainment possibilities of the playground, as far as Brian was concerned, anyway. "Alright, Sonnyboy, where to now? Would you like to see dinosaurs?" Laughing, they heading over to the Carnegie Museum to see the stuffed Dodo and the fossils. Buying the child a tee shirt printed with glow in the dark dinosaurs, Brian took the sticky shirt off of his son, changing it for the clean one.

He wasn't completely stupid.

They wandered through the galleries and the exhibits, Gus exclaiming over this and that, pulling them both by the hand as things caught his eye. He loved the wall that showed an early horse, the one about the size of a small dog and wanted one as a pet.

He had been begging Linds and Mel for a kitten for months now, being refused until he was older. Evidently, Lindsay had read an article about kids not being old enough for pets until they were about six. This did not prevent him from begging both his father and Justin for the longed for kitten, both of them putting him off, knowing the Mother's feelings. This was something Brian wasn't going to get into with them. Unlike Justin, he didn't even like animals.

Gus loved the museum displays of very dead and somewhat dusty stuffed animals in the halls of Mammals, wishing he could take them all home and begged, when they finally left, to be able to go to the arches for a clandestine fat laden dinner.

Later, Happy Mealed—with Brian having a salad— the two men dropped the child off at home, fooling neither of the women about their day and none of them particularly caring.

"Want to hit Woody's with me tonight?" They were on their way back to Brian's for a real dinner Justin had planned on making for the two of them.

"I don't know, maybe. I have to get up early to finish a project for Monday. Maybe for a little while."

When they got back to the loft after a quick stop at the Giant Eagle, Brian carried the bag of groceries and Justin grabbed the mail. Justin still spent part of his time living at Jennifer's and tended to only stay with Brian three or four times a week—not enough for either of them, but they had both decided not to push things while their being back together was still new. They were taking it slow.

Justin made the Chicken Cordon Bleu that he knew Brian would only eat once or so a year, putting it in the oven to bake for an hour. Closing the oven door, he went over to where Brian was checking some pie graphs on the computer. Coming up behind him, sliding his hands around the older man's chest, kissing the back of his neck, Brian leaned back into the embrace, feeling the soft lips on his neck and on his shoulders where the sleeveless tee ended.

Turning, he asked "How long until dinner is ready?"

"Less than an hour."

"I think we could use a shower, you think?"

"I think. Maybe a quick one."

Taking his hand, Brian led him up to the bathroom, lifting the PIFA tee over his head then sinking gracefully to the floor, Justin's hands relieving him of his own shirt as he sank down.

Opening Justin's jeans, he slid them down the pale legs. Kissing the slightly soft planes of the boy's stomach. Justin's hands cradling his head against his abdomen. They remained like this for a minute or two before Brian left off his nuzzling and rose again, turning to the small enclosure to turn on and adjust the water.

Removing the rest of their clothing, they both stepped into the spray, closing the glass door behind them. Justin started gently stroking Brian's shoulders, his back and down to his hips, gently, carefully, sensuously, enjoying the feelings of the water running over his body and the slippery feel of Brian's skin with the thin coating of soap slicking the way, removing any friction.

Without warning, Brian's hands were on Justin's shoulders, turning him to the wall, pushing him up against it. Pressing his body close he whispered, "Do you mind? Like this?" Justin shook his head, turning his face to be kissed as Brian reached the ever-present condom wrapper in the soap holder. Hearing the foil rip and the sound of it being rolled onto Brian's cock, there were no words as he was entered.

Several quick minutes later, they were both catching their breath as Brian took the tube of shampoo, using it to gently clean Justin from his hair to his legs, rubbing every inch of him and soothing flesh that had been roughly used, unintentionally bitten and bruised. In minutes they had both finished cleansing one another and had moved on to toweling one another dry with the heated towels from the new rack Brian had decided would be a good idea last winter during the endless deep freeze the city had been caught in. Justin had to admit that they felt damn good on a cold night.

Back in the main room after their relatively brief break for relaxation, Justin busied himself with the final prep for dinner while Brian sorted through his mail. He had the bad habit of sometimes allowing it to pile up during the week and the stack was at least a foot high.

Most of it was bills and junk mail, but there were a couple of personal things that he actually wanted to read.

One was a thank you from one of last year's interns, telling him that the recommendation he had written for her, along with the call he'd placed to the head of the department was what had gotten her into the grad school she had been hoping for and she would be grateful to him all her life. Not that he'd ever admit it, but he was pleased and touched that she had taken the time to write to him. She had been a nice girl and talented, reminding him of Daphne.

There was a letter from an old co-worker, now out of work and hoping for some openings at Vanguard.

The guy was second rate, but had helped Brian early in their careers. This would be awkward. He didn't want to completely blow the guy off, but he didn't really want to give him a job, either. If he sent him elsewhere and the man screwed up, Brian would look bad.

Shit.

He'd meet with him. Maybe he'd improved.

Maybe. It could happen. Unlikely, but it could.

Crap.

The third piece of personal mail was a card. It was Hallmark and was covered with Victorian looking hearts and flowers, all pink and red and had an actual satin bow tying the painted rose stems.

On the inside were just the three words.

"I Love You."

It was unsigned.

Jesus, Justin must have been having a twat moment.

Well, damned if he was going to mention anything that twee. It would just encourage him.

"Brian? Dinner."

The rest of the weekend was relatively uneventful. They had hit Woody's after all, then gone back to Brian's for a couple of hours in bed before falling asleep. As promised, Justin had left about lunchtime to work on his assignment and Brian spent the rest of the day going over bills and doing more clean up from the previous week's screw ups.

Partner. Lot's more money, which was nice, but he was getting tired of walking behind everyone with a bucket putting out their fucking fires.

Around one in the morning he decided that he's had enough and simply shut down the computer and went to bed.

The next morning he walked back into his office after a pitch to Duquesne University who were trying to attract more and better students. It was about eleven and he was about to start returning the pile of phone messages when Cynthia poked her head in.

"Brian? These were just delivered for you." She placed a vase with two dozen red roses on his desk.

He looked at her like she was perpetuating a not very funny joke. "Who the fuck sent me these?"

"There's a card."

Of course. He took the stiff paper from its holder in the flowers, opening the small envelope. It just said, in flowing script, "I love you."

"You and Justin must have had some weekend."

"Fuck off." What was the twat thinking of? He knew that Brian hated crap like this and he didn't have money to throw away on the kind of gesture that would be guaranteed to simply annoy Brian. It had to be Justin, but he wanted to check something.

Looking at the Florists name on the gift card, he dialed the number.

"Hello? Did you just deliver roses to Brian Kinney at Vanguard?âYou did? Do you remember what the person looked like? âIt was placed over the phone?âCould you tell me the name of the person who placed the order?âWhy not?âClient confidentiality? Jesus."

Next he dialed Justin's cel. It answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Why did you send me flowers? You can't afford that kind of shit."

"...Why would I send you flowers?"

"That's what I'm asking."

"It wasn't me—did someone really send you flowers? You must have made an impression on someone, stud."

"You really didn't send them?"

"Why would I do that even if I could afford to? You hate stuff like that."

"âDid you send me a card a couple of days ago?"

"Brian, you have a secret admirer." Justin was laughing.

"Fuck you."

"Brian, this is great!" He was really laughing now.

"Later, twat."

"Later."

When he looked up, Cynthia was standing in the doorway, smiling. "You're eleven thirty is here. Mr. Glass from Pittsburgh Steel. I've put him and his people in the main conference room.

"And fuck you, too." Laughing to herself, she went back to her desk.

Hoping that maybe this would be the end of whatever was going on, Brian went to his next meeting.

After giving the pitch and taking the clients to lunch where they had said that they would think about what he had proposed and get back to him by the end of he day, he was back at his desk by three, wanting to check whatever had come in while he was away.

He hit the intercom button.

"Yes?"

"Get these fucking flowers out of my fucking office."

"What would you like me to do with them?"

Too easy. "You can take them home if you want the damn things."

He booted his computer. He had mail.

There were the usual things: invitations to various professional dinners and seminars, some things from friends here and there, a few pieces of spam, some unwanted porn crap and one with a return address he didn't recognize: Yourfanaol. Normally he'd just delete it, but something made him hit read—Hell, with that return address, it could be anything.

Dear Brian,

I'm the one who sent you the card and the roses.

The other night I knew that you were working late and when I saw that you hadn't had time for lunch and hadn't stopped anywhere to get food, I was worried that you'd be hungry, so I got you the Chinese food. Those are your favorites, right? It's what you usually order. I really had to hurry to beat you home!

When I dropped it off I was afraid that you'd see me, but I hid in the stairwell and I guess that you didn't realize that I was there. I hope not. I wouldn't want to scare you or think I'm a weirdo or anything.

You should be more careful about who the other tenants let into your building. Anyone can get in and I'd hate if anything happened to you.

I'm sending you a couple of pictures I took on Saturday, too. I thought that you'd like to have them. Gus is a beautiful kid—God, you have every right to be so proud of him. I wish I had a kid like him.

Anyway, you can stop worrying about anything from now on. I'm keeping an eye on you.

Yourfan.

He downloaded the attachment to see four pictures of them that weekend. One was of Brian pushing Gus on the swing, one of him spilling the ice cream all over himself, one as they looked at the dodo and one at McDonalds.

Holy fuck.

TBC

6/7/03

Title: Dear Brian Chapter Two

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian

Rating: R

Summary: Brian has a secret admirer

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Dear Brian

Chapter Two

"So when you found out that he'd brought the food, didn't you freak?"

"How do we know it's a 'he'?"

"Well, why would a woman be interested in you?"

Brian and Justin were sitting in Jennifer's living room after Brian had eaten dinner with the remaining three Taylor's, followed by a movie. Neither Jen nor Molly knew anything about what had happened.

"Most of my friends think that Brian is totally hot. Of course, it could be a girl." Molly walked in, obviously eavesdropping.

"How much did you hear?"

"God, Justin, I heard enough. I'm not as stupid as everyone thinks I am. Have you called the police? If this person is following you and knows where you live and where you work and knows about Gus he could really make trouble."

"Thank you, CNN."

"Screw you, Justin. What if they're really nuts? I mean, have you ever seen 'Fatal Attraction'?"

She sat down on the chair opposite the couch the men were on together, Justin using Brian's lap as a pillow.

"I called a lawyer when I got the e-mail. Unless there's an actual threat, there's nothing the police can do."

"Wow, that really sucks, Brian."

"Molly! How many times do I have to talk to you about your language?" All three jumped when Jennifer pulled Molly up short. She paused a moment. "What sucks, Brian?"

"Nothing, just some things at work right now. Long hours, you know." She knew. She'd been through that with Craig.

"It's getting late, Molly. Bed."

"It's a weekend."

"And you still have to get up in the morning. Move."

"Brian? You're coming to my soccer game tomorrow, right? Justin said that you were this really good player when you were young." Justin's snort was cut short by Brian's hand over both his mouth and nose.

"I was All-State and went to college on a partial soccer scholarship."

"So you'll come? It's really early. You could watch my game and give me pointers."

"I'll be there. So will Justin." She smiled that Sunshine smile she shared with her brother. She was going to be a knockout in a few years.

"Bed." With the reluctance familiar to any parent, she headed to the stairs, finally going up.

"Are you staying over, Brian?" The question was calm, matter of fact and the last thing either of the men would have thought could have come out of Jennifer's mouth.

"Mom?"

"Well, it's silly for him to drive all the way home when he's coming back here at eight AM."

Brian hesitated, "âJennifer, I" OK, fine, he still had mother issues.

"Oh, for God's sake. I know you two sleep together. Just keep the noise down. I'm tired myself and Molly is in the next room. And I'm waking you both up by seven so we can get there." She got up, gave them a final glance and left the room.

Damn. You've come a long way, baby.

The next morning Jen had opened the door to Justin's room quietly after listening for a moment and not hearing anything. Brian was sleeping on his back with Justin curled into him; his arm across Brian's stomach and nestled against the larger man's shoulder. They were both nude. She saw the empty condom wrapper on the floor. Closing the door, she paused a second, knocked and waited until Justin's sleepy voice mumbled "âok"

An hour later the game was in progress, Molly's team was up by two goals and their coach had asked Brian to give a fair critique of the kids playing, pointing put obvious weak spots, if he would.

To his complete surprise, he found himself having a good time. Jen seemed to find it funny that the other soccer Mom's (a term she made clear to them that she loathed) found her young lover a hunk so just smiled and accepted the jealous looks. Seeing what was happening, he leaned over and kissed her cheek to fan the flames ever so slightly, causing her to laugh and push him away. Justin spoke to old friends also watching their sibs and the morning was just fine.

During one of the lulls, Jennifer turned to him as they sat on a blanket on the sidelines. "So, what's this about you having a stalker?—I heard you all talking last night."

He glanced at her. "It's nothing, it's not even a stalker. I seem to have a secret admirer."

"Oh?"

"It's the usual thing, cards, flowers. It will die out when they get tired of me."

"What about the pictures of you with Gus and Justin? That's a bit extreme, don't you think? You were followed."

"I'm being careful, Jennifer, you don't have to worry. If you'd feel safer, Justin can just stay with you full time."

She smiled at a couple of mothers walking past who greeted her, eyeing Brian. "Aren't you at all worried?"

"Not really. I can take care of myself."

"This person knows where you live, where you work, what sort of food you eat, where you take your son on a weekend. Are you really this nonchalant?"

"What am I supposed to do? I'm not going underground and I'm not going to stop living my life."

"Jen? We're having a cookout for the kids over at Mark and Barb's after the game. You'll join us, won't you? Bring your friend and Justin." A woman with that suburban blonde hair they all seemed to have had stopped a couple of feet from their blanket.

"Janet, I'd love to, but I think Brian and Justin have plans for the day." She turned to him. "Didn't you say something about being busy later?"

He just nodded.

Jennifer remembered herself. "Oh, I'm sorry, Janet DiAnni, this is Brian Kinney, Brian, Janet."

"It's nice to meet you Brian." They shook hands. "You didn't waste anytime, Jen. I heard that Craig had a new girlfriend, no reason for you to sit on the shelf."

"She's still on the shelf, I'm with Justin."

Smile frozen, Janet excused herself to issue more invitations.

"There goes your status with the frigid women of suburbia."

"Why, Jennifer—you surprise me sometimes." He was smiling.

The game ended with Molly's team up by three goals, Brian gave his comments—they were good on defense, but their passing skills were for shit and they needed drills on blocking to the admiring looks of twenty adolescent girls. He then demonstrated what he meant, singling out Molly as his partner and making her day.

Walking back to the car, Justin teased him about his new conquests. Getting in the driver's side, Brian stopped him from opening the passenger door.

"I think your mother would like you to spend some time with them."

"We were going to do stuff today—remember?"

"I have a lot of shit I have to finish for work. I'll talk to you later."

"âMy mother is worried about the stalker, isn't she?"

"She wants you safe. So do I. I'll call you later." Starting the engine, he left.

An hour later, after a couple of stops, he pulled his car into his usual parking place, punched in the code and took the elevator up to the loft, relieved when he saw nothing left at his door.

