Saturday Morning – 9:30 a.m.

"Justin?" Brian frowned as he emerged from the shower and dried his hair off with a thick towel. Where did the MAN go? I just SAW him 15 minutes ago! As he finished drying off his body, he threw the towel in the hamper nearby and walked toward the bedroom, still trying to find his own personal Sir Horny.

At least Justin had lived up to his name the other night; he wasn't sure if it was because of all their talk about "horny this" or "horny that," but by the time he had helped him remove those skin-tight, ice-blue colored leotards that had clung so strongly to his partner's slender, pale legs, Brian was downright salivating. He found out they didn't call them tights for nothing – they had left nothing to the imagination and had left him drooling. It was all he could do to restrain himself before impatiently peeling the satin tights down Justin's legs (the man wouldn't LET him tear them off, which would have been Brian's preferred method of disposal) and roughly pushing the blond down on their bed to fuck Sir Horny senseless all night long.

By the time morning had come, Brian would have agreed to do ANYTHING if it granted him a command performance; hence, here he stood debating what to wear to a, could he even THINK it? A Renaissance Festival. He shook his head in disbelief, wondering when Sir Little Blond Twat had become so successful in talking him into doing things he would have never done before.

"You called, Sire?" he heard a familiar voice coming from the kitchen area. Throwing on a nearby pair of jeans but not bothering to button them, he wandered into the main common area of the loft in a search for his own personal Court Jester before finally spying Sir Twat a Lot emerging from behind the kitchen counter with a bowl of Fruit Loops. Well, THAT certainly fits, Brian couldn't help thinking; he stopped in his tracks, however, when he became aware of what Justin was wearing.

"Tell me you're NOT wearing that to the festival," Brian told him ominously. Justin had the same outfit on as he had worn the other day when he had managed to strong-arm him into agreeing to go today. There was NOTHING in that decision, however, that stated Sir Twat would be wearing this provocative outfit on the way THERE; Brian figured he would be changing into it later for the contest.

Justin stood there in surprise, his hands on his chest – the chest that was displaying much too much skin for Brian's taste at the moment. "What do you THINK I would wear to a Renaissance Festival with a Man in Tights contest?" he asked incredulously. "I'm afraid my chain mail is still at the cleaners, along with my chastity belt."

Brian glared back at his own little version of Cock Robin. "You didn't say you had to wear the outfit to get in," he countered. "And you've never owned a chastity belt in your life."

"To your enormous relief," Justin replied. "Don't be such a spoilsport. If I wear the outfit IN, I get in for FREE. I'm going to say you $17.00."

Brian snorted. "Who said I was going to pay for your blue little bubble butt to get in there in the first place?"

"Well, all the more so, then, Sir Kinney," Justin maintained. "Now you won't have to worry about it." He rolled his eyes. "Stop being so difficult. It's not like I'm asking you to go the guillotine or something. It's just a renaissance festival, for fuck's sake! Besides, I won't be the ONLY one competing in the Men in Tights contest…..maybe you'll actually grow to LIKE it."

Brian considered that idea – walk amongst trolls that looked like rejects from a Robin Hood "B" movie, or ogling several men wearing skin-tight leotards? He winced. Was there really much DIFFERENCE? Just because they're wearing tights didn't mean they SHOULD be wearing tights…..! Thoughts of a portly, beer-bellied bald man wearing – gulp – bright green tights under a blousy, frilly shirt with bristled chest hairs sticking out almost made him sick to his stomach.

He shook his head, trying furiously to remove that gut-churning image from his head.

Justin could see his lover vacillating, even though he had promised Thursday night that he would go. "Brian, you promised," he pleaded, turning on his best puppy-dog-look for the man to see. "You don't want me to go alone, do you?"

Although Justin didn't say it out loud, Brian could hear the REST of that statement reverberating loudly in his head. Wearing this…

Damn little manipulating fucker. If he let Justin go there wearing that….that outfit, he would no doubt come back as Sir Fucks a Lot… "Okay, okay," Brian snarled. "SOMEONE has to protect your virtue."

He heard a distinctive snort as he whirled around and headed back to the bedroom to seek out a NORMAL shirt to wear. At least ONE of them wouldn't look like he just came out of a Halloween nightmare….

