A/N: This one is most definitely not a serious piece - LOL! Not sure if I should actually continue it beyond the one-shot to include the actual event - thoughts?

Thursday Evening, Brian's Loft

"Forsooth, Master Kinney! It is I, Prince Taylor!"

Brian stopped dead in his tracks, not even attempting to turn around after closing the door to his loft. The man's voice he just heard kind of sounded like Justin, except for two somewhat minor details: the man's voice had an English accent – and a terrible, cheesy one at that, and the words the man was speaking were apparently in a foreign language, because he had no IDEA what the man was saying. Sore tooth? New suit? On second thought, he could always USE a new Armani suit…..

Against his better judgement, he slowly turned around to confront the Justin impersonator that had apparently sneaked into his loft. The man staring back at him with blue eyes flashing in mischief, giggling, was wearing "normal" clothes of a long-sleeved, cotton, mint-green tee-shirt and a pair of dark-blue jeans, but he also was adorned with a royal blue, felt hat with a feather that was reminiscent of those worn by Robin Hood and his Merry Men back in the days when Errol Flynn was secretly gay but only wanted to DRESS like he was.

"What in the hell is THAT? And where is Sir Twat?" Brian eyed the other man warily, cautiously approaching him as he placed his briefcase down on the desk nearby; he never took his eyes off the restless intruder bouncing lightly up and down on his feet, the feather dipping in perfect synchronization as he tried to greet his partner.

"Ha, ha, Master Kinney," the man replied mirthfully, still speaking in his awful English accent. "Prince Taylor is right here, milord!" He suddenly went into an en guarde mode as he placed one foot in front of the other and held out an imaginary sword. "Ready to defend your honor, Sir!" He swished his imaginary "sword" around in front of the other man and jumped lightly on his feet toward the brunet, who immediately burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

"What have you been taking while I've been at work, Prince Horny?" he asked in bemusement. He slowly walked toward the other man, as Justin placed his imaginary sword against his chest and bowed deeply.

"Nothing, milord," he said huffily, appearing offended. "Ye truly wound me, sir….."

Brian shook his head, unsure just what to make of this…creature standing in front of him. He leaned in closer to the man who looked like Justin (well, sort of, anyway), smelled like Justin (except for the slightly musky smell apparently coming from the feather on his head), and sounded like Justin (well, if you overlooked the horrible attempt at an English accent), and asked, "Okay…..no quick moves and no one will get hurt…..Just hand the twink over and I'll let you escape….."

"Ow!" Brian pulled his hand back and shook it to try and alleviate the sting that the other man's slap had caused. He placed his hands on his hips now and glared back at Sir Whatever-the-Fuck before growling out, "Okay, Prince Horny, or WHATEVER you are…what is this all about?" He had had a shit day and was really in no mood to confront this Elizabethan has-been. Well, I'll say ONE thing for you, PRINCE HORNY, you certainly aren't predictable…..

Justin finally doffed his "Steal from the Rich and Give to the Poor" hat and cradled it under his free arm as he bowed once more and replied, "Very well...As you wish, milord." He reached in his jeans pocket and removed a folded brochure before holding it somewhat anxiously for Brian to take.

As Brian accepted the slick, color brochure and unfolded the contents, Justin looked over expectantly, waiting for the predicted response. He didn't have long to wait.

"No FUCKING WAY, Sir Get Real!" Brian erupted, shaking his head vigorously. "I would not be caught DEAD at a fucking Renaissance Festival! Not now, not ever! Capiche? If you really want to satisfy Master Kinney, get your horny little ass over to the bed and service HIS sword for a change!" All this talk of "horns" was making him horny himself, and he figured after the stressful day he had had at Kinnetik, the least his horny little Prince could do was take care of HIS problem.

Justin stood there, glaring at him, his hands crossed over his chest in extreme disappointment. Could the man ever do what HE wanted to do? Well, if he wasn't going to play nice, neither was he…..

"Well, I'm sorry, Sir Thinks Too Much of Himself and No One Else," he retorted now in his normal tone of voice as he stared back steely-eyed at his partner, all playfulness gone. "But my horny little ass is out of commission at the moment!" He threw his feathered hat down on the kitchen counter and stomped over to the couch, throwing himself down on the cushion in a frustrated huff.

Brian stood there at the counter, wondering which Twilight Zone episode he had just walked into. Whatever possessed him to take up residence with this…this enigma? This Sir Pouts a Lot? Oh, yeah….he managed to fall in LOVE with Sir Twat. Still, there was NO way he would ever set foot at a fucking Renaissance festival, no matter WHO asked him…..