Going in he checked the answering machine—twelve calls. Three from Michael, two from Justin worried that he got home safely, one from his cunt sister which he deleted without listening to and one each from Lindsay, Emmett, Molly, her coach, Jennifer, Reverend Tom and Vance.

He didn't bother to return any of them just yet.

Going to his computer he booted up and was informed that he had mail.

He scrolled through the usual crap that he would probably just delete until he came to the one he was afraid would be there: Yourfanaol.

Shit. He hadn't wanted to let on to the others, but this wasn't the kind of thing he found entertaining. He hated being watched—more so than most people did. That was why he chose to live alone, why he didn't file a flight plan with people. He liked to come and go and come at will on his schedule and it was no one's fucking business.

Well, shit. He hit 'read'. It was dated today, about forty-five minutes ago.

Dera Brian,

Did you like the flowers I sent you? I hope that you don't mind that I sent them to your office, but I was afraid that if they delivered them to your home you wouldn't get them and they might die.

I was picturing how pretty they would look on your desk or maybe on the coffee table by your white couch in your loft. I hope you like them.

You are just so terrific with those kids this morning. I was really enjoying watching you out there on the field, the way you move. You're beautiful, of course, but you're also the most graceful man I've ever seen—and the looks on their faces—priceless! You looked so great in those jeans and that light blue shirt really shows off what a great body you have.

They all want to grow up to marry you and their mothers (those cunts) all want a piece of you first.

But they can't have you, we both know that.

Oh, and I took some more pictures—you look so relaxed. I hope that you like them.

I was thinking that you'd look so great on a beach, just lying on a blanket on the sand. That's what I was thinking of this morning—you with no bathing suit and just getting as tan as anything on some perfect beach somewhere. Wouldn't that be great?

I saw you with Justin. I saw the way you put your hands on him and the way he looks at you. It almost made me puke.

God, Brian, I'd never criticize you, you know that, but he's not the right person for you to be with. I know that he's sort of cute and all, but he was mean to you and hurt you and now he's just pretending that he likes you and I'm just so afraid that he'll hurt you again.

I couldn't stand it if he did. I hated when he did that the last time at the Rage party and I was just so mad at him. I almost said something to him, but after going home and calming down, I didn't, but maybe I should have.

I was so worried about you after he was so mean to you. You looked so sad and that made me sad, too. I wanted to write you a letter then, to try to make you feel better, but I thought you would wonder who I was and what I wanted from you.

Honest, Brian. I don't want anything from you. Everyone wants things from you—Justin and Lindsay and Michael and all the others, but I don't. All I want is that you're as happy as you deserve to be.

You're such a good person and you've had so many sad things happen to you.

I know that your parents and your sister were mean to you and sometimes even Debbie isn't too nice, even though I think she likes you a lot. Michael is always wanting things from you and so are Lindsay and Melanie.

The one who always wants the most is Justin—he's so spoiled. He wants you all the time. He wants to live with you and you pay his tuition and you buy him clothes and things. Most of all you give him you. You give him your time and your attention and you let him have your body to use. I've seen you two at Babylon and it used to make me glad that you looked like you were happy with him. I'd see you two dancing and talking and sometimes I'd follow when you went into the back room with him and I'd watch you fuck him against a wall or something. You looked happy then.

But then that little bitch left with that slimy guy and you looked so sad. I wanted to walk over and give you a hug so that you'd know that someone cared about you, but I got scared that you wouldn't like it if I did that, so I just watched you looking sad.

When I went home that night I cried.

I was so worried about you.

Then when you decided to let Justin have another chance—I wasn't surprised because you're such a good person and you would never hurt someone—I was real concerned that he was trying to use you and that you'd get hurt again.

I'm still afraid of that and if he does hurt you, I'll be really upset.

I hope that we can be friends.

Yourfan

The door buzzer rang, he jumped about three feet. Shit.

Walking over, he pressed the button. "Yes?"

"Kinney? I have a delivery."

"I didn't order anything."

"Whatever. If you're Brian Kinney, I have a package for you."

"Where from?"

"Rive Gauche—you know, Yves St. Laurent."

"Yeah, I know. Fine. Top floor." He pressed the door release. The guy came up, handed him a wrapped box, thanked him for the tip and left.

He opened the gift card taped to the top. "I thought that this would look perfect on you. Yourfan"

Lifting the lid, he found an exquisite shirt in a rich dark sapphire. It was made of the softest silk Brian had ever felt and flowed like mercury as it moved. It was incredible.

He was still looking at it when the metallic voice told him that he had mail. He went to look: Yourfanaol.

He hit 'read'.

Dear Brian,

I really hope that you like the shirt. I know you just got it. Maybe you could wear it the next time you go to Babylon? You'd look hot.

Yourfan.

He was still holding the shirt when the phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Justin.

"Yeah?"

"Brian? Can you come over here?" He sounded like he was almost in tears. He could hear Jennifer in the background saying something about how they had to call the police.

"Justin? What's going on?"

"There was a box on the front steps when we got home. It wasâpretty bad."

TBC

6/8/03

Dear Brian

Chapter Three

He pulled up to the condo half an hour later. Justin was waiting for him.

"Mom is freaked. We got back and there was a box, a shoe box on the front steps with my name on it. It was all neatly wrapped and looked like something pretty legitimate."

"But with what's going on, why the fuck did you open the thing?"

"It had a PIFA return address label. I told you, it looked OK."

"âTell me what was in it."

Justin got up from the step he'd been sitting on. "It's inside."

It was sitting on the kitchen counter. The box was open and there was a smear of red where some of the contents had been removed, spread on the countertop. The box itself was lined in plastic so it hadn't dripped or soaked through.

There were pictures, dozens of pictures of Justin. There were pictures of him at school, waiting for a bus, at the diner, coming out of Brian's building, out of Vanguard. There were snaps of him at Woody's and Babylon and during the last PRIDE parade. There were pictures of him with Gus in a playground and sitting in the park on a nice day. There were pictures of him at his mother's, sitting in her backyard reading a book and a shot of him driving her car.

Some of them went back at least a year and a half; a couple of them had been taken that morning at Molly's soccer game.

The pictures were all in full color and were all large; at least 5x7 and a number of them were 8x10. They were both close-ups and long shots. There was a tremendous variety with the one constant being that all of them were candids.

In each picture he was alone except for the few pictures that had caught him with Ethan or Gus. In each one he was the obvious focus of interest.

Every single one of them was cut, slashed or torn. In each case Justin's figure or face was disfigured. They were all covered in what looked and smelled like real blood, although whether it was animal or human, they had no idea.

Brian looked though them. Jesus.

"Was there any note or anything?"

Justin listened at the doorway to make sure they were alone. He heard his mother upstairs. "Yeah, my Mom doesn't know." He handed the paper over. It was a standard printout from a word processor. No handwriting.

There were only three words. "Watch your ass."

"Did you call the cops?"

"My Mom called Carl Horvath. He said he'd be over in about an hour."

Brian nodded. "Good." Opening his arms, he held Justin, felt the smaller man's arms close around his waist.

"Brian, did you hear anything more from the guy?" Justin's color was heightened; he had reason to be upset. Shit.

"Just a couple of e-mails, nothing to worry about."

"Mom doesn't want me going to class tomorrow. She wants to move both Molly and me to our grandparents on Long Island until this is over. She's ready to pack the car right now."

"Maybe you should."

"I won't leave you here. What if something happens to piss this guy off? What if he gets mad at you?"

"He won't. I'll be fine. He sees you as the threat, not me."

"This is just so fucked."

"Yeah."

About forty-five minutes later Horvath was sitting in the living room, Jennifer pouring coffee.

"You have no idea who might have send these things to you?" Justin shook his head. "Brian?"

"I don't know." He looked at one of the pictures, picking it up from the table, staring at it. "Would this note qualify as a threat?" He had waited until Jennifer had left to get the cream before asking.

"It's only an implied threat, not a direct one. Close, but no cigar." He sipped his coffee, black. "Brian, you said that you've received some e-mails and things over at your place? Could we go over there so that I could take a look for myself?"

"Sure, if you want to, but I can access the e-mail through to Justin's computer upstairs."

"I'd like to see the shirt, too. Do you mind?" Obviously he wanted to get out of Justin's house.

"Do you think I should sent the children to their grandparents, Carl?" Jennifer was carrying the cream as she sat down.

"I don't think that's necessary right now. I don't think that either you or your daughter are in any danger. This seems to be centered mostly around Brian and only involves Justin because of their friendship."

"Well, maybe Justin should go, then"

"I'll tell you what. I'll go over to Brian's, take a look at what he's gotten and see if I think that would be a good idea. There's no point in overreacting."

"Overreacting? My God!" Her face was a mask of disbelief. "Have you really looked at those horrible things? Have you?" She was shaking. "Some of those pictures were taken in my backyard—right here! I'm absolutely terrified for him."

"If you'd like, I can have a car stationed out front tonight."

"Yes, please."

He got up to make a phone call, returning a couple of minutes later. "They'll be here in a few minutes. Brian?"

"Yes, I'm ready. You can follow me back." Justin put his arms around the larger man.

"Be careful?"

"Of course. I'll call you later." Justin nodded. They kissed a couple of times, the others averting their eyes, before Brian and Horvath made their way out to their cars.

"You really care about that kid?"

He hesitated a moment before answering. "Yes."

"Then stay away from him until this gets sorted out. Meet me at your place. I'll be right behind you." Brian nodded to both requests.

Half an hour later they were sliding the elevator gate up on Brian's floor. In front of his door were two packages. One was from the local Japanese place Brian liked; the other was a carrier bag with Gucci on it. With a look at Horvath, they took the bags in with them.

"You like sushi and vegetable tempura with teriyaki chicken?"

"That's what I usually order from that place."

"What's in the bag?" Brian was over by the dining room table, his back to Horvath.

"It's a jacket I was looking at last week. I decided not to get it." Carl put his hand on the sleeve, it was butter soft leather and fabulous. The price tag, which had been removed, had to have been a month's pay for him.

"So he's feeding you and dressing you. The man wants to take care of you, it seems. You mind if I take a look at those e-mails?"

Brian crossed over to the computer station. "I printed them out." He handed them over then rebooted the machine. He had mail.

Dear Brian,

I hope that you liked the shirt, but you never answered my e-mail to you so I don't know if you did or not.

You know I'd never criticize you, but I went to a lot of trouble to get something that you'd like and you never even told me if you even got it. In fact, I was starting to get angry with you (like I ever thought that would even be possible!) but then I realized that you're really, really busy and even though I like you a lot, you don't know that I don't want anything from you and so it had to have been pretty weird for you.

I'm really sorry that you might have thought that I'm some crazy person or something. Honestly, I'm not, I just like trying to make you happy.

I don't think that there are too many people who care if you're happy or not and I just think that's terrible because you're such a good person.

Justin doesn't try to make you happy. He just likes to see how much he can get out of you. I know that you're such a good person that's hard for you to believe, but some people are like that.

I was getting upset with you when that twat called you and you went running over to see what his problem was this time, like you always do.

I mean, can't he deal with anything himself without whining to you?

Of course you'd go over to see if you could help because that's how nice you are, but he shouldn't always make you fix everything for him.

I just wish that he'd leave you along, I really do. I was so happy when he left you—oh, that's not what I meant, please don't get mad at me. I mean I was happy when he wasn't bothering you anymore. You should be with someone who can take care of themselves and who wants to take care of you instead of you always having to be the one everyone leans on.

You must get really tired of that.

I bet there are days when you'd like to just come home and know that someone else has taken care of all the stupid things like the laundry and cooking dinner and making sure there's gas in the car.

You shouldn't have to deal with things like that. You know, like you have Cynthia at your office to do things like that for you.

If you ever need someone to help out, just let me know.

Oh. I hope you like the jacket. I know you were looking at it on Thursday, but then you looked at the price tag and kind of thought about it and then didn't buy it. I hope you're not mad that I got it for you. It looks really good on you, like it was made for you and I just really wanted you to have it.

Yourfan

"How much was it?"

"Three thousand and change."

"Shit, I've had cars that cost less."

Brian smiled. "So have I."

The phone rang, Carl told him to check the caller ID. Yeah, no shit.

"Bri?"

"Lindsay."

Her voice was tight, like she was pissed but determined to keep her temper, at least for now. "Gus would like to thank you."

"For what?"

"For the cute little fluffy kitten you had delivered this afternoon. Mel and I would like to thank you, too, Bri. Here's Gus."

"Daddy—thank you! Thank you. I love him!"

"That's great, Sonnyboy—what are you going to name him?"

"Brian!"

"That's a great name for a tom cat. I'm glad that you like him, Gus—put your Mom on, OK?"

"âK."

"Lindsay, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"He's cute, he's got fur and your son has already bonded with him, so we have a cat. I really wish you had discussed this with me first, Brian. You said you wouldn't get the thing and then you went behind our backs and did it anyway."

"Look, Linds, it's not what you think"

"Well, at least you had the courtesy to include the food and the litter box and the money for the shots and getting the thing fixed."

"Lindsay, I wasn't"

"Save it, Bri. Gus is happy. I may kill you, but Gus is thrilled. Thanks a lot. Bye."

Brian hung up the receiver.

"You didn't send your son a kitten, I take it?"

"You got it."

"You've got yourself a problem."

"Yeah, no shit. So what do I do about it?"

Carl held up the e-mails. "You care if I take these?" Brian shook his head. He could print out more. "You have any idea at all who might be doing this? A former boyfriend? Someone with a crush? One of your old tricks? A co-worker?"

Brian just shrugged.

"Obviously it's someone who's been around you for a while. How long did those pictures of Justin go back?"

"Some of them were almost two years old."

"And this guy knows your work schedule, your weekend schedule, your regular food places, your favorite shopping places. My suggestion is that you change your regular schedule. If you usually go to the gym at ten, go at three, or change gyms. That sort of thing."

"What about Justin? Is he in any danger?"

Horvath gave Brian a steady look. "He might be. This guy—and I think it's a male because of the references to Babylon—is jealous of Justin. He's made that clear and he's warned him to stay away from you. You might want to limit your contact with him for now."

"Shit." He started to walk Carl to the door. "You think this guy could become dangerous?"

They paused at the slider. "Look, Brian, this nut thinks he's in love with his image of you—you're fucking perfect. As long as you stay that way you'll be fine, but as soon as you do something that disappoints him—which you will—he might get mad."

"And then I'll have a bigger problem."

"And then, if he's crazy enough, you might have a very large problem."

Title: Dear Brian Chapter Four

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian

Rating: R

Summary: Brian has a secret admirer

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Dear Brian

Chapter Four

"Justin, I think it would be a good idea if you went to see your grandparents for a week or two."

"Jesus, Brian, what the fuck would that accomplish other than to make this guy think he's won?"

"It'll keep you safe and give me some breathing space." They were lying in Brian's bed together, it was three o'clock Saturday morning and neither of them was anywhere close to sleep.

The presents and cards and e-mails had continued through the week: More flowers had been delivered to Brian's office on an almost daily basis, there had been food waiting for him every night when he arrived home, no matter what time it was, more clothing and then CD's were delivered.