As he returned a couple of minutes later wearing a black, sleeveless wife-beater shirt over his jeans and a pair of expensive Gucci loafers, he walked up to Justin and crooked a long finger into the blond's rather tight tights. "Come on, Sir Twat a Lot," he growled as he began to pull the younger man toward the door. "Your fucking carriage awaits."

Wearing a broad smile of triumph, Justin trotted along happily beside his Knight in Shining Armor as they walked out of the loft toward the elevator to begin their adventure back into Medieval times.


Thirty Minutes Later – 20 miles outside Pittsburgh

"Are we still in PENNSYLVANIA?" Brian groused as they passed nothing but corn fields on either side of the two-lane highway they were presently driving on. "I think I saw a sign back there for Wisconsin cheddar."

Justin rolled his eyes. "We've only been on the road for a half-hour, Sir Out of Your Element," Justin countered. "You wouldn't expect a Renaissance Festival in downtown Pittsburgh, would you?" he asked reasonably.

Brian peered over at his Little Boy Blue through his sunglasses as he replied, "I don't know why not – if they held it at the same time as the Pride Festival, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"Ha, ha," Justin answered. "Then it's YOUR fault we're here in the FIRST place; if you hadn't insisted I go to the Pride Festival that year, I wouldn't have gotten the inspiration."

Brian snorted, aware that he wasn't going to win no matter WHAT argument he presented. He was stuck attending this farce whether he wanted to or not. He was about to complain that it was taking too long to reach their destination when his passenger excitedly grabbed his sleeve, almost causing the brunet to lose control of the 'Vette.

"Hey, watch it, Sir Fruity! You almost made me run off the fucking road!" he snarled in irritation.

"Turn! Turn!" Justin squawked urgently like a blond-headed conure; to Brian's disappointment, he managed to swerve the car to the right to make the private-drive turn into the festival's entrance just in time; as he now slowed down to pay the rather scruffy-looking parking attendant the $2.00 parking fee, he shook his head in disgust. "You have to PAY to go through the royal parking gate? This is getting worse by the second!"

The muttering continued as Brian soon realized he not only had to pay, but he was paying money to park his 'Vette in a field.

As he shook his head in disbelief, Justin tried to make the best of the situation. "Hey, at least the field's dry – it hasn't rained in so long it's hard as a rock."

"Well, from the looks of things, that's the only thing that's going to be hard around here," Brian retorted; as he looked around at the masses of people walking toward the festival's entrance garbed in what they thought were authentic-looking Elizabethan costumes, his dick seemed to deflate. The men were mainly overweight, balding, or much too prissy for his taste, and even if he WERE interested in women, they were all wearing so many layers of clothing it would take him a week just to get to the good parts.

As they stopped their vehicle and Brian turned the car off, Justin reached a hand over and firmly squeezed Brian's cock, which quickly began to harden at the blond's expert touch. "Well, it seems to be fully functional to me," Justin teased, smiling.

Brian quickly grabbed the wandering hand to still it as he bantered back, "Just remember, Baby Blue, you will owe me BIG TIME when we get back to the loft." Although, at that moment, Brian didn't think there were enough days in the rest of his life to EVER get payback for THIS favor.

Justin twisted his mouth in amusement. "I'll endeavor to do my best, milord," he replied in his terribly cheesy medieval accent. "Shall we be off, then?" he asked, his eyes lighting up mischievously. "Just remember we're parked in Row Merlin."

"Not just yet, Sir Fancy Pants," Brian growled huskily, just before he used his advantage to pull Justin toward him and smash his lips against his for a bruising kiss. As they finally broke apart breathlessly several seconds later, he murmured in the blond's ear, "Just remember who those tighty-whites are coming back with later, you got it?"

Justin smirked, knowing despite the brunet's declaration of ownership, both of them knew who had the upper hand here. "Got it, Sir Studly," he dutifully replied before Brian released his hand and he reached for the passenger door to open it.


A Few Minutes Later – Near the Front Gate

Brian followed his blond little Lancelot closely behind as he watched the blue-bedecked, skin-tight curved bubble butt sway as Justin tantalizingly walked in his costume. He had to admit – from back here, the view was spectacular. That was the problem, however; the man looked TOO good in that creamy white, satin flowing shirt open at the collar and those damn tights. Brian's breath hitched as he walked Justin walk; Sir Horny was definitely living up to his name, because he was making Brian regret agreeing to let Justin come here in THAT outfit. He had an idea this was NOT going to be good….at least, not for HIM.

