DISCLAIMER: QAF and its characters are the sole property of Cowlip Productions and Showtime. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This story can be read alone but might make more sense if you read the prequel first.:) Hope you enjoy it - I'll be updating it regularly. One of my readers had suggested this as a plot bunny quite a while back - I don't recall who it was, but thanks for the suggestion! As always, comments are greatly appreciated.:)

Brian couldn't hold back the guffaw from his lips as Justin emerged from the loft's bedroom wearing a white, skintight simulated leather outfit with fringe running down both sleeves. Studded silver sequins trailed down either side of the open, V-necked top as well as the outside of his pant legs, which flared out so wide he probably could have fit a couple dozen of Elvis's favorite sandwich – fried banana, bacon and peanut butter – inside the extra folds of fabric.

He pursed his lips together in an attempt to ward off the hysterical laughter that threatened to bubble up from inside, but he was finding it inordinately difficult. "What in the fuck are you wearing? Have you been raiding Honeycutt's closet again?"

Justin huffed out proudly, "As a matter of fact, he helped me pick this out today down at the Sixties R Us Shop." The store, which had been in business since, well, the sixties, now sold vintage clothing and accessories from the hippie and psychedelic days of old, and boasted of carrying the largest supply in the Northeast. How fortunate for us, Brian thought dryly as his gaze began at Justin's poofed-out, gel-teased hair and traveled slowly down the pale skin peeking out of the snug chest-bearing top, then on down to linger briefly at the telltale bulge of Justin's crotch and finally down to the slender but fit legs ending in those hideously flared-out bottoms with the black cut-out panels. A pair of white and black brogue shoes completed the 'outfit.' He actually looked hot in a goofy, geeky sort of way – of course to him Justin always looked hot – but the cheesiness of the costume outweighed that knowledge at the moment.

"Oh, my God," Brian deadpanned. "Elvis is alive and, well,… NOT so well." He curled his lips under as he examined his husband. "I think the King has lost girth – and height." His eyes narrowed as he noticed Justin wearing something else. "Are those my gold chains you're wearing?" he asked sharply.

Justin rolled his eyes. "So? Elvis wore gold all the time."

"Well, if Elvis LOSES one of my chains before he gets back, he's going to be singing Hurt."

"Oh, I'm All Shook Up," Justin cracked as he maturely stuck his tongue out at Brian on his way over to retrieve a bottle of Evian from the refrigerator. "We needed to do a dress rehearsal tonight," he explained. "The statewide talent show is only a week away now, you know."

Brian rubbed one hand over his face in amusement from his place on the couch; his long legs were propped up on top of their expensive coffee table and the plasma T.V. was blaring out yet another showing of Easy Rider with Clint Eastwood, one of Brian's favorite movies. "Tell me you're NOT going out in public in that outfit, Justin! Everyone knows who you're married to, and I have a reputation to uphold around here!"

Justin walked over to stand beside Brian near the couch, one hand on his slim hip as he took a swig from the plastic bottle. Brian noticed his husband wearing two oversized, tacky-looking imitation ruby rings which seemed absurdly large on Justin's slender hand, and a pair of large, owlish-looking sunglasses was propped on top of his head as he responded stiffly, "Oh, well in that case I'll do my best to make a run for it from the front door to my car. And I'll make sure to only use the drive-through when I get my Whopper from Burger King afterward. Maybe we'll only have one or two Elvis sightings then." He sighed melodramatically. "There goes my reward money from the National Enquirer…" He quickly tilted the bottle up and chug-a-lugged a large gulp of water before emitting an audible "Ahh" and placing it down on the coffee table's glass surface.

"Hey!" Brian protested as he reached over to grab one of his cork-bottomed, James Dean coasters that said "Rebel Just Because" and placed the half-full, condensation-laden bottle on top. "Watch it! What did I tell you about leaving water rings on the furniture?"

Justin rolled his eyes as he turned to go. "Ooh, what WAS I thinking," he quipped in falsetto. "I'm going to be late for rehearsal," he said as he prepared to go, just as Brian grabbed one fringed arm and spun him around to face him.

"Just a minute, Hot Stuff… You forgot something, Oh King of Tackiness," Brian told him, one elegant, arched eyebrow raised as he stared into Justin's eyes.

"What? My rhinestone belt? My fake sideburns? My Pink Cadillac with the deer horns on it?"

"That's Aretha Franklin, you twit! At least without the deer horns, anyway."

"Huh?"

"Pink Cadillac? Ridin' Down the Freeway?" All he got was a blank stare in return from his younger spouse. "Oh, forget it!" Brian retorted as he tapped one long finger expectantly against his lips and Justin smirked.

"Oh… That," the blond said with a blush as he walked over to place his hand behind Brian's neck and lean down for a deep but too brief of a kiss, at least in Brian's estimation; by now, though, they had kissing down to an art form and didn't need a long time to thankfully still make it a passionate one.

A few moments and a little less breath later, Justin pulled back to say in his best Elvis voice, "Thank you. Thank you very much." He began to walk away, swishing his hips Elvis-style as Brian watched with hungry eyes, wishing the King wouldn't leave the building just yet...

Brian snorted as he gave Justin a smack on his white leatherette rump. "Go meet Sonny Boy before I strip that jumpsuit off you and jump YOU."

Justin grinned as he looked over his shoulder. "I'll take that as a promise for later," he whispered huskily as his blue eyes sparkled. He reached over to grab his car keys off the coffee table just as his cell phone rang. Brian was surprised to find out that "Elvis's" jumpsuit had a pocket in it as Justin reached inside a hidden flap and retrieved his phone. Flipping it open, he shot Brian a quick glance before he answered it. "It's Gus," he announced as Brian nodded.