He had asked Horvath if someone could be stationed near his door to see who was leaving the food. An officer was assigned. He saw a delivery boy from the local Chinese place. The kid was in no way considered a possible suspect. The same pattern repeated every night an officer was there. The only ones to leave food were actual delivery people; the same went for the flowers and the clothing.

Next they tried to trace the gifts, tried to find out who ordered them.

There was no trail of credit cards or checks. Everything was paid for with cash.

Next they tried to question the clerks, asking if they remembered who had been in, as none of the orders were placed over the phone except for the first delivery of flowers. That had been done over the phone and followed by an envelope with cash to pay the bill.

Each clerk had a distinct memory of the man (and yes, it was a man) who had ordered the various things. He was tall and thin, with blondish hair and a moustache. He was medium height and balding, though young. He was a light skinned black. He was Hispanic. He had an accent. He had no accent. He was well dressed in a suit. He wore jeans with holes in the knees. He was about twenty. He was around thirty.

The all agreed only that he was soft spoken and polite.

Horvath thought that he might be some sort of actor or performer to have some expertise in makeup and disguise.

He admitted that he was guessing.

They had the blood that had been in the box analyzed. It was from a pig.

"Brian? If they don't have any idea, what makes anyone think that my going away for a couple of weeks will make any difference?"

He was right and Brian knew that, but—it would make him feel better knowing that Justin was away.

"It's not like he's won." Of course it was. He knew that. "It's one less thing for me to be concerned about. If I know you're safe, I can concentrate on trying to end this."

"How am I supposed to go away with this hanging over you?" He rolled off of his back up on top of Brian, looking down at his face.

Brian kissed him, his arms coming up around his back. He pulled Justin's face down into the hollow of his neck, "Because I want you safe. I want you around for a long time."

He didn't tell Justin that the last few e-mails had been more disturbing than the earlier ones had been. He had printed them out then hit delete so there would no chance of Justin coming across them by accident. He had turned them over to Horvath who had just shaken his head and suggested that Justin lay low for a while.

He had read, in part:

"That blond cunt. He was hanging around again. I really wish that you'd just tell him to fuck off when he does that, but you're too nice for that and so he just keeps hanging around you and intruding on your time and your generosity.

I rally hate the way he jerks you around. I mean, I saw you both at Woody's the other night and you were playing pool. He put his cock right in front of the corner pocket so you couldn't shoot and then when you asked him to move he just turned around so that his ass was there instead. You laughed, but I could see that you were really annoyed and all you wanted to do was make the shot.

He is such a fucking baby. I wish that you'd tell him what you really think of him so that he'd go away and leave you alone.

It was all I could do not to walk right over there and tell him where he could fucking stick it if he wanted to, but I didn't want to upset you.

You could do so much better than him. If you weren't such a nice person, you'd have told him to go away by now.

He's such a stupid twat. He thinks that he's funny and that you really like him.

He makes me sick."

Another had included:

"I really hope that Gus likes his kitten. I heard that he named it after you and I want you to know that it's good that he thinks that it's from you instead of from someone he doesn't really know.

I know that you really wanted to give him that little thing because it would make him so happy, but that you didn't want to get into a fight with those cunts who are raising him.

Well, OK, Lindsay is alright, but Melanie is a complete bitch and I hate her. I wish that she didn't have anything to do with our boy.

I'm really happy that he looks like you. He'll be a beauty, just like you when he grows up.

Even if that bitch cunt is with him all the time, he still gets to see you, so your goodness can still rub off on him.

I just really wish she wasn't around.

Sometimes I daydream about how maybe we could pick him up from school together or how maybe sometime we could take him down to Disney together. I bet he'd love that.

Wouldn't it be great if we could both see him off to his first dance together?"

Brian had asked Horvath why they couldn't trace the guy with e-mail. They had tried that. The police had tried Reverse I.P tracking, but it had yielded nothing. He changed computers and accounts and the address provided was fake. He had used terminals at cyber cafes, a different machine or café each time. The home address he had provided turned out to be a burned out house in one of the Pittsburgh suburbs.

Yesterday he had written:

"Why the fuck do you let Michael whine to you the way he does? Fuck me, he can't even take a piss without calling you first.

How many times a day does he call you? Five? Ten?

I wish he'd just fucking grow up. He's always hanging around you. Even though he lives with Ben, he still wants you to do everything for him like you were his nanny or something.

Maybe he'll get AIDS and that will take care of that."

"I'd rather stay here. I'm worried about you, too, Brian. If I stay, he won't do anything. I'll really be OK."

Brian looked up from where he was suckling Justin's left nipple. "You know your mother wants you at your grandparents. She'll be less upset if you're there."

"If he makes us change our lives, he's won. You said that yourself."

"There's a difference between standing up for yourself and being foolhardy. Stop being a twat and go visit Grandma." He started on the right, gently pulling the gold ring. "You know, I think that for your next birthday I may get you a new ringâor maybe just a diamond."

"Yeah, right. There's no guarantee that the police will catch him in a couple of weeks. I might be going away for nothing."

The same thing had crossed Brian's mind more than once. "You know Horvath said that they think they're narrowing it down. If he thinks he's cornered, he might get upset. I want you safe. I told you that."

"What about you?"

"He's not going to hurt me. He thinks that he's in love with me." His tongue was now in Justin's naval.

Justin's hands were in Brian's hair. "Stop." Brian laughed, almost silently. "No, I mean it, stop." He pulled Brian's head up, started pulling on his shoulders, forcing his body back up to where they were face to face. "I've been looking up stalkers. This guy could become really dangerous. Right now you're on this big pedestal that he's put you on, but if you do or say the wrong thing you'll really upset him and then he could become really dangerous—he might want to punish you and that could mean almost anything from just leaving you along to killing you."

"Drama queen." Brian started kissing him again. In fact he had been discussing the same thing with Horvath just the day before. Horvath had done his homework.

The stalker was what was called a delusional stalker, likely suffering from erotomania—considered one of the major mental illnesses, right up there with schizophrenia or manic depression. It was where the stalker is under the delusion that the victim really loves him and would also likely include the belief that they're actually destined to be together. He was probably in the category of stalkers who believed that, although they weren't currently in a relationship, it was just a matter of time, that it was inevitable. All he had to do was pursue Brian long enough and they would be together. It was virtually preordained.

Horvath had Brian talk with the police psychologists. They had explained that the stalker was likely someone from a back ground that was either abusive or severely emotionally barren. This, together with a probable tendency towards psychosis would make him want to merge with someone he would perceive as being of a higher status. Brian, as a successful partner of a large company would fit that bill—along with his high social status in the gay community.

The shrink had told him that it was imperative that he have no contact with the stalker—it would only encourage him. The only possible contact allowed would be for Brian to tell the man—as firmly as possible—that the relationship is over. He shouldn't try to be nice to him or feel sorry for him ("Fat fucking chance", was Brian's thought to that.)

He was also giving the depressing news that delusional stalkers lasted an average of ten years.

He was strongly advised to accept nothing from the stalker, to return all gifts, to make sure that he knew the food would be thrown away, the flowers given to a hospital.

He was also told not to do anything at all until a threat management expert did a risk assessment.

Fuck.

"Brian—stop. I have all this stuff I found about it. You have to read it—it's really scary."

Yeah, no shit.

"Justin—just do this for me, OK? Go to your fucking grandparents and I'll call you."

"I want to be with you—what is going away for a couple of weeks going to accomplish? How do you know that you'll catch him then?"

"I don't, but I want you safe and I won't be able to concentrate if I'm worried about you. You know that."

"But I'll be fine"

"Please." Justin had never heard that particular note in Brian's voice before. He was really afraid for him.

"âAlright. I'll call me grandparents in the morning."

"Good." They slept with their arms around one another, drawing enough calmness from one another to rest.

The next morning they were over at Jennifer's condo packing up what Justin would need to make it through an extended stay. They had called PIFA, explaining the situation and asking for a leave of absence. Horvath had also called, adding his opinion that it was the prudent thing to do. The leave was granted, all projects due for the next month or so given extensions. They would miss him; he should please take care of himself.

They packed the clothes and the art supplies into the car, filling the trunk and the back seat.

Brian had offered the loan of his car, knowing it was more reliable than the used one Justin drove. He had been refused. He had offered to share the driving then fly back, he had been refused.

They had called the grandparents, living in a small town on Long Island about forty-five minutes from New York City, telling them when they could expect his arrival. The three hundred and fifty or so miles would take about seven hours, more or less.

After they had all finished the farewell hamburgers, they walked Justin out to the car.

Molly saw it first.

"Holy shit."

"Molly!" Jennifer was about to send her up to her room when she saw it herself. "Oh my God."

All four tires had been slashed and shredded. Spray painted on the side of the car were the familiar words, "Watch your ass."

It was late morning on a weekday. None of the neighbors were home. No one saw anything.

Taking two suitcases out of the truck, Brian drove Justin to the airport, personally putting him on the next flight to New York.

Returning to Jen's condo, he had dealt with the tow truck and the hysterical woman. Horvath had arrived, promising a police watch that night, although with Justin gone, there was really no need.

Brian went back to the loft, also under escort. Starting the computer he learned, again, that he had mail.

Dear Brian,

I saw the blond cunt leave and I was really glad.

I know, you still sort of like him, but I really wish that you'd understand that he's just not what he looks like. I know he looks so pure and all of that, but he's really a lying little shit and I wish that you would stay away from him.

Please don't be mad at me. I didn't mean it like that. I know you liked him a lot and now you're being nice to him, but he's just not good enough for you and it hurts me to see him hanging on you the way he does.

I know that sounds mean and you would never be like that, but it's what I think and I hope that you'll still like me a little bit.

I was really sad when I found out that you had returned all of the presents that I got you and when I first found out, I was at home and I cried.

After I'd had some time to think about it, though, I realized that you're such a good person that you would never take anything from someone and besides, you're so beautiful, you would never wear anything that you hadn't picked out yourself.

I hope that you aren't really mad at me for getting you those things.

I guess that you're such a giving person that you're not comfortable when someone gives something to you.

I know that when the twat gives you a painting or a drawing you always hang it up either in your loft or in your office and that you just do it because you're so nice and you would never want to hurt someone's feelings.

I just wish that you could see that he's not good for you and that he's going to hurt you again.

I mean, I know he's sort of cute and all I hear that he gives really good blow jobs, but I didn't think he was all that good and I'm better than he is.

I really hope that we can become friends.

I think that we could be really happy together.

If I send you another present, would you maybe keep it and wear it to Babylon so that I could see you in it?

Please?

Yourfan"

Brian sent the e-mail to Horvath. As soon as he'd had a chance to read it, he called.

"Hey Brian, I think you might have yourself a problem here."

"No shit. Tell me something I don't know."

"No, you're not getting me. I talked to the shrink. You're starting to slip off your pedestal. Watch what you do."

TBC

6/9/03

Title: Dear Brian Chapter Five

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian

Rating: R

Summary: Brian has a secret admirer

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Please note: Although the Tiffany stores listed do actually exist, I've no idea where their main workshop is. I've decided to place it in New York at their flagship store, just because I can and because my sweet old Great Uncle Fred used to get his Christmas presents for his wife there—custom made. If you know it's somewhere else (their corporate offices are in New Jersey), drop me a line.

Dear Brian

Chapter Five

"Dear Brian,

I know that you'd never do anything to hurt someone, so I'm just trying to understand why you're acting the way that you are. I've been trying and trying to find things that would make you happy—I know that you loved that jacket you were looking at in Gucci's and that shirt from Yves would look fabulous on you—I've been getting all the food that you like and the flowers, I picked them out my self.

I thought that they would make you happy.

That's all I wanted to do for you, to make you happy.

Justin the twat never gave you anything and Mikey never sent you flowers,

Ever when your father died and you were really sad, even though you wouldn't let anyone know how upset you were, the others never sent you flowers.

Did you like the ones I sent? They were the yellow rose casket blanket.

At first I thought that was a little forward, sending the casket flowers since usually the family does that, but I thought that for the man who was your father, he should have the best.

Then I thought that maybe the reason that you're returning everything is that you're afraid that I can't afford it and that it might be a hardship to me.

Brian—I promise you, it's not a problem. I mean, I don't like to brag, but I've got lot's more money than you do, so don't worry, OK?

I want you to have these things.

It makes me happy to get things for you and to think how nice you'll look wearing them or that you can walk into your loft and see beautiful things like the orchids I sent you yesterday.

When I saw the plant in the garbage I almost ran right up your stairs and yelled at you, but I understood that a lot of people think that orchids are sexual and that you might not be comfortable with that, so I didn't.

I'm really glad that you sent the cunt away.

I know that you'll be mad, but I was hoping that his plane would crash. He's such a user and I hate what he does to you. I hope that he never comes back.

Maybe with him gone you might like to have dinner with me? I'd love that.

Just being with you, sitting a t a table with you would make me so proud.

Yourfan"

After speaking with the Threat Management person for PPD, Brian was advised that this would be a good time to try a direct rejection to the man. He was told to be firm, even blunt. The e-mail he sent was vetted by the police psychologist who thought that it was about what they would suggest. He was told not to expect it to make much of an impression.

He wrote;

"We have no relationship.

We have never had a relationship nor do I desire a relationship with you.

Anything you send me will either be returned or discarded. I will accept nothing from you.

You are to stop all contact with me at once.

I will read no more e-mails from you. They will be forwarded to the police.

Do not contact me again.

Brian Kinney."

Brian hit send. Within five minutes he had a reply.

"Dear Brian,

I know that you sent that nasty note to me because you're just overwhelmed that someone wants to be nice to you.

You're such a giving person that it's hard fro you to accept that someone wants to give to you, but I do. I really do.

I want you to have beautiful things and to have wonderful things around you. I want you to never have to worry about anything. I want to take care of you.

Please understand that I love you and want to be able to be with you.

Could I come over so that we can discuss this?

Yourfan."

Under advisement from the police, Brian did not answer.

Two hours later there was another e-mail.

Dear Brian,

I know that you're home. Please answer me.

Yourfan"

He remained silent, when the phone rang, he checked caller ID before answering.

Justin.

"I'm here, Brian. My grandfather picked me up at the airport with no problem and I'm fine. What's going on there?"

"Nothing. It's quiet."

"Bullshit. What's really going on?"

"I told you, nothing. It's quiet here today."

"Well—good."

"So what are you going to do while you're there?"

"Hit the museums, see a couple of shows. You know, the usual."

"Sounds good. How are your grandparents?"

"They're good—fineâ. Brian, what's really going on there? Are you really OK?"

"I'm sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer. Mikey came over with some dinner a little while ago. I'm fine, Justin, don't worry about me. You'll hear if something happens."

"You promise that you'll call?"

"I said that I would. Now fuck off and let me eat my dinner."

"OK. Be careful, Brian."

"I'm fine. Later."

He had mail.

"Dera Brian,

I know that you're home. I saw Michael go in a couple of hours ago with that crappy chicken that he always brings over when he thinks you're upset.

I wish that you wouldn't eat that shit. It's not good for you and I'm afraid that it might make you sick.

I couldn't stand that.

Please take care of yourself.

I'm going to send you something that I got for you today. I hope tat you like it.

Please keep it.

I had it made especially for you and t wasn't ready until this afternoon. I designed it myself.