As they entered through the gate, he looked around furiously for a shop selling some type of weapon he could use against possible suitors. Where was a SWORD shop when you NEEDED one? Maybe a magic potion shop so I could buy a potion to use for warding off admirers of that luscious ass…..

"BRIAN!"

He started as he heard the exasperated voice of his partner nearby. Had Justin been CALLING him? "What? I'm NOT deaf, you know," he retorted curtly as he turned to face the amused object of his zoned out reverie.

Justin snorted. "You could have fooled me. That was the third time I called your name. What do you want to do first?" he asked his partner, who gave him a look as if he had just grown another head.

"You mean besides leave?" Brian growled. "This was YOUR idea, Sir Prance-A-Lot. You TELL me." Brian looked around, trying to figure out just what the fascination was. To him, it just looked like a primitive version of an amusement park; vendor's shops ringed both sides of the courtyard as apparently employees of the fair walked around trying to stay in character as they greeted visitors in what they thought was an authentic-sounding, Elizabethan accent. Unfortunately, they weren't really succeeding; he noticed to his consternation that a great deal of the men were eyeing his partner intently as if he were the next tastiest thing on the menu after the jumbo turkey legs that were being peddled nearby.

Justin studied the brochure provided to them when they passed through the entrance gate. "There's a swordsman show right over there in 10 minutes," he told the brunet hopefully, who raised his eyes heavenward in a Help me, Lord kind of look. As Justin noticed his partner's look of boredom, he added convincingly, "At least you'll get to sit down." He reached over and took Brian's hand to slowly pull him toward the wooden bleachers, which were quickly filling with curious visitors.

"Yeah," Brian quipped as he somewhat grudgingly allowed his partner to lead him toward his torture chamber. "If I'm lucky, maybe I'll leave with a splinter in my ass as a souvenir."

Justin smiled, bemused, as he and his nylon-clad body gently pulled Brian toward the center aisle, parking himself down at the end of a nearby row; Brian turned around to make sure he wasn't going to sit in any bird shit before he gingerly lowered himself down onto the faded, wooden structure and tried to look nonchalant, although in his sleeveless, cotton shirt and jeans, he seemed distinctly out of place with the rest of the group, who almost consistently were dressed either in long, flowing peasant-style dresses or medieval knightly attire. He noticed to some surprise that several men were wearing outfits similar to Justin's, although he had to admit, just like in the Snow White tale, his own little blond knight was definitely the hottest of them all.

Deciding he'd better keep a close eye on Sir Twink, he glanced up as two men finally strolled onto the stage. He rolled his eyes as one of the men introduced himself as Burke Perfect, while the no-doubt comedic foil he introduced to the crowd was named Edwardo Crescendo. Just let me puke now and get it over with, Brian thought dryly, as "Burke Perfect" proceeded to launch into what he thought was a witty comedy routine. He spared a momentary glance at their attire – green, crushed velour tights, v-necked flouncy shirts with puffed sleeves, and knee-high boots, before he decided perhaps there was more interesting scenery nearby.

Vastly bored with the whole onstage presentation, he found himself nonetheless captivated as he glanced over at Justin who was sitting next to him, a look of utter delight on his face. His eyes were twinkling with joy and he wore a large smile as he listened attentively to the pair of men onstage, entranced. Brian shook his head fondly, amazed that Justin would find this so mesmerizing but finding himself enjoying watching Justin enjoying what was happening onstage. Crazy little (adorable) twat.

He watched as Justin laughed out loud at one of the men's jokes – the man calling himself Burke Perfect was telling the crowd, "We're artistes. Do you know what artistes mean? Homeless." As he ignored the lame attempt at humor, Brian thought silently to himself that if he lived to be a hundred, he would NEVER grow tired of his partner's smile that could always light up a room in an instant and steal his heart along with it.

He half-listened to what the buffoon on stage was saying as he thought he heard the man stating, "You know how to know if a man is interested in someone? He walks as if he's in pain." The man then proceeded to walk in an exaggerated fashion toward the front of the stage as he seemed to stop directly in front of Justin's line of vision and stare down at him intently, even though he was spouting something to the young, blond woman in the row directly in front of his partner as he asked what her name was.

Thinking he was jumping to conclusions, Burke Perfect then proceeded to rattle off some inane love poem addressing it to the woman in front, who was named Julia, but Brian noticed he didn't take his eyes off Justin the entire time he was reciting it.