"Hey, Gus! What's up?"

"Pops, you're not going to believe this! Kevin broke his arm this afternoon at football practice! I TOLD the dumb shit not to injure his playing arm before our gig!"

Justin had to smile despite the severity of their situation, because he knew Gus meant Kevin's guitar-playing arm, not his football arm, even though they were the same ones. He cleared his throat before he said sympathetically, "That's terrible, Gus! I don't know how we can possibly perform now, not without our guitar player."

From his position on the couch, Brian raised his eyebrows in question as Justin covered the mouthpiece part of the cell phone with his hand and whispered, "Kevin got injured at football practice today."

"Smart boy," Brian replied drolly as Justin glared at him.

"I guess we'll just have to drop out, then," Justin replied to his 'son.' Gus had been around Justin for so long now that he considered him his other father, and Justin felt just as strongly about him. Their rehearsing together over the past several weeks had served to bond them even closer together. "At least we still have our trophy from the regional talent show." he pointed out. They had managed to actually persuade Brian to show up; that evening had been such fun! The best part, though, was the days leading up to the show, when Brian actually thought he had been seeing another man clandestinely when he had actually been meeting up with Gus and his friends on the sly to rehearse for the big night. It had taken Brian quite a while before he was able to live his jealous rant down, but Justin had found the whole episode quite entertaining.

"No fucking way, Pops!" he heard Gus exclaim vehemently. "We've worked too hard for this!" The five of them – he, Gus, and three of his friends from school – had been rehearsing every night nonstop for the past few weeks now in preparation for the state-wide talent show benefitting the Pennsylvania Gay and Lesbian Alliance coming up in less than a week. The prize money for the winning act wasn't all that much - $500 – but it was more so Gus and his fellow band mates could get some much-needed publicity for their fledgling retro rock band that they had organized approximately a year ago. Justin had agreed to sing in the band for the local talent show a few months ago to help them out in a pinch, and had agreed to repeat his role for the state-wide event. But he had already told Gus that this would be his 'swan song.' It wasn't as if he didn't enjoy it, and he loved spending time with Gus, but his art had to take priority over his singing; something told him he wasn't going to make a living imitating singers who had moved onto their 'rock band in the sky.' Now it appeared he wouldn't have to worry about it, though.

"I know," Justin murmured soothingly. "But I don't see where we have any choice. We can't perform without our guitar player." Kevin was vital to the band, seeing as how so many of Elvis' best-known songs relied upon the hypnotic, pulsing beat of both the drum – Gus's instrument – and the guitar. A sudden inspiration hit him, though, as he looked over at Brian hopefully, but his optimism proved to be short-lived.

The words weren't even out of his mouth before Brian growled, "No fucking way, Elvis! Don't even think about it!"

"Hang on a minute, Gus," Justin said as he placed the phone flat against his stomach so the teenager wouldn't hear. He stood there with one hand on his hip as he glared down at his husband. "Have you ever heard Elvis sing Are You Lonesome Tonight? Well, I'll be singing that to YOU tonight if you disappoint your son!"

"I'm not disappointing my son; I'm helping him," Brian maintained.

"Uh, huh. And how's that?" Justin asked in puzzlement.

"I'm helping him to realize that life isn't always fair. I'm teaching him a hard lesson in the school of hard knocks."

"Brian…."

Brian sighed; he always found it so hard to say no to this man, but in this case he had to put his foot down. "Justin… You know how much I love my son, and I would normally do anything for him – and you. But I am NOT getting up on a stage and belting out a doo-wop here and a doo-wop there while you pretend you're the resurrected King! It's just not going to happen, Sunshine!"

"Who said you could even sing?" Justin hissed out, a pout forming on the full, perfect lips. "Oh, just forget it!" he growled impatiently as he raised the phone back up to his ear. "Damn stubborn man," he muttered under his breath as he said to Gus "I'm sorry, Buddy. I don't think…"

"Wait!" Gus cried out abruptly. "Why didn't I think of this before? Rob!"

Justin frowned. "Rob?"

"Yeah!" Gus said excitedly. "Rob's this new guy that just moved here from Seattle. He lives a couple doors down from me and he mentioned the other day that he was on the band at his old school! He said he played guitar, and wanted to join the band here in the fall when school starts again! I bet HE would do it!"

Justin smiled as he looked over at Brian sweetly. "That's great, Gus! Your idea is much better than mine." Brian rolled his eyes in response.

"What was yours?" Gus said curiously as Justin returned his attention back to his call.

"Never mind," Justin said with a grin. "It doesn't matter now; I'll tell you later. You think you can get ahold of him and have him meet us at my studio for rehearsal tonight? It's awfully short notice." Justin's art space, located a few blocks away from the loft, was refurbished from an old, obsolete manufacturing facility and had a large, exposed room upstairs that they had been using nightly for their rehearsals. It was the perfect location to practice their song without disturbing anyone else, and the acoustics were amazingly precise.

"I'll call him right now!" Gus exclaimed enthusiastically. "I'm sure he'll do it!" he told Justin. "He's a great guy! I'll swing by on the way over and pick up Kevin's guitar in case he needs to borrow it, too."

Justin nodded. "Sounds like a plan – okay then, let's do it. I'll see you in a little while." He flipped his phone shut as he stared over at Brian. "Never mind, Jimi Hendrix," he retorted. "We found someone better."

"Oh, yeah?" Brian said with his nose turned up. "Not too likely."

Justin grinned as he walked toward the door. "Don't wait up," he told him as he picked up his jacket and flipped it over his shoulder. "If our rehearsal runs too late, I might find my thrill at Blueberry Hill tonight."

Brian huffed. "Very funny, Elvis," just before Justin slid the loft's door open and disappeared, white leathered ass and all.