Chapter 4

"Brian, if you're gonna keep this up you will soon have to found some 'Brian Kinney post-traumatic stress' support group!"

"Your point being, Mikey?"

"Stop. It's your third whiskey, it's two in the afternoon, gimme that!"

"Fuck off."

"No, you fuck off! You're not twenty anymore!"

"So? I could still pass for twenty-five."

"No, no you could not. I'm sorry, Brian, but you're too old to fuck around. You completely lost control, what happened with that kid just proves it. You cannot..."

"Get out, Michael. I mean it. Get the fuck out."

"Don't fucking snarl at me, Brian! You know I'm right. What if he was some sort of scammer, huh? He could easily take all your fucking money, Brian! Right this fucking second, do you understand me?! The kid owns you from top to bottom including the underwear!"

"It's a good thing I'm not wearing any, then."

"Brian!"

You chuckle and then start coughing. You smoked a whole pack yesterday, analyzing every possible scenario. Yesterday it was all tough and serious. Today... You passed the worrying on Mikey. You're starting to treat this like a huge practical joke that backfired. The kid won't do anything with you or your money. He is not stupid, he knows you'd hunt him down and hung him high on his balls.

"All right. You have to go now. I have to go. Everybody's busy and..."

"Brian. Just one more thing. What the fuck happened that night? Did he give you something...? Oh fucking stop with that face, I know what else he gave you, I meant drugs! You usually don't pass out and forget."

"Well. There was a sling and tequila. It was glorious. Then somebody threw some glitter which was really like the icing on top. Let's go."

"Thanks for the lesson on dirty dancing, kid."

"Brian! What the hell... What are you doing here?"

"Came to see my trophy wife. You?"

"Working. Are you drunk at three in the afternoon?"

"Could be. Did you get that therapist?"

"No. But I'm definitely seeing how the world is a different place when I'm actually getting some."

"Good boy. Get your leash, we're going."

"Nothing has changed since the past five seconds – I'm still working. You can pick me up at six."

"I'm not going to fucking pick you up, let's go!"

"Well, then. You have two choices. Get the fuck out of my part of the counter and bother someone else or stop blocking the line, sit the fuck down and order something."

His smile was like a chocolate cupcake with a grenade hidden at the bottom.

You sit down by the counter and with every inch of your existence try not to kill him. Although there is always that thought of bending him over your knee and spanking the obedience out of that white ass.

"Fine. Double black Jack on the rocks."

Here's that smirk again.

"Sure, Mr. Basic Instinct."

Okay, he simply cannot know any good movies. He's a kid and too young for Michael Douglas