Please don't be mad at me.

I saw you today when you went to work. I know you like that light gray suit, but it doesn't look as good on you as the navy blue one does. I love how that looks on you.

Would you please wear that tomorrow for me? You look especially handsome in that.

Yourfan."

"You're not going to wear that suit tomorrow, are you?" Michael was finishing off the last chicken leg. They both had an adolescent weakness for the Colonel they would both deny with their dying breaths. It was one they rarely indulged.

"I couldn't if I wanted to. It's still at the cleaners."

"Good."

They settled in with more beer to watch a DVD of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Sean Connery was fucking hot, even if he was old and bald. That fucking accent would melt anyone's sporran. About half way through the film, just as they're getting out of the Nazi's flaming fireplace, the frigging intercom buzzes.

With a at look at each other, Michael went to answer it.

"Yes?"

Nothing.

"Someone there?"

Nothing.

"You want something, asshole?"

Nothing. Fine, fuck'em.

Just as he was turning to go back to Sean and Harrison he heard a light knock on the steel door. Another glance at Brian, and he slid the door open.

Hanging on the elevator gate was the blue suit, still wrapped in Dry Cleaner's plastic, swaying slightly as though someone had just walked past it. Looped over the hanger was a small carrier bag from Tiffany's. No one was there, Brian ran to the windows, looking down at the street to see the figure of a man in a long coat running away. It was dark; all he could make out was a vague shape. Any sort of identification was impossible.

"Shit." Michael brought the suit in, hanging it on one of the lower rafters. He handed Brian the blue bag.

Inside was a matching blue box, tied with the white satin ribbon. Inside of that was a black velvet jewelry gift box, a small one. Opening the hinged lid he saw the ring. It was wide and gold with small diamonds arranged around the centerline at small intervals, small glittering dots in the gold. On the inner surface was the inscription "You are perfection".

Trying it on, Brian found a perfect fit.

He even knew his ring size. Shit.

He removed the ring, replacing it back where he'd gotten it.

He had mail.

"Dear Brian,

I hope that you'll wear this for me, just as a token of out friendship.

I love you.

Yourfan"

Goddamnit.

The next morning he made a couple of phone calls and found out that there was no Tiffany's in Pittsburgh, the nearest ones would be in either New York, Philadelphia or King of Prussia. Shit. So which store would have information about what was probably a special order? It could have been ordered out of any of the locations, but would have been likely made in the main workrooms in New York City. Perhaps they could make a call for him? Yes, thank you.

Oh, and he could return the item to any store, no problem.

Horvath wanted the ring as possible evidence. He handed it over.

Going to work that day, he made a point of wearing the light gray suit the stalker didn't like.

He called Justin before he got involved with the day, before the meetings and the calls started.

"Hey."

"Hey, you doing alright out there? Keeping busy?"

"I'm good. I'm going into the Whitney today. There's a Whistler show I wanted to see then I might head up to the Met."

"Sounds like more fun than my day."

"Brian? Problems?"

"No, no—just Thursday. You know."

"Did you hear from him?"

"Nothing serious. Horvath has some leads he's checking. I think this will be over pretty soon now. Don't worry about it."

"Of course I'm fucking worried."

"We have a couple of leads. It's going to break soon."

"Has he threatened you?"

"He's still sending me presents. I'm fine. I told you not to worry."

"Can I come home?"

"Not yet—I'll let you know when. OK?"

"âYeah. Brian? Be careful?"

"Of courseâI was thinking that I might fly to New York to visit you this weekend, get away for a couple of days. Would that be alright?"

"God! Yes—come, please."

"I'll call you with the details. Later."

He logged the computer in. He had mail.

Dear Brian,

I told you that I don't like that suit on you. I was hoping that you'd wear the blue suit. I made a special trip to pick it up for you and drop it off at your place and then you didn't wear it.

You're not wearing the ring, either. I know that it fits, I know that it's the right size, so don't lie to me and say that it's too tight or something.

I know that you're trying to find out my name and that you have the fucking police trying to track me down.

They're trying to track me down like I'm a fucking criminal or something.

I told you that I love you.

Is this how you treat people who love you?

You don't treat the twat like this. You fucking worry about the cunt.

You don't worry about me.

I worry about you all the time. I worry that you're not eating right or that you're working too hard or that Cuntboy is using you and that you're spending too much of your money on him, but you don't seem to give a shit that I spend all this time worrying about you.

This isn't right. I think that the cunt had been talking to you about me. I think that he's poisoned you against me. I want his ass to stay the fuck away from you so that you can get out from under his fucking spoiled WASP princess crap.

I asked you to have dinner with me. I said that I wanted us to be friends and you're being rude.

I fucking hate rude people.

Did you think I was just going to go away?

I told you that I love you. I know that you love me, too.

You told me.

You remember that. The night we made love you said it.

I'm not just some Goddamned trick. I love you and you love me.

You wouldn't have done the things you did to me if you didn't love me. I wouldn't have let you do them if I didn't love you so stop playing these stupid games.

I don't like being jerked around.

Yourfan"

TBC

6/10/03

Title: Dear Brian Chapter Six

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian

Rating: R

Summary: Brian has a secret admirer

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Dear Brian

Chapter Six

"Cynthia, I'm leaving this afternoon after lunch. I'll be back Monday. Don't tell anyone that I won't be here. Keep it between us."

"Are the police any closer to catching this guy?"

"âNo. Just don't tell anyone anything."

She nodded. "You know, I could reschedule your ten o'clock if you want, you could go now."

He thought for a moment. "No. If I cancel, you'll have to make some calls and that means that someone could find out."

She handed him some article that looked like it had been printed off the Internet. "I thought that this might be a good idea with what's going on."

He scanned the page. It was about home security; phone bugs, Internet piracy, invasion of privacy and that sort of thing. There were suggestions for having your home or office swept for bugs.

"Yeah. Call them. Ask them if they would have anyway of knowing if someone has been gathering information about me. And have then run a sweep of both my office and the loft."

Nodding, she left.

The security company was hired; they would conduct the sweeps the next day. They would also see what they could find about any possible searches run on his daily movements and his personal life.

The meeting went as well as these things generally did and if Vance found him slightly less focused than he usually was, the clients didn't notice and were impressed enough to agree to signing the contracts as soon as they were finalized.

"Brian, I was hoping that you would be free to join Mr. Blacker and myself for lunch to celebrate?"

"Thank you, Gardner, I'd enjoy that, but I'm afraid that I already have lunch plans which I'm unable to break at short notice." He turned to the client. "I'll look forward to it when you're here next, if that would be alright?" The man nodded. He'd known the minute that he'd walked into the meeting that the man would try to hit on him and although normally that would be good for some entertainment, he had other things on his mind right now. Smiling, shaking hands, he walked back to his office.

Picking up his briefcase containing his laptop and a single change of clothing along with some basic toiletries, he made his way down to the parking garage. He had packed no bags, thinking that anything he might need could simply be purchased when he got there. Getting into the 'vette, he left the building, headed out to the turnpike east.

The drive was uneventful. The weather was good, there were no traffic accidents to slow things down and he managed to miss the worst of rush hour. He pulled into their Long Island driveway around eight that evening. They hadn't been expecting him until the next day.

He had met Justin's grandparents before when they had been out to visit Jennifer the summer before and he had liked them They were about what you would have expected her parents to be—intelligent, reserved, WASP but with a core of decency that he had been impressed by. They had accepted him as Justin's friend, despite the bashing and the age difference and everything else that had happened. They had no problem with Justin being gay, just wanting his happiness.

If they had reservations about him as a suitable partner, they kept it to themselves treating him with courtesy.

There were lights on inside. He rang the bell. After about a minute he heard footsteps, the door opened.

"Yes?âBrian! Good Lord, we thought you weren't coming until tomorrow. You get yourself in hereâJustin? Justinâget downstairs. Claudia—look who the cat dragged in."

Bill Breslin shook Brian's hand as he pulled him into the front hallway, Justin was—well the only word was 'bounding' down the stairs and Claudia was coming out of the family room to give him a restrained but genuine hug and a kiss on the cheek before Justin threw his arms around him, pulling him close.

"You look well, but we weren't expecting you tomorrow. Had a change of plans?"

Brian didn't know how much Jennifer or Justin had told them, he decoded to play it safe. "I managed to get away a day early—one of the advantages of being partner. I hope it's not an inconvenience." He meant that.

"God, no—and I'm sure Justin won't be complaining. Have you eaten?"

"âNo, I drove straight through."

"Fine, fine, let's get you fixed up with something."

The two young men lingered a minute in the hall while the older couple went through to the kitchen. They were kissing, holding one another.

"Why are you here early. Are there new problems?"

Brian stopped the question by stroking Justin's lips with his tongue, then entering and caressing, dueling one against the other. "No, I just got away early."

"Bullshit. What's going on? More threats?"

"Brian? Is chicken alright?" Justin's grandmother called from the kitchen.

"That's fine, Claudia, thanks." He kissed Justin again. "How much do they know?"

"Not much, just that you have a little stalking problem."

"Keep it that way."

Justin nodded, he'd find out more later, when they were alone. Taking Brian's hand, they went to get him some food. The chicken was left over from dinner and still warm, the salad beside it was just some lettuce, the beer was imported. It was simple, but enough.

He declined the homemade apple pie.

"I hope you don't mind my getting here a day early, I was just"

"Missing Justin. We know. Jennifer told us to expect you."

Brian looked over to Justin. "Your mother knew I was coming here?" He seemed surprised by the news.

Justin met his look. "I didn't tell her."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, Brian. Come on, you know me better than that."

Fuck. The only person who knew was Cynthia and she wouldn't say anything, not on purpose.

Fuck.

"Bill, I'm sorry to impose, but is there someplace where I could connect my laptop? I have to check on something about work."

He was shown into the den. "Would you just want to use mine?" There was a state of the art Vaio sitting there.

"Thanks, but I need my files." Connected to the phone line, he started the thing.

He had mail.

"Dear Brian,

You know, I never in my life thought that I'd ever say this, but you're starting to piss me off.

Did you really think that I wouldn't know that you were going to see the twat at the grandparent's house?

Do you think I'm stupid?

Do you really believe that this is just some kind of hobby or crush, that I'll get over it and that it will all go away?

Fat fucking chance.

This is a long way from over. I told you that I love you and I know that you love me, too. I know that you think that the boycunt is your trick d'jour and that you think that there's something there, but I've already told you that he's just a spoiled Goddamn WASP princess and that you can do better.

I let you play along with this because I knew that you had to get it but of your system, but I've just about had enough.

I think that I've been patient for a long time and I can still be patient if that's what it's going to take, but I'm not going to let you string me along forever.

One of these days you're going to realize that he's just a toy and I'm the real thing.

You will and then you're going to tell him to fuck off, to get the Hell out and to pack up all his shit and leave you the Hell alone because you want to be with me and then you'll call me up and I'll tease you a little—or maybe I won't because you know that I want you as much as you're going to want me and then I'll come over to the loft again and you'll have the door open, waiting for me and I'll walk in and you'll have a bottle of perfect wine and two glasses and soft jazz will be playing and the lighting will be all soft and you'll have on your silk robe and I'll carefully untie the belt and you won't mind when I slide it off of you and then you'll take my clothes off of me and we'll drink the wine and then we'll make love all night.

You'll see.

We will.

And the twat won't be anywhere around.

And then the next day we'll pick up Gus and we'll take him to the park and push him on the swings and get him ice cream and maybe we'll end up at my place and we can teach him how to swim in my pool and he'll laugh and it will be great.

So stop jerking me off and get your ass back to Pittsburgh.

And tell the twat that he should stay with the grandparents because I'm tired of him being around.

Yourfan"

"Brian? Is it bad?"

Badly startled, Brian's hand jumped, knocking over his second beer. Just grabbed a towel out of the attached bathroom, mopping it up. He hadn't heard Justin come in, the thick carpeting masking his footsteps.

"Shit, I'm sorry."

Justin smiled at him. "Sorry's bullshit." Brian hadn't had time to hit the delete key. Justin read what was on the screen.

"He's really crazy."

"Yeah." He forwarded the e-mail to Horvath.

He opened the next e-mail in his box. It was from Cynthia.

"Boss,

I've received the initial report from the security company. They contacted the police, at my suggestion, and made you a priority.

There were illegal bugs on your home and office phones, all lines. They have been removed.

They said that they think they might have been there for a while—something about the amount of dust or corrosion on the connections.

They also found evidence that the mailbox at your home has been tampered with, meaning that either your mail is being stolen or read and replaced.

They have put out feelers to local PI's and think that there is a good chance that you're either being or have been followed.

Also, your financial records—credit card, investments, bank statements and the like have been hacked via computer. There is no known illegal activity on any of your accounts. They think someone just wanted to look at them.

I'll send more as I get it.

Cynthia."

"Brian, fuck."

"Are we having fun yet?"

Justin's grandfather came into his study. "Brian, may I have a word with you, if you don't mind?"

He looked up. "Of course not."

"Justin, would you help your grandmother for a few minutes?" Nodding and with a look at Brian, he went up to the second guestroom to help her make the bed.

"I understand you have something of a problem. Is Justin in any danger?"

Brian hesitated, it was possible, if the stalker took it into his head to see Justin as an impediment to they're being together. Yes, Justin might be in danger. "He should be alright if he's here."

"But if he goes back to Pittsburgh he might not be?" Brian saw no point in even answering. "What about you? Have you been threatened?"

"Not directly, but it looks like he's starting to get angry at me."

"And if he gets angry then he could become dangerous. Who is it? How did this start?"

"It would appear that he's someone who I fuâhad a one night stand with a couple of years ago. I'd forgotten about it, evidently he didn't."

"And now he's become obsessed with you and thinks that you're destined to ride off into the sunset together, I take it—and Justin is standing in the way."

"Pretty much, yes."

"You have the police on it?"

"Of course."

Bill sat down in his big leather wing chair by the fireplace. "I prosecuted a case like this a few years ago, did some research on stalking at the time. If he's really obsessed with you" Brian nodded, "He won't give up until he's either stopped or finds a new obsession."

"So I've been told."

"You love Justin, don't you? I know how he feels about you. You make sure that nothing happens to him, you understand me? You do whatever it takes to keep that boy safe. He can stay here as long as he wants, but he's going to get bored. If this drags on, you might want to think about the summer in Europe or something along those lines to keep him out of harm's way."

Brian nodded. "That might not be a bad idea if it comes to it."

Bill stood up, partly to leave, partly to have a power position. "The only thing Claudia and I care about is him not getting hurt. Now while you're here, you two can share a room and go off on your own because I know that's what he wants, but you make Goddamned sure that nothing happens to him, do you understand me?"

Brian nodded.

"I don't pretend to understand why a man like you would be interested in a young boy beyond a few rolls in the hay, but that's between the two of you. Jennifer says that she believes that you actually love him and he insists that he's in love with you. If that's the truth, that's fine with me, but you hurt him and I nail your ass to whatever legal wall I need to and I'll make it stick."

"I won't let anything happen to him—I care about him."

"I'll take you at your word, for now. Good night, Brian"

Welcome, make yourself at home. Put your feet up, stay a while. Think of yourself as one of the family.