He sighed as he walked over to the living room area and stood facing his partner, who wouldn't even look up from his sulking position in the middle of the couch. "Justin…." he began quietly; surely the man could understand why he couldn't even entertain the thought of going to Pittsburgh's annual Renaissance Festival? After all, he had a reputation to maintain. "Why don't you ask Emmett to go with you if you want to go that badly? Sir Clear Day would fit right in there," he said, smirking. The man could just come as he was - no need to get all dressed up.

Justin shook his head, keeping his eyes cast downward. "Sir Clear Day is on sabbatical at Virginia Beach, MILORD," he said icily. "Besides, I didn't want HIM to go – I wanted YOU to go."

Brian rolled his eyes; what would it take to get a royal FUCK around this castle? He figured there was ONE way to get it, but there was NO WAY he would agree to THAT. "Well, take Lady Daphne, then," he suggested, holding his hands out in hopeful reconcilation.

Justin snorted. "Lady Daphne's on vacation with her boyfriend in Vermont again. At least someone gets to take vacations from time to time," he added sarcastically; the dig wasn't lost on his partner, who shook his head in disgust.

Thoroughly annoyed now, he came to a firm decision as he told his lover exasperatingly, "Just fucking forget it, then, Sir Twat!" He shook his head once more and grunted a sound of defeat. "I'm going to go take a shower in the Royal Bathing Chamber," he announced. He twisted his tie to loosen it before abruptly turning around and silently padding toward the walk-in shower - alone.

Twenty minutes later, relegated to jacking himself off under the water to get some relief, he finally emerged from the heavy glass shower stall and, after drying himself off, trudged naked back to the bedroom, stopping in his tracks as he spied Sir Twat standing near the king-sized bed in an outfit he had never seen before.

His mouth hung open and his eyes darkened with lust as he scrutinized the hot blond standing there with a ruffled, satin, ice-blue flouncy shirt cinched at the waist and a pair of extremely constricting, nylon royal-blue tights that hid absolutely NOTHING to the imagination. Brian's cock, which had just been "serviced" at his own hand in the shower, immediately began to harden again as his eyes drunk in the luscious specimen standing there with an extremely smug expression on his face. Sir Twat, indeed….

"What the fuck do you think you're doing in THAT?" he asked, his voice raspy and suspicious as he raked his gaze up and down at the unbelievable sight in front of him. Me thinks something stinketh here…., he thought with wary trepidation.

Justin simply shrugged nonchalantly. "It's just a new outfit I bought, that's all. You like it?" he asked innocently, as he turned around slowly - VERY slowly - to give Brian a good look at his ass, whose perfectly-rounded, deliciously curved globes were straining against the tight shiny fabric of the royal tights. "I know how much you like tights," he added, licking his lips slowly as a small bit of pink tongue poked out before finally disappearing back into the full, pouty mouth, much to Brian's disappointment.

Brian couldn't help the gaze that wandered down from the pale skin of Justin's neck at the open-collared shirt, to his slender chest molded perfectly against the slick fabric, and, last but most definitely NOT least, the tights that seemed to be painted onto the man's straining cock.

"Uh….." he began glibly; he could have sworn he heard a distinct snicker coming from Sir Twat before he cleared his throat to try and stretch together a cohesive sentence. "It's…..okay," he finally managed to utter, his voice choking somewhat on the last word. It was a hell of a lot MORE than okay….

A sudden, horrible thought occurred to him just then. "Justin…ah, Sir Twat…..just WHY did you buy this new outfit?" He had a terrible suspicion, though, that he already KNEW the answer to that question.

Justin gave him a sort of duh look before verifying, "What do you think? I bought it for the Men in Tights competition at the Renaissance Festival. I've decided if YOU won't go, I'll just go by MYSELF. First prize is $500…..and no doubt all the men you could fuck comes with it, too," he said haughtily, as he continued to stand there, his hands on his royal hips. He wasn't about to tell Brian, however, that the Men In Tights contest was ALSO part of the theme for that weekend - Romance. He wasn't THAT stupid.

The two men stood there, engaged in a mental battle of wits, before Brian sighed loudly in defeat. "Okay, Sir Twat, I'll fucking GO. But not before you take care of the problem you just created, Sir Horny."

Justin slowly smiled now, like the royal cat that had eaten the royal canary, as he studied the man's hard-as-dungeon-steel cock. "It will be my pleasure, Sire," he replied victoriously in his cheesy, English accent. "If you will help me remove my royal tights."