Brian's eyes darkened with distrust and out-and-out hostility as he began to suspect the man onstage was saying Julia but THINKING Justin as the man finally finished his poem with a flourish, whipping his feather-studded, pointed hat off his head and bowing low to the audience; his eyes caught Justin's and he winked just before he stood up straight once again and continued with his stilted comedic routine.

As the man stared back out at the audience and stated melodramatically, "Let's warm up with some sword play - I'm feeling kind of kinky," Brian hissed, "Well, I'm feeling kind of predatory," earning a let-it-drop look from the object of the man's desire sitting next to him. Justin reached over and quietly grasped Brian's hand in reassurance and squeezed it briefly before releasing it. As the two men on stage prepared for a duel after slapping each other with gloves, Brian couldn't help thinking, You do that AGAIN, Sir Fancy Pants, and I'll slap you up the side of your head MYSELF….

The show was blissfully over shortly thereafter as Brian quickly stood up, grabbed Justin's hand firmly and pulled him forcefully up the aisle toward the main path, as far away from Sir Perfect as he could get.

"Bri-an," Justin complained breathlessly a few minutes later, as the brunet continued to pull him quickly down the path away from the swordsmen's stage. "Slow down," he beseeched his partner as he saw numerous shops flashing by them in a virtual blur as the older man continued to drag him down the makeshift village.

Brian finally decided he had placed enough room between Sir Perfect and his OWN idea of perfect before he at last slowed down to a more leisurely pace; Justin took advantage of the difference to stop and promptly plop down on a nearby wooden bench under a large shade tree. As he tried to force air back into his heaving lungs, he looked over at Brian, who eventually sat down cautiously next to him after making sure the seat was relatively clean.

"Well, this has certainly been an adventure SO far, Sir Sunshine," Brian announced after a short while. He peered over at his partner, who was shaking his head in exasperation.

Justin should have known this would turn out to be a disaster where Brian was concerned; this was certainly not his partner's idea of a good time. The only wood Brian was interested in was NOT here in this godforsaken backwoods village, but back in their loft or in the backroom of Babylon. He figured, though, that that was why he loved the man, because he WAS willing to do it for HIS sake – for a price later, anyway.

As Brian leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes, he was abruptly interrupted by Justin practically shrieking, "Look! A tarot reader! Let's go have our future read!"

"Oh, NO," Brian promptly snarled. "I am NOT going into some fucking voodoo tent! The near future is HORRIBLE enough!" He closed his eyes and leaned back again, dismissing the concept promptly out of hand.

"Ow!" Brian yelled in irritation as he shrunk back from the pointed, fingered jab in his side.

"Well, you didn't predict THAT," Justin maintained, pouting that he wouldn't get to hear what the future held for him and Brian. Right now, he really didn't NEED some fortune teller, though, to tell him that Brian's patience was quickly running out for this adventure; if he didn't get him preoccupied with some more pleasant activity soon, the man would surely bolt, with or without him.

He looked around for a possible solution before finally deciding on a specific target. "Brian," he said softly in a sexy tone of voice. "You want to go try the King's Nuts?"

He watched, amused, as Brian's eyes lit up at that provocative question. "King's Nuts? Where?"

Justin curled his lips under to keep from laughing; you are SO easy, Kinney. "Come on, I'll show you," Justin practically cooed, standing up and extending his hand out to his partner, who, after a few seconds, warily reached out and grasped it.

As they strolled hand-in-hand, oblivious to anyone's stares, Brian looked around for their destination. His eyes finally settled on a crudely-made sign swinging above a shop that sold roasted almonds. "THIS is the King's Nuts?" he retorted in utter disenchantment as his mouth hung open in revelation.

Justin chuckled softly. "Well, almonds ARE nuts, you know," he pointed out as he walked up and handed the young girl $3.00 and received a paper cone full of the cinnamon-laced treat. "Mmmm," he hummed as he popped a couple in his mouth and watched as Brian scowled at him from a few feet away before turning around in disappointment.

As he walked back to his partner, who had his back turned away from him in disgust, he placed his free hand around Brian's chest and stood up on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear huskily, "Don't fret, Sir Kinney, when I'm done with MY nuts, I'll take care of YOURS." He was rewarded with a turn of the brunet's head and a knowing leer as he finally smiled back in return.