You have mail.

"Dear Brian,

Alright, your fucking trained dogs found a couple of my little taps.

I know that you have the police after me. I don't give a damn. I'm smarter than they are. Homophobic pricks. Do you really think they give two shits about a couple of queers?

Like they'll make any difference.

You know, I'm starting to think that you might not be what I thought you were. You used to be so kind and such a good person and now you're starting to seem like the others.

I know that it's just because you've been around the twat. He's the one who poisoned you and changed your attitude.

When you get back I think we should have a talk. I know that if we spent some time together you'd understand.

I know that you're still a good person and that you still love me more than the others.

I'll start working it out.

As soon as you get back, we'll have some time.

You know that I still love you and that we'll be together.

I'm thinking about you right now, imagining how it would feel to spend all night with you again. I'm thinking about all the things we could do to make each other happy.

I bought new sheets today.

I still remember the expression on your face when you came. You looked like you had just had the most perfect moment of your life and that you never wanted it to end.

I loved the look on your face then. I've never forgotten it.

We'll do that again. We will.

And it will be soon.

Yourfan"

TBC

6/11/03

Title: Dear Brian Chapter Seven

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian

Rating: R

Summary: Brian has a secret admirer

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Dear Brian

Chapter Seven

"What did my grandfather say to you?"

"Not all that much, just that they're concerned, that they want you to be safe." They were speaking in whispers.

"What was that shit about sending me to Europe to get me out of harm's way?"

"You heard it. It's just what he meant."

Justin turned onto his side, pressing his body against Brian's in the too small guest room bed. They had made love, fucked, whatever, as quietly as they could since they shared a wall with the master bedroom, now it was post coital, or at least post round one, and they were talking.

Somehow they seemed to have most of their serious conversations in bed.

"If you go back home, you'd be in some danger from the stalker, wouldn't you? I mean, he's starting to think that you're not quite what he thought you were cracked up to be."

"âJustin, I'll be fine. First of all, he still wants me and secondly, I've upped the security at the loft. Really, I'll be fine."

Justin lifted his hand up to Brian's face, stroking his chest on the way up. He moved closer, leaning in for another kiss, tongues stroking one another as they started escalating what they were doing, Brian ready for a change of subject.

He rolled Justin over onto his back, the old springs of the bed complaining as they moved, he came to rest between Justin's legs for the second time that night, beginning a rocking movement he knew would have Justin ready in moments.

"My grandparents will hear."

"They've heard it before."

"Brian"

"Quiet." He was rubbing his entire body along the length of the smaller young man, the friction causing a delicious heat to course from one to the other. Justin's hands came up to hold Brian's back, stroking up and down the long muscles along his spine, knowing that was something guaranteed to arouse him even further. His fingers caressed, shoulders to butt then up again only to repeat the movements.

They continued with the kisses, their mouths moving against one another, their tongues moving from one mouth to the other.

Reaching into the bed stand drawer, he pulled out a condom and a tube of lube without looking, opening the wrapper, handed it to Justin who placed it quickly on Brian. The lube was slicked on, the preparations made, seconds later they were causing Justin's grandparents to look at one another in the darkened room on the other side of the wall and laugh quietly.

They had, indeed, heard the same noises before—most recently from Jennifer and Craig in that very room before everything happened, before the bashing and the divorce.

It was past due.

After a few more minutes, silence returned.

Claudia turned to her husband. "Do you think that they'll be alright?"

"I don't think that Brain will allow anything to happen to him."

"âWhat did you say to him?"

"To be careful."

"I'll bet you did."

The next morning Brian was up before the rest of the household. When Bill came down the stairs around seven thirty, he found him on his laptop in the study, dressed in yesterday's jeans and a black tee shirt.

"You're up early."

He looked up. "I just wanted to check in with the office."

"They start early, do they?" Brian didn't bother to answer. "Justin still sleeping?"

Brian nodded, slightly distracted. "I don't expect to see him for a couple of hours." The old man refrained from commenting, but managed to avoid laughing out loud.

He nodded at the screen. "You mind if I take a look?"

After a second's hesitation, Brian moved enough so that he could see.

"Dear Brian,

I'm getting upset that you would leave like you did. It's almost like you decided to try to sneak out without my knowing. I know that you wouldn't do that unless the twat asked you to or something, but I still don't like it.

I had this really great surprise planned for you and I know how much you would have liked it and now it will have to wait.

I hate waiting—except for you, of course.

I went by the lezzies place yesterday. They weren't home, the stupid bitches—they had our boy with a frigging babysitter. I fucking hate when parents do that.

I just fucking hate it.

Anyway, Gus was out in the back yard with the kitten. Did you know that he named the thing 'Brian'? I love that. He's just such an incredible kid—and he looks just like you.

I hopped over that stupid fence when the cuntdyke sitter went to answer the phone. Gus was there, playing with the kitten and then he picked him up and I walked over and asked if he would like if I pushed him on the swing set.

He actually asked who I was—smart kid, damn he's like you—and I told him that I'm a friend of Daddy's and he said—I couldn't fucking believe this—the kid says "You're not Justin".

Jesus!

So I told him that he was right, but I was Daddy's new friend. He liked that answer, so I pushed him for a while and the stupid bitch never came back out and didn't know that anybody could have gotten into the back yard and done anything.

Dumb cunt.

You really should talk to them. Assholes.

Anyway, I know that you'll be back soon. I'm looking forward to it. The city doesn't feel the same when you're not in it.

Don't be long, OK?

Oh, I sent Cynthia and Jennifer presents, too.

Yourfan."

"Have you gotten many of these?"

"A couple a day. I forward them to the police."

"Have the cops done anything yet?"

Brian leaned back in the chair. "No, not really. I've spoken to the police psychologist and I've done research on stalkers, had my place swept for electronic bugs."

"They find any?"

"Yes, on the phones, both at home and at work."

Bill sat on the corner of the desk. "Have you considered setting up a meeting with him? Alert the police then let then nab him?"

"I asked about that. They said it would be entrapment."

"They're right, but it could be worked out if they wanted to make an effort."

"They don't."

Bill shifted slightly. "Because you're gay, you mean?" Brian just nodded. "Make them care. You're not some skid row bum. You're a partner in a prestigious firm. You're a respected member of the community. You're rights have been violated. Make some noise."

"Bill, I did. I've spoken to the cops, they don't give a shit. It's just a couple of fags. No one gives a rat's ass."

"So what are you going to do? Spend the next couple of years looking over your shoulder? You could always move, change your name, go that route. Those are your alternatives, you know"

"âIt will end, one way or another. I'm not going to let it drag on indefinitely. Besides, I have a feeling that it's starting to come to a head."

"What makes you say that? Has something happened?"

"Not specifically. It's just a feeling I have."

Bill decided to drop it for now. "Do you and Justin have any plans today?"

"I think Justin has some things he wants to do. It doesn't really matter to me."

They heard Claudia come down the stairs. "I'll have breakfast ready in a few minutes."

"Look, Brian, don't screw around with this. This stalker is dangerous."

"That's why Justin is here, Bill."

He stood up. "Make sure you don't get careless—don't be around when he loses it."

An hour later Justin stumbled into the kitchen. The others were making small talk and looking over the New York Times and nursing second cups of coffee.

"Eggs, sweetie?" Justin mumbled what might have been a yes, leaned over and kissed Brian while the older man's hand came to rest around his waist. After a moment he sat at the empty chair.

"Have you ever been to the Cloisters?"

"Is that where we're going today?"

"Unless you'd rather do something else?"

The Cloisters it was.

Brian dutifully made the trip, surprisingly himself by enjoying not just the day out with Justin, but also the medieval surroundings, the quiet and the peace that marks the place. He suspected that it wasn't randomly picked and silently thanked Justin for his choice.

They had lunch at the site, and then explored the surprisingly county like feeling of Glen Cove and Oyster Bay where the grandparents had lived for decades.

Around eight, after stopping at a local seafood place for shrimp, they were back home.

The moment they walked in they could feel the tension.

"Brian? You had a couple of calls." Bill gestured to his study; he went in with out question. Justin followed.

"Justin, if you don't mindâ?"

"I want to hear." He looked at Brian who just nodded.

"First of all, your secretary? Assistant? Whatever she is, a young woman named Cynthia called. She said that a package had been delivered to you at the office. They called the police to have it opened. It contained a heart."

"A heart?" He was thinking a valentine, maybe a box of chocolates.

"A pig's heart. Evidently it was a bit gory. She sounded somewhat upset. Next Jennifer called. She said that they had received another box and since she was afraid to open it, the police were called in again. This one contained a baseball bat with the note that 'next time will be a home run'."

"Christ." Justin, pale, put his arms around Brian who stroked his back.

"Then a young woman named Melanie called. She said, rather forcefully, that if you don't deal with this, then she will. Gus—that's your son?—Gus was approached today by a man they think was the stalker." He held his hand up to stop Brian's questions. "No, the child wasn't harmed or even frightened, he was just talking about 'Daddy's new Justin'."

The old Justin tightened his grip and looked up at the taller man. "Brian, you've got to stop this. This is getting to everyone now, it's got to stop now."

"I know. I will. I'll take care of it." He looked at Bill. "If it's alright with you, I'll leave first thing in the morning."

"I think that might be best, now if you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs."

Brian sat at the desk, turning his computer back on.

He had mail.

"Dear Brian,

I guess that you've probably heard by now that I arranged for a few new presents to be delivered today.

Fuck me—I thought I'd laugh my ass off when I saw the looks on their faces at Vanguard. Vance alone was worth the price of admission. I thought that he'd shit. And Cynthia? The keeper of the gate?

Sent her ass home in tears. Stupid bitch who never put my calls through.

Jennifer—the ice princess? I almost lost it when the cops told her what was in the box. You ever hear a really solid hit at a baseball stadium? You know, when Sammy Sosa or someone really connects? I keep getting this great mental picture of that happening with cuntboy's head.

Make me fucking laugh if that ever happened.

Oh, and the lez's?

Shit. You know I'd never hurt a hair on his head. I just wanted them to know what a crappy job they're doing of protecting that kid.

When you and I are watching him together, no one will get near him—fucking believe that. He'll be the safest Goddamned kid in the world.

Oh, you're wondering why the heart?

Because you're stomping on mine and making me bleed.

I want you to stop this.

It's starting to piss me off. I want you to get your ass back to Pittsburgh where you belong so we can start being together.

I want you fucking back here now and I'm getting upset that you aren't here.

I want you here and I want to be with me so that we can start being in love together and so that I can start taking care of you the way you should be taken care of.

And I want you to wear the ring I had made for you, too.

The next time I see you, I want you to be wearing it.

You'd better be wearing it.

Yourfan.

TBC

6/12/03

Title: Dear Brian Chapter Eight

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian

Rating: R

Summary: Brian has a secret admirer

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Dear Brian

Chapter Eight

Late that night Brian couldn't sleep. Quietly, he made his way down to the living room, to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a double shot of Cuttysark. Silently, he took it out to the patio overlooking the pool, trying to think things over, trying to get a handle on what was happening.

Obviously he couldn't stay here. Though Justin was safe and more at ease with their being together, the stalker would escalate his torture of his friends and acquaintances until he returned home.

He honestly believed that Gus was in no real danger, although there wasn't anyone else he knew he could think of who would be safe other than the child.

Justin, the main target would have to stay in New York or someplace until this was settled.

When he went back, the attention would shift back to him and the others would be largely left alone.

Fine.

So who was this fuck?

He eliminated some of the obvious people.

Michael was out of the running simply because it wasn't in him. Besides, Brian knew him too well, if there were something really twisted about him, he would have known it. Granted he and Justin weren't best buds, but still—Mikey? No.

The rest of the boys he also eliminated for similar reasons. He knew them too well to believe that any of them could be a threat to him or to Justin. Ted? Em? Ben? Vic? Ridiculous.

One of the e-mails had mentioned that the stalker had been a trick, one who had stayed the night. Well, OK, that was a possibility, but whoever it was had pictures going back almost two years. He prided himself on his memory, but who the fuck knew which one it could have been? At the usual rate of twenty to thirty tricks a month times twenty four months, that added up to around six hundred possibles—or more.

Shit.

The stalker was male. OK.

He was either wealthy or at least well enough off that he had money to throw around.

Clothes from Gucci and St. Laurent, custom jewelry from Tiffany, large deliveries of flowers, phone taps, this stuff all cost money.

OK, it was possible that he was living off credit cards of something, but Brian didn't think so. He had the feeling that the guy really had some reserves to dig into.

He seemed to have time to devote to this.

He could come and go at will, not tied to a regular job. Or so it seemed.

Out of work? Maybe independently wealthy?

Shit, he could be a self-employed cat burglar, for all he knew.

He went back in, poured himself a refill, and returned to the patio. Without thinking he stripped down. It was a warn night and a swim might relax him more than the sex a couple of hours ago had. There had been something almost desperate about their coupling—as if Justin wanted to leave a mark, an impression that would last until all of this was over. The bites he had left were still tender hours later.

With as little sound as possible, he slipped into the warm water. The bedrooms on the second floor overlooked the pool and he would rather not disturb the others.

He did a few laps of breaststroke, playing a game with himself, seeing how quietly he could move, how little water sounds he could cause. Finally he just floated in the center, looking up at the sky.

He saw a shooting star and thought of the old legend that it meant a witch had died.

Maybe.

He half hoped that Justin would wake, join him. He thought how much he would like to take him in the water, imagined the water flowing around them as they came.

But Justin didn't come down, worn out with worry, he was sleeping heavily upstairs. It was for the best.

Finally feeling chilled, he moved over to the ladder, climbing out and taking a towel someone had left hanging on the back of a chair earlier that day, wrapping it around his waist he went inside.

If he was driving home in the morning, he needed to sleep.

He was at the foot of the stairs when he decided, on impulse, to go back to the study. He booted up the laptop.

He had mail.

Dear Brian,

We can't keep doing this.

You can't keep doing this to me.

I love you, you know that and I know that you love me, too.

I know this. I'll never forget our night together. It was perfection, magic.

I've heard that you've slept with a lot of men. The numbers I've heard bandied about frighten and anger me. That anyone could think you a slut or a whore has made me cry more than once. They just don't understand how good you are, how kind, how generous and giving.

I understand. I know what you're like.

I've always understood you and I always will.

You give so much of that I sometimes wonder how you have anything left for yourself.

I want to give back to you. I want to be there when you get home from work. I' want to have your dinner waiting—all your favorites; I want to be able to rub your neck when you're tired and hold you when you sleep. I'd wake up before you to have your breakfast ready and your clothes laid out.

You wouldn't have to do anything; I'd take care of it all for you.

That's all I want, for us to be together and for me to take care of you the way we both want.

You'll see. It will be perfect.

Yourfan."

Finally tired, Brian sighed, shut down the computer and went upstairs for what little was left of the night.

The conversation the next morning went about as he had expected.

"You can't go back there—he's insane. Brian, you're in danger there. Please"

"I'll just end it, I'll be fine."

"How the fuck can you say that? You don't know what he'll do—he could flip out and then—any Goddamned thing could happen."

"You're such a fucking queen. I told you that I'll be fine."

"I'm going with you."

"You're staying here. Stop being a twat and think about your mother and your grandparents."

"Brian"

"I'll call you as soon as I get there."

He went out to the car; the Breslin's waiting to see him off. "I'm sorry that I never got a ride in this car of yours, Brian. Next time that you're here"

"We'll make a point of it." They shook hands. He turned to Claudia, bending to kiss her cheek, thanking her for her kindness, her hospitality.

Next he looked over to Justin, standing by the driver's door, ready to bolt, to get in. He put his hand behind the younger man's head, pulling him in for a kiss. "I'll call you later. I'll be fine." Justin's arms came up around him, his breathing labored.

"âBe careful."

"I will, you know that."

Getting in the car, Justin put his hand on Brian's shoulder. "Drive carefully, OK?"

He nodded. Later."

"Later." Putting the car in reverse, he started back.

The drive back took over twelve hours. Around every bend, or so it seemed, was another accident, another stretch of road construction. Normally around a seven or eight hour trip, it started to become unendurable before he had even hit Harrisburg. When, finally, he pulled into his regular parking spot by his building it was almost ten at night. He was hungry and he was exhausted. His back ached, his butt hurt, his neck and shoulders felt like they were being held in vices and he had a bitch of a headache.

Leaving the elevator, he put his key in the lock, sliding the heavy door open and hitting a couple of light switches.

Oh, Jesus, no.

The place looked like a tornado or hurricane had washed through.

Not a single piece of furniture was standing upright, not a piece of upholstery was left either unslashed or unstained. The kitchen was torn apart, the cabinets emptied, the fridge left open so that everything in it was now in the early stages of rot. The flat screen TV was a pile of broken glass. Up in the bedroom, the bed looked like a gallon or more of what appeared to be blood was splashed over the mattress and bedding. A glance in the bathroom showed piles of broken glass where both the mirror and the shower walls had been smashed.

The clothes in the closet had also been doused in blood and the contents of every drawer in the place had been dumped on the floor.

Close to shock, he made his way back out to the living room, his eyes drawn to the large painting of the naked guy. Spray painted over the surface, in lavender paint were the words "Welcome Home."

Christ.

Taking his cel phone, he called Horvath. The cop said he'd be there within twenty minutes. Next he called Justin, telling him that he'd made it back alright, but was tired from all of the delays. He'd talk longer tomorrow. No, really, he was fine.

Next he got his laptop out of his bag, plugged it in and booted it up.

He had mail.

"Dear Brian,

I've been thinking about things the last couple of days and I'm getting pretty upset with the way things are going.

I mean, fuck me, asshole, but I'm the one doing all the work here and you can't even write me a frigging e-mail?

Not even a Goddamned 'thank you' for all the shit I've sent you, all the time I've invested in you, all the attention I've shown you?

I think I've been pretty Goddamned patient with you up til now. I mean, I put up with your little fling with Cuntboy, and I've gone along with you returning some of my presents and I've even let it go that you're not wearing that ring I had made for you—although that's pissing me off. I'm wearing the matching one already.

I was going to wait until you actually put it there yourself, but fuck it. I know what we mean to each other and the rings are the symbol. You're supposed to have yours on, too. They're a set, a pair, a couple. Like us.

YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE WEARING YOUR FUCKING RING.

I want to see you wearing it.

I'm getting pretty upset with the way things are going here.

Tomorrow you'd better be wearing that ring or I'm going to know that you've been lying to me all this time and that you've just been jerking me around and that you don't really love me and that you're not the person I thought that you are.

I got a little carried away in our loft.

You said that you'd be home by around six the other night and I waited, but you didn't show up, you went to fucking New York instead.

I had dinner for you and I'd picked up your dry cleaning and everything, but you never showed up.

I really hate it when people are inconsiderate. I just fucking hate it.

But I've had some time to think about it and it's actually a good thing.

The place really needs to be renovated if we're both going to live there.

I'll pay for it and we can pick things out together.

Yourfan."

"Holy crap." Brian jumped at the sound. Horvath. He was pulling out his cel, "I need a forensic guy over hereâbreak in and vandalismâno, it's totaled."

He took a look at Brian. "You OK?"

"I'm just swell."

"Anything missing?"

Just my privacy, peace of mind, sanity. "I'm not sure. I don't know yet."

"Do you have any idea who's doing this shit?"

"â.No." He remembered something. "Another e-mail just came in. On the desk."

Horvath read it. "Look, this guy is about to blow. I want you to answer this. Tell him, in no uncertain terms that it's over, that you won't see him—you know what sort of thing. Break it off. Make it definite."

"You think I encouraged this fucking psychopath?"

"Look, don't give me fucking attitude, just write the man a letter."

"Isn't that just going to piss him off?"

"Yeah, it probably is, but we'll put a guard on you and when he shows himself, we'll get him."

"Christ, Horvath, what are you going to do, out me in protective custody? What about my friends? What about Gus?"

"You reject him, he'll show himself."

Brian turned to look out the window. A squad car was just pulling up, a couple of men got out.

"Look, Kinney, he doesn't get stopped, he's going to keep going. This time he wrecked your house. Next time he might cut your brakes."

Against his better judgment he sat down at the desk.

"You are to stop all contact with me.

I will not return any communications from you.

I will not read any e-mails from you.

I will accept no presents or gifts of any kind from you.

We have no relationship.

We did not have a relationship in the past.

We will not have a relationship in the future.

You are to cease all contact with my son immediately.

This matter has been turned over to the Pittsburgh Police Department.

Brian Kinney"

"You really think that's going to do anything?"

"Yeah. It's going to draw him out."

"You know what the fuck you're doing?"

"We know who he is, we can stop him."

Brian though for a moment, then hit 'send'.

TBC

6/13/03

Title: Dear Brian Chapter Nine

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian

Rating: R

Summary: Brian has a secret admirer

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Dear Brian

Chapter Nine

The forensic team basically found nothing.

Whoever had destroyed Brian's loft had left no fingerprints, hadn't been seen by any neighbors, had likely used a key to get in. There was no evidence that the locks had, in any way been forced.

When questioned, the people downstairs admitted that they had heard sounds coming from Mr. Kinney's place, but he was known to entertain and they had just assumed that he had friends over.

Brian moved into the Pittsburgh Hilton, as the loft was uninhabitable. The insurance adjusters came by, said that they would have a check cut and that he should have it within two or three days. He was heavily insured.

He didn't tell any of the 'family'. Justin didn't know.

They were in contact, of course, he just didn't mention anything about the stalker that he thought would upset either Justin or his family. Jennifer had been on the phone three times since he had gotten back, asking him when this man would be caught and they could all get back to normal.

He told her—'soon'.

She had also let slip that there had been a message on her machine last week saying that Brian would be heading to New York, so to call him at her parents if she needed him for something.

Whoever had called—and she now assumed that it had been the stalker—had sounded exactly like Brian and had spoken in the first person. Brian now realized that he must have found out before the wiretaps were removed.

The front desk screened his calls. He had simply been using his cel more than usual, knowing that only a handful of people had that number.

He stopped going to the gym, using the one in the hotel instead. He had his laundry done by room service. He ate a number of meals in his room. When his friends called, he said that he had work and would meet them another time.

He went from the hotel to his office and very few other places. He found that he was looking over his shoulder, that he listened for footsteps, that he wouldn't pick up the phone unless he knew who was on the other end. When he was in his suite, he made sure that the door was bolted and that the safety chain was always on.

He had trouble sleeping. His normally small appetite decreased to almost nothing.

Cynthia had fielded most of his calls after he refused to speak to people he didn't know, even though she assured him they were either new clients or people wanting Vanguard to pitch ideas to them. When he made a presentation, he made a point of standing where he could see the door, that he knew who was walking in. He, politely, insisted on being introduced to everyone at meetings so that there were no strangers.

When he was asked to take clients to dinner, he would do as asked, but would politely make excuses or tactfully steer them to an early evening.

Horvath claimed that they would tip his hand soon.

He sometimes felt like he wanted to scream.

He tried not to open the e-mails that came in, but he found he couldn't stop himself. They were becoming increasingly insane.

"Dear Brian,

So you went to see Cuntboy and left me here to clean up your mess.

You think I don't now that you've told people about me? Do you really think I'm so stupid that I'd not know that people are looking at me, that they watch me when I go out?

Of course I fucking know that.

I'm getting pissed off that you won't answer my messages to you and if I wanted to send flowers to some motherfucking hospital, I'd give them some frigging endowment, asshole.

What is it that you don't understand about this?

Will you please just tell me that?

I mean what's so Goddamned difficult about this?

I love you, you love me. We belong together and when you get this stick out of your ass about us being together we can start being happy.

You're starting to piss me off.

Cuntboy has you frigging brainwashed into thinking that he's God's fucking gift to you, but he's just some blond boy ass you're hung up on and it's time you fucking got over him.

I'm really starting to run out of patience,

Yourfan."

"Dear Brian,

Like the phone call from Mommy Dearest, did you?

I just thought that I'd stop by, drop in on the old bat, let her know what her little boy has been up to.

You would have fucking loved the look on her face when I told her about what a typical weekend for her dear son would consist of.

We touched on Woody's, Babylon (oh, yes, we talked all about the back room), we spoke about the baths. Did you know that she didn't even know what they are?

With appropriate hesitation, I filled her in. You may thank me at your leisure.

I was positively shocked that you hadn't told her about your hobbies.

Not to worry. I told her all about it.

I even made a point of telling her of your generosity in paying the twat's tuition in exchange for services rendered.

You should have seen the sparkle in her dear old eyes when I brought that up.

And Gus—did you know that she was unaware of the tyke?

I'm shocked, Brian. Really, I am. His own grandmother. Really. Brian—you've been remiss.

I think my favorite part, though, was when she asked me—honest to God, she did! She asked if I had any idea how many men you had been involved with.

I couldn't help myself—it was too delicious, Brian, you must see that—I made mention, with properly lowered eyes, of a number in the low four figures. Sound about right, does it? I suspect I erred on the conservative side.

Last seen, she was headed to Mass.

I would count on a few novenas said for your soul in the near future.

Yourfan."

He had almost become used to the messages that had been arriving, although the anger and the desire to inflict pain were new. Brian's mother hadn't been able to call him herself. Father Tom had done the honors, saying—as gently as he could—that Joan was distraught and that it would be a good idea if he allowed some healing time to pass before he attempted to contact his mother.

Well, it wasn't like he stopped in for Sunday dinner or anything, but it still sucked.

Then the day came when Horvath told him that he thought that they were getting closer, that they might have a break in the case in a matter of days. It seemed that among the mess in the loft had been a semen sample (this information almost caused Brian to laugh out loud, but he managed to restrain himself). It was unidentified.

When Brian had tried to tell him that it didn't mean much, he was told that it fucking well did—it had still been damp when it was found and no one had been in the place since he had been in New York.

It had to belong to whoever had broken in.

This news was followed by another e-mail:

"You have the fucking police after me, you cunt.

Who the fuck do you think you are?"

He was still sitting at his desk at Vanguard, the desk in his new big partner's office, suit jacket over the back of the chair, when Vance walked in, knocking lightly on the door frame as he passed through it.

"Brian? A word?"

"Yes, Gardner, what do you want?" His voice was quiet, almost mild, completely out of character.

"Forgive my asking," he closed the door so that they could have privacy. "You've seemed distracted the last few weeks. I was wondering if there was a problem."

Brian hesitated. He would really rather avoid getting into the entire thing with Vance. He actually wasn't that bad a guy; he just didn't like discussing his problems with anyone if he could avoid it. They weren't anyone's fucking business.

"Brian, I know that you're a private person and I'm not trying to intrude. I've developed a respect for you and, in all honesty, I like you both as a business partner and as a man. If you're having problems, though, it could affect our business and I can't allow that. And as a friend, I'd like to help, if I can."

With a mental shrug, he thought to himself, oh what the fuck. He might as well know.

"I'm being stalked. It's become serious."

"How serious?"

Hitting a few keys on his computer, Brian pulled up the saved e-mail file of the stalker's letters to him.

Turning the monitor around one hundred and eighty degrees he said, "Read a few of these."

Brian sat quietly looking out the window for twenty minutes as Vance scrolled through a good part of the file.

"Jesus, I had no idea. No wonder you're a bit off your stride. Has he done anything? Caused any actual physical damage, attacked anyone?"

Brian told him about the destruction of the loft, of his forced move, of Justin's relocation for his own protection, of the implied threats against his son and the women who raised him.

"How the fuck could he plant taps on your office phone?"

"The police said that he made the connection in the relay station in the basement."

"Well, what are you doing? I mean, do you want time off until he gives up?"

"No, thanks. I think it's better if I just stay here to deal"

His office door banged open, Cynthia looking at him in horror. "Get out of here."

"Cyn, what are youâ?"

"Lauren just called me" She was the receptionist, three floors below. "She said that a man just got off the elevator, walked over to her and asked what floor you're on. He had a gun, a rifle, and pointed it at her until she told him. He's headed up here."

"Jesus—did youâ?"

"YES! I called 911 and security, just get the hell out of here!"

Brian and Vance both reacted at the same instant almost colliding on their way out the door.

"Cyn, get the fuck out. Tell everyone to get the fuck out."

The three of them started to move through the Vanguard warren of offices and cubbies as quickly as they could as they made their way to the north stairwell, the one furthest away from the reception area. They yelled warnings as they went, opening office doors and shouting at employees frozen by what was happening.

"Come on, move. Now. Move. Drop what you're doing. Now. Fucking run!"

The staff went as fast as they could, at least the ones who heard the frantic shouts and warnings, faster than Brian would have thought it was possible to evacuate.

He heard a couple of shots coming from the elevator area.

Jesus. Damnit.

He was just about to push through the emergency exit himself when he remembered.

"Fuck! The art department. The accounting department."

Three more shots.

They were both in a semi-detached area of the floor, separate, but still in danger if the stalker went looking.

"Fuck me." He turned back to warn them.

He was running down a suddenly deserted hallway when he caught the hazy image of a man through the frosted glass of his own office.

The stalker heard the running footsteps, even with the carpeting, and stood framed in the doorway.

"Getting some air, Brian?"

He stopped in mid stride, not wanting the man to go farther, to find anyone else. He was panting slightly.

The man was dressed in black jeans and a long sleeved black turtleneck. He was carrying a powerful hunting rifle, extra bullets probably in the bag slung around his shoulder.

He looked too hot; sweat standing out on his face.

"Dennis?"

He broke into a full, seemingly genuine smile. "Why, yes. See? I knew you couldn't forget me." He was relaxed, in a good mood. His hand gestured toward the office behind him. "Come in, we have quite a bit to talk about."

With no choice, he went in. Dennis pointed to his desk chair.

"Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable." He was positively genial, if you could ignore the madness. "Would you mind removing your tie?"

"Excuse me?"

He pointed at it with the rifle. "If you don't mind." Brian handed it to him. "Hands behind your back, please. Wouldn't want any unpleasantness."

Three minutes later Brian's hands were securely tied behind him.

"Did you really want me to get you a job?"

Dennis laughed. "Wasn't that great? I thought you were just so fucking tactful with that answer you sent me. You couldn't bring yourself to say that I was complete crap at advertising so you just fobbed me off with some bullshit about how great it was to hear from me and you'd keep your ears open. I loved that."

"How long have you been—interested in me?"

"Oh, shit. Since college but I knew you wouldn't look at me twice back then. Anyway, a couple of years ago—remember when we ran into each other at that conference in Phoenix? Of course you do. Remember that night? Jesus, Brian, that was when I realized that I loved you."

"Well, yeah, that was great, Den. You know, we could do that again, if you want. We could do that right here, in fact."

"Here? Brian—I told you how it would be. You know, flowers, wine, candles, soft music. I told you that, remember?"

"Of course you did. We could go back to the Hilton. It's only a couple of blocks from here."

"Well, God Brian. I'm not a fucking idiot, you know." He was still jovial. "I'd like to make love with you again, but I can't let you out of here. You know that."

"Sure you can, Den—we'll go there right now, order up some champagne—anything you want."

"Sorry, Brian. No can do. After what you did? Calling the cops and all, siccing that dumbass detective on me? I know that Cynthia called 911 a few minutes ago, you know. Did I tell you I had to shoot that stupid receptionist? She would have called them herself. You know how it is. I knew Cyn would, too and I was going to punish her, but I guess she's left, hasn't she?"

Brian nodded. "She ran out of here pretty fast."

"But she made the call, didn't she? I scanned the police band. I know she did, Bri. I never knew why you put up with that cunt. I would have fired her ass, but there you go. You always were nicer than me"

"So what are you going to do, Den?"

He smiled, happy to share a secret. "Oh. I thought that you knew. I'm going to kill you." Raising the gun before Brian could say anything, he fired.

TBC

6/13/03

Title: Dear Brian Chapter Ten

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian? OC

Rating: R

Summary: Brian has a secret admirer

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Dear Brian

Chapter Ten

The force of the bullet hitting his shoulder slammed Brian back against his chair, the bullet exploding out the back and burying itself in the wall behind him.

It didn't actually hurt at first. He was mostly aware of the sound of the gun blast less than four feet away from him and the feeling of having been punched—hard.

Somehow he knew that he couldn't move his left arm—even allowing for the fact that his hands were tied behind him. He felt as though he was somehow outside of his body, watching what was going on from some calm canter that was quiet and didn't hurt and wasn't bleeding. He flashed back to some of the really bad beatings that Jack had given him when he was a kid. This was sort of like that.

If he could just remove himself from what was happening, he'd be alright.

He could stand anything for a little while.

He always could.

He heard Dennis saying something about how he should know that he'd never have hurt him if he'd had a choice, if he hadn't been forced. How this was all his fault because all he wanted was for Brian to love him and for them to be together and happy.

That was all he had ever wanted, since they had been at Penn State together and Brian had ignored him then, too. He had wanted them to be best friends, but he had hung around with that fucking lesbian and wouldn't give him the time of day.

That was going to fucking change.

It fucking was.

The phone rang, Brian's private line.

Idly he wondered who the shit was calling him now. Sorry, can't come to the phone right now, could you please take a message?

After about the eight or ninth ring Dennis seemed to take it personally. "Answer the fucking thing."

"My arms" Right, they were still tied behind his back with his silk tie. Usually he liked being tied up. Not this time.

"Oh, Christ." With none too good grace, Dennis went around behind him, releasing his hands. "Get the fucking phone."

Painfully, he reached for the receiver. "Yes?âThis is KinneyâYes, he's here with me nowâDennis Bream, we were college classmates at Penn, right Dennis?âHe says that's rightâI'll ask him—Dennis, would you like to speak to the police? A Detective Horvath is on the lineâHe says not right now, thanksâMe? Well, I'm shot, that's why my voice sounds oddâIn the shoulderâYes, it's still bleedingâNo, it went through and out the backâI can feel blood dripping down my back, that's how I knowâAlright, I'll tell him." He hung up the phone.

"What will you tell me?"

"The paramedic says that if we could get pressure on the wound, it would help, otherwise I might bleed to death."

"Where are they—the cops, where are they?"

"The lobby, down in the parking garage, out on the sidewalk. They're evacuating the building."

"What will it take for them to leave?"

"For you to give up." Brian was still just sitting in his chair, his left arm lying limp on his left thigh, his other hand on the desk. His head was against the chair back. He was watching the other man.

Dennis came around the desk. Brian had taken his suit jacket off earlier; his white shirt was sticking to him with the blood. It occurred to him that if he'd worn his red shirt, it wouldn't look quite so bad. He remembered someone telling him that it's always worse if you look.

"You know, you really annoyed me when you took up with the blond. I mean, it was alright when you were just fooling around with him, I know you need to get out now and then, but it's just been going on much too long." He rummaged through Brian's gym bag, lying behind a chair, taking out a tee shirt. He pressed it against the front part of the wound. It turned red almost immediately.

Brian watched it with some interest. He smiled.

"What?"

"I never really liked tie-dye," It was starting to seriously hurt now. "That was my favorite workout shirt."

"I'll get you another." Dennis seemed to be trying to figure some way to keep the shirt pressed against his shoulder, not seeming to notice that the exit wound was at least twice as large and bleeding more.

The phone rang again. Brian reached out his good hand. "Yes?âI'll ask him. Janet Bryant wants to talk to you."

"Who is she?"

"âThey say she's the negotiator."

Dennis took the receiver. "This is Dennis Bream. Do you have my history and all that shit pulled up yet?âGood. So you know that I mean itâNo, I don't think that I want to do thatâAre you shitting me?âNo—wait, sure, why not—put him onâIs this Justin? Still visiting the grandparents, are you?âGood, you just stay there for a bit. He's busy right nowâNo, he's not dead you idiot, he answered the fucking phone, didn't he?âFuck off." He hung up.

"Is Justin here?" Brian had almost sat up when he heard the name, but thought better of it when he tried to move.

"They said that he's still in New York. I guess someone called him." Dennis seemed distracted by the call. He seemed to have forgotten about Brian's injury, at any rate. "Now, if I take a little walk, you're not going to leave or anything, are you?"

"Why on earth would I do that, Dennis?"

Without warning he grabbed the injured shoulder, giving it a brutal shake. Pain exploded until it was all there was. It shot down his arm and his chest, down his back and up his neck into his skull. He could feel more wet warmth dripping down his torso and it was difficult to breath.

"I really dislike sarcasm, Brian. I just really don't like it. Now you'll stay here if I leave, right?"

He was unable to answer; all he could do was try to gasp in some air.

"Good. I won't be long." Dennis walked out of the room, gun in hand; he went down the hall to the conference room, the big one—the one that overlooked Point Park thirty-three stories below.

The phone rang again.

Fuck.

"What?"

Horvath was back. "Brian—is he out of the office?"

"Yeah."

"We're trying to distract him, get the fuck out. Now."

Shit. He knew that he had to stand up if he was going to save his life, but it was just so fucking hard.

With effort, he pushed himself to his feet. The room swayed. He clutched the edge of the desk for support; his left arm a dead weight—that seemed to help for a second. He had to move, he knew that. He just didn't know if he could. In a moment of clarity, he grabbed his cel from the recharging stand, made his way to the door using furniture for support, glanced down the corridor and made his way unsteadily as far as Cynthia's desk. He looked up again—he thought that he could hear his voice, but it was coming from miles away.

He went through to the main work area, catching his foot on a chair leg. Sprawling, as he fell he heard Dennis shouting something from the other side of the moon. He forced his way up again, moving as far away from the conference room as he could get.

He heard more shots, heard more shouting, glass was breaking somewhere.

He tried to keep going, but it hurt so damn much and he knew he was going to pass out if he didn't rest.

He went through the closest door, one of the ad exec's small offices. It looked a lot like his old office used to, but this one had pictures of a wife and kids on the wall. Wilson. It was his office. Brian noticed that his computer was still on and that he had been working on the mock-ups for that candy company when he had run out.

They looked like shit, even when Brian was only half conscious. If he ever saw him again, he'd have to ream him.

Hearing someone coming closer, hearing Dennis swearing, he made it behind the desk, lying on the floor with his legs pulled up and wished he was as small as Justin, as small as Gus and hoped that he would be passed by.

He knew he was still bleeding and tried to tell himself that it had slowed down, but he thought that it probably hadn't. How much blood did a person have? Five quarts, was it? Something like that.

He heard Dennis looking for him, heard him going from room to room, heard the occasional sound of another round being fired and he hoped that he was the only one still left on the floor. He remembered that he had his cel and wondered what number he could call—he didn't know the negotiator's number or Horvath's. Shit. Well, maybe he could just order a pizza while he was waiting.

He tried to think.

911.

"Yes?"

"I'm in the Scaife Building downtown. There's an armed man here. I need you to patch me through to the Detective Horvath. He's here somewhere."

"You're name, sir and you're location?"

Christ on a bike. "Brian Kinney, thirty-third floor. I'm shot. Just fucking connect me."

"You're injured?"

"I just told you that I'm fucking shot."

"Do not curse at me, sir."

"Get Horvath on the Goddamned line."

"I don't have to listen to that sort of language, sir."

"Just transfer me, you cunt" She broke the connection.

Fuck me.

Still bleeding, he watched with increasingly dulling interest as his blood formed a small pool around his upper torso on the floor, sinking into the rug. His last conscious thought was, "They'll never get that out. Vance is going to shit."

Dennis was starting to get really annoyed at the way the day was turning out. He'd thought that he'd go over to Brian's office, scare the shit out of a few people so that they knew he meant business and then he and Brian could sit down and have a nice one on one talk. They would work out whatever the problem was with Brian accepting everything he had to offer and then they would have some dinner—he already had the ingredients at home and the chicken was marinating—talk a little more over wine, maybe while they were in the hot tub. They would go upstairs and make love all night. In the morning he would surprise Brian with fresh squeezed orange juice, some egg white omelets and they could take Gus to the park.

It sounded perfect, but it just wasn't working out the way he'd thought it would.

First that cunt at the reception had flipped out when he'd asked her where Brian was at the moment, could she tell him that he had a visitor. He knew from the way she was acting that he really had no choice but to shut her the Hell up.

Damnit, he hated shit like that.

Then by the time he'd gotten up the three flights of stairs to Brian's floor it was obvious that some kind of alarm had been sounded and the place was a frigging ghost town. It was just dumb luck that Brian was still there, really.

He'd had to tie him up—sure he'd had any number of fantasies about that, but this wasn't the way he'd pictured it.

He felt terrible about shooting Brian.

Shit, he really felt badly about that, but he was just so damn angry at that point. He'd let everyone get out and then he'd admitted that Cynthia had called the fucking cops.

Shit.

All he had to do now was to find Brian and get them both home. He'd take care of Brian. He'd make sure that the bullet wound was clean and that it healed properly.

He'd been really upset when he saw how Brian had been thrown back against the chair the way he had from the force of the impact.

He'd hated seeing that, and he'd really hated the way the blood had splattered up on Brian's face and back against the wall behind him.

Brian was just so impossibly beautiful, so frigging perfect—to see him with the red splashed up on him like that pretty much sucked.

Damn there had been a lot of blood.

It had soaked down his shirt to the waistband of his slacks and it was probably the same in the back.

Shit, he really had to find him to take care of that. He had to still be around here somewhere.

The phone in Brian's office rang again. He walked in to get it. Amazing how sound carried when there was no other noise—no people, no computers, no Xerox's or anything going.

"Yes?"

"Dennis? Is Brian alright?"

"What makes you ask?"

"Well, we haven't heard from him in a little while and he said something about being hurt. Is he with you?"

So the cops didn't have him either. "He's fine."

"Is he hurt? We're a little concerned about him."

"It was nothing. I told you he's fine."

"Could I talk to him?"

Fuck this. He hung up the phone and began a room-by-room search of the place.

Back in Wilson's office Brian was starting to come around again. He was groggy and it was hard to think, but after a minute he remembered where he was and what was going on.

He listened hard, trying to locate Dennis, but the carpeting muffled most footsteps and he wasn't really hitting on all cylinders anyway.

He'd just have to chance it.

Pulling himself semi-upright, he made it to the office door, pausing, hearing nothing and went back out to the corridor. He was about three quarts of the way to the near stairwell when he heard the phone ringing and Dennis talking, though he couldn't make out what he was saying. The call was short and he sounded pissed.

He kept moving, staying low since he could no longer stand upright. He tried to keep his breathing as quiet as he could, knowing he was gasping for air.

He thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and froze where he was. The shadow passed without stopping.

Twenty feet to the fire door, fifteen, ten. He could almost feel the metal. His hand on the push bar, he leaned against it, knowing it would make noise, hoping that the alarm was disabled or broken or something.

Just as he felt the door move the ringing started—the cel. Jesus, the fucking cel phone. Could it be any fucking louder?

Pushing the door open, he went through, fell through as quickly as he could, trying to close the door to stop the phone ringing, to stop Dennis from trying to find him.

He took out the phone as he stumbled, fell down the stairs, dropped it, hearing it shatter as it hit bottom over three hundred feet below.

Down one fight and he barely managed to open the door to exit the stairwell. He knew that he would never be able to make it down to the ground floor under his own power and prayed—something he hadn't done in years—that the elevators were still operating.

Pushing the button, he noticed, without caring, hat he left a bloody smear but he heard the machinery running and saw the lights by the lift doors come on.

Thank God.

A minute later they slid open. Pushing "G", he propped himself against the wall and waited for the descent to end.

The police had seen the elevator moving, knew someone was likely making an escape and were there when the doors opened. Brian looked at them, lacking the strength to move. A paramedic moved over to him, catching him before he collapsed. A gurney was brought quickly, he was lifted onto it, strapped down and an oxygen mask was fitted over his face, all seemingly within seconds.

There was shouting and lights from news cameras. There were about a thousand police cars and ambulances, all with their lights going and people were asking him questions.

What was his name, was the madman still up there, was anyone being held hostage, how many were dead, were there any more wounded?

Horvath pushed his way through. Brian was barely conscious at this point. He repeated most of the questions so that Brian might be able to hear, to answer.

Yes, he was still up there. Yes, he was armed. No one else was with him as far as he knew.

Horvath patted his good shoulder as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance. Brian was vaguely aware that Vance rode to the hospital with him.

On the thirty third floor, Dennis was starting to realize that either Brian was a hell of a good hider or he had gotten away.

He had found traces of blood on the walls where Brian had braced himself as he made his way along the halls. He had found the dank stain on the office carpet behind the desk and on the push bar to the stairwell. It was obvious what had happened.

Brian had gotten away.

Turning, he walked back to the shattered window overlooking the street below.

It was a large window, running from floor to ceiling, now completely void of glass after having had bullets pierce through it. The ambulance was down there and he could see a figure being loaded into the back, surrounded by a horde of people and television cameras, visible even from this high up. The doors were closed, the ambulance pulled away. He could hear the sirens as it left.

Stranding in the open window, he realized that he had misjudged, that he had lost.

He heard the quiet voice behind him. "It's over now Dennis. I want to help you. Just come with me. You'll see, it will be alright." He could feel the woman moving closer.

Shit, it just hadn't worked out the way he had thought it would.

"Dennis? Give me your hand, alright? I'll make sure that no one bothers you or asks you any questions until you're ready."

He calmly leaned forward, enjoying the feel of the fresh breeze as he let himself fall.

TBC

6/14/03

Title: Dear Brian, Chapter 11/Final Chapter

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian

Rating: R

Summary: Brian has a secret admirer

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Dear Brian

#11

Final Chapter

Six weeks after Dennis Bream had committed suicide Brian was almost completely healed from the ordeal he had been put through, at least physically.

His shoulder had needed both emergency and follow up surgery to repair the damage and he would be in physical therapy to maximize the recovery for around a year. It would never fully come back, never be one hundred percent again and the scar was bad enough that he felt self-conscious wearing a sleeveless shirt. Yes, it would fade in time, become less obvious, less angry looking, but even with cosmetic surgery to lessen its impact, it would always be there.

Justin had boarded the next available flight back to Pittsburgh when he had heard what was happening in Brian's building. Met at the airport, he had been driven directly to the hospital by his mother and had been given a police escort to get through the reporters who were camped out by the front doors. The cameramen still got pictures and someone made the connection between that day's events and Justin's bashing a year and a half ago. All of that was dragged out again, dusted off and given a fresh airing.

Justin had been in Brian's room when he woke up. He put his hand on Brian's cheek, trying not to disturb either the injury or he IV's. "You look like shit."

Brian blearily tried to focus. It took a moment. "So do you." He seemed to be trying to gather is thoughts. "Tell me."

He had to know. "There were four dead, including Dennis, three more were injured, including you. Seven altogether."

Brian just looked at him, wanting more.

"The receptionist was killed and one of the junior execs—Pendleton?" Brian nodded. "One of the secretaries, a young redhead named Nancy and Mark from the art department. You were the worst injured. An intern in the art department and one of the personal assistants, but I don't know his name. They're both alright, though. They've already been released."

"What happened to Dennis?"

"âHe jumped from a window he broke in the main conference room."

Brian closed his eyes. Shit. The nurse came in, added some more sedative to his drip. "Sleep some more, Brian. I'll be here." He nodded, barely moving his head.

The next day he woke up to find that, although he was in pain, it was manageable and his mind was clear. He remembered the attack in the office—or at least he remembered bits and pieces of it. Some of it was simply gone and that was fine, too.

Horvath was waiting to talk to him, waiting for the call that he was able to talk.

"I heard that you're going to be pretty much alright, Kinney. That's good because Debbie would have never let me forget it of you weren't."

Brian just looked at him. Shit, fine, the man was trying.

"We found out how he did a lot of the shit he was pulling on you. He was paying people off to let him know about your comings and goings—the garage attendant in your office building would let him know when you got there or left, your cleaning lady has a boyfriend who made a copy of your loft key and gave it to him so he had access there. One of the file clerks at Vanguard was on his payroll, too, so he could get to your account files and your personnel stuff which gave him your social security number and a lot of your personal information."

"How did he pay for all of this?"

"He was a rich kid. His family has a lot of money. I mean what they call serious money. They all seem to have trust funds large enough to do whatever the fuck they want. He didn't need to work, so he had lot's of free time."

"What happens now?"

"You'll be questioned by the police and probably a couple of psychologists to help them determine a diagnosis for him, a profile. It's possible that his family, his parents or his sister may want to speak to you, but you're under no obligation to do so if you don't want to."

"I—don't know about that."

"Understandable. It might help them; it might hurt you to bring it all up. I'd ask the shrinks, if I were you."

"So that's it?"

"Basically, yes. He was stalking you, attempted to either kidnap or kill you, when he failed he committed suicide."

"Case closed?"

"Pretty much. There will be an investigation, but you're not charged with anything—you were the victim."

Three days later he was released. Justin, who had stayed by him at the hospital, drove him home.

The loft had been cleared out of everything tat might remind Brian of what had happened, all the 'things' were gone—the clothing, the CD's, the jewelry. The police had insisted that they legally belonged to Brian, that they were gifts, bought and paid for and that he could do with them as he wished.

He wished that they didn't exist.

Finally Justin suggested that they all be returned, all they ones that could be and the refund money could be donated to some charity.

Fine. Happy to have a simple solution, Brian agreed. The money, around twenty thousand dollars, was donated to the Gay Marriage Initiative. Whatever, why not.

The one thing he didn't return was the ring. It was a custom piece and engraved. With apologies, Tiffany informed him that they would be unable to accept it back.

Not knowing what else to do with it, he put it in his safe deposit box over at Mellon Bank. It could sit there until Gus's grandchildren stumbled across it, as far as he was concerned.

During the days he was mostly OK. The nights were when the dreams, the nightmares all came crashing back and he would find himself in a cold sweat staring at the ceiling. The first few times it had happened Justin had held him, stroked his back and his forehead, kissed his neck and his cheek—anything to comfort him. His shoulder had been too badly damaged to attempt any real sex—always Brian's cure all, but even when Justin would use his mouth, offered him that release, he simply couldn't.

Oh, he wasn't impotent, nothing like that. He could get it up just fine, but just before he was about to cum the picture of Dennis holding that fucking rifle would flash inside his brain and he knew that if his gun went off, so would the steel one and he'd pull Justin away, saying nothing and rolling onto his side with his back turned.

The third time it had happened, one morning while Justin was helping him shower, the young man decided that it was time to deal.

He made a call and arranged to meet with the silver fox shrink later that day.

He explained to Justin that the trauma had reinforced Brian's deeply held believe that love and pain were connected, that he had associated the insanity if Dennis' actions with the deeply rooted conviction that he would bring pain to anyone who got close to him, that he wasn't worth the trouble.

It was, unintentionally, his fault that Justin had been put in danger. Subconsciously he was trying to protect Justin from being hurt.

So—what should they do?

When Brian could come to understand that he wasn't to blame, that he had been victimized, then he could start to heal.

Fuck a duck.

Brian returned to work ten days after the shooting. When he walked in he saw the new receptionist who, not recognizing him, asked him if he had an appointment. When he introduced himself, he saw her look turn into a stare. So he was the one that crazy fag had been after. Yup, that was me, he thought back at her.

When he got up to his office he saw that the damaged wall the bullet had entered had been repaired and he wondered if the carpet in Wilson's office had also been replaced. Probably.

His arm still in a sling, Cynthia helped him off with his jacket.

"Would you like some coffee, Brian?" Their conversation was quiet, painful after what had happened.

"Yes, please."

"Vance would like to see you. I think he just wants to welcome you back and catch you up."

"Fine, whenever he wants."

Vance came in about fifteen minutes later. They talked about the employees who had been injured and killed, Brian insisting—and Vance agreeing—that they would continue full benefits for their families as long as they wanted them, that they would establish college funds for the victims children and that they would give each family three years salary, making it clear that they could come to them with any problems from the mortgage to car payments to bills for psychologists if needed.

After Vance left, Brian went down to the art department, looking for the intern who had been hurt. Eva was sitting at one of the computers, a pair of crutches next to her.

"Eva? May I speak with you?"

She was startled, not having heard his approach. She had never spoken with Mr. Kinney before, he scared her as much as he sacred all the interns. Automatically, she started to get up; he stopped her with a gesture and sat beside her.

"I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that you were caught up in this, that you were hurt."

"âIt's alright. I mean—it's not your fault."

"Not directly, no, but you were still hurt. Are you better?"

She nodded. He seemed like he was nice. "It was my foot, he was shooting and I think I just got in the way. It really just chipped the bone, it's getting better."

He nodded. "Good. Do you need anything? Have you been taken care of?"

"Everyone has been really nice. Mr. Vance even said that when I'm done interning, that Vanguard will pay the rest of my tuition and that I can come back after graduation for a real job."

That had been Brian's suggestion from the hospital. Vance had agreed immediately.

"Good. I hope that you will, Eva. I know that Marty thinks highly of your work so I was hoping that you would agree to your being added to my team for the new Liberty Air spots."

Shitabrick—everyone knew that Kinney produced the best and only worked with the best. OK, he felt guilty, but what the Hell. "That would be great, Mr. Kinney—thank you, I mean—really, thank you!"

He stood to leave. "Meeting in my office about it at two. Be there."

Alex, the assistant who had also been hurt had elected not to return. The offer was kept open and he could reconsider later if he wished.

Brian had already written letters, handwritten and heartfelt, to the families of the other people who had been killed.

That night Justin came up to his office to take him home. With his arm in a sling, driving a stick was impossible.

On the way up they picked up the mail, Justin carrying a bottle of Brian's favorite rose for later.

An hour later he was placing the plate of pasta in front of Brian when he saw the look on his face and the letter beside him on the table.

"Brian?"

He pushed the paper across the table. It was from some law firm in Philadelphia with about six names.

Basically it wished to inform Mr. Kinney that as per Mr. Dennis Bream's most recent and binding will, the bulk of his estate, estimated at being worth approximately sixteen million dollars, depending on fluctuating real estate and stock market values, had been left to him.

They asked if he would please contact their office at his earliest convenience to go over the details. Thank you very much.

"Holy fuck."

"Yeah."

"But Brian? I mean, if he was crazy, the will might not be valid."

"That occurred to me. I'll call them in the morning and ask them."

"Shit"

"Yeah." He looked at the dinner getting cold in front of him. "It's like I'm getting this fucked up reward for what happened. Either that or it's like his final 'fuck you' so that I can't shake him."

"âHe said it himself, he wanted to take care of you."

"He's fucking taken care of me." Brian got up, walked up to the bedroom and lay down. That was the last thing he said all night. Around eleven Justin crawled in next to him, knowing that he was still awake.

"It'll be over. It doesn't seem like it now, but it will."

"This, too, shall pass?"

"It will."

"Go to sleep."

The next morning Brian placed the call from his office. The main partner, a Mr. Mann, came on the line almost immediately. He answered all of Brian's questions, assuring him that the will would hold up in any court, that it was completely legal, that Mr. Bream was in full control and functioning well when the will was filed.

When was his will filed?

Eleven years ago. Their law firm had spoken to Mr. Bream as recently as last year to verify that he had no changes to make to the document. It would stand as he had originally written it. He had been a functioning member of society for many years, including during the time the will was drawn. There was no reason to think that he wasn't of sound mind when he wrote the thing. Could they send Brian a copy of the relevant portions of the will, he would like to have his own lawyer go over them if they wouldn't mind? Of course, they would send a copy out today.

They would also arrange for the transfer of various deeds and if he would let them know the name of his broker, they would arrange for the investments to be moved, also. Oh, the properties included the contents of the various homes, too, by the way.

Two days later the wills specialist in Melanie's office had looked the thing over and, in his opinion, it was completely legal. Congratulations.

Three days later a small package arrived containing the deeds to several local holdings, along with their keys. The one on Pittsburgh's Fifth Ave was listed as Mr. Bream's main residence.

Justin went over with him, driving the car for Brian again..

It was a nice, but not ostentatious duplex in a beautiful building from the twenties. The ceilings were high, the rooms large, the furniture comfortable.

They wandered through, finding a professional grade actor's makeup kit in the bathroom. When they looked in his clothes closet, Brian recognized a couple of his shirts that had gone missing over the last couple of years. A jewelry box on the bureau held the pocket watch Brian's grandfather had given him when he had graduated college. The new inscription, which had not been there before, read: "Dennis, I love you. I'll always love you, Brian."

Looking at it, Justin simply shook his head.

There was also a pair of Brian's cuff links and his father's wedding ring.

"What are you going to do with all this stuff?"

Brian was looking out the bedroom window. There was a pool; probably the one Dennis had wanted Gus to play in, in the manicured back garden. "I want you to think of some place you've always wanted to go—Italy, Paris, London?"

"Brian?"

He turned back. "You were affected by this, too. Let's get away, regroup for a while."

"âI don't know if I can get away."

"School ends next month. We'll go then."

"Yeah, sureâit sounds great." Justin sounded doubtful.

Brian went up to the second floor. It seemed to just have a couple of bedrooms and a bath. There was one closed door. Feeling like he was prying, he hesitated. Fuck it.

Pushing the door open he was not all that surprised to see literally hundreds of pictures of himself mounted on the walls in a mosaic. Some of his belongings were lying around, propped up as though on display. One of his old stained soccer jerseys, a note book from Penn, the license plate from his car about six years ago—odd things. A business card from the Ryder Agency, another from Vanguardâ. cartons of videotapes, presumably of him.

Jesus.

"Let's go."

Driving back to Tremont, Brian said, almost to himself, "Sick mother fucker."

Justin looked at him. "Were you friends in college?"

"That's what makes it even weirder. He barely spoke to me. I hardly remember him from school. I didn't really get to know him until we both worked an internship at Ryder during junior year."

"How was he?"

"Not too good. I pretty much blew him out of the water."

"Modestly spoken."

"Honestly spoken."

"So what are you going to do with all of this? Even after taxes it's, what? Eight or nine million?"

"Closer to ten, I think, something like that." They pulled into Brian's regular space by the building and didn't say anything until they were back upstairs.

"I've been thinking. I can't keep this—it's fucking blood money. I'll take enough to take us both to Europe to try to make up to you what you were put through and the rest I'll use to set up trusts for the families of the other victims—I'll set some aside for the wounded, too."

"Are you sure you want to do this? That's a shitload of money."

"Fuck it. I don't want it."

"Brian, have you really thought this through?"

He walked over to the couch, throwing himself down in a sprawl, Justin beside him.

"Fucking drop it. I'm talking to Melanie in the morning." That would be that. He wouldn't change his mind.

He snugged himself up against the larger man, curling into him. His hand was resting on the center of his chest, slowly starting to move in languid circles. "Are you hungry?"

"Were you planning dinner?"

"Maybe an appetizer." He started nibbling, licking Brian's ear. Brian's hand came up to hold him in place. "How does your shoulder feel?" He unbuttoned the chambray shirt to see for himself, sliding it down and off, his mouth tracing a line down the long neck to the injured area, kissing the healing wounds.

"My shoulder feels fine."

"Good."

Justin continued down, knowing how sensitive the brown nipples were, how much touching, suckling on them could arouse their owner. The deepened breathing was his cue that it was working as it should. He stayed there for several minutes then, when he judged Brian ready, started down again, pausing at his abs, opening the denim waistband, pushing the fabric apart.

Brian's erection stood out from the firm belly, starting to leak, without giving him time to think, he took the head in his mouth, licking his way down, back up, down again, changing the pressure the timing, the angle.

It had been too long since Brian had last allowed himself to be satisfied, first because he was simply in too much discomfort and then because he simply couldn't deal with it—within a few short minutes he'd cum, gasping, sweat standing out on his forehead and chest his breathing labored.

Swallowing, Justin sat back up against him, letting him come back to himself.

"So you're feeling better now?"

They kissed, lightly but tasting what they had just done. "I believe that I am starting to be more myself." The smile was sunshine.

They lounged pressed together for a bit longer before Justin got up, moving to the kitchen. "I'm hungry. Salad OK? It's fast."

"Fine." Walking past him to the computer, Brian trailed his hand along the smaller man's back in a passing caress.

He went over to the computer, booted it up.

"You've got mail."

The End.

6/15/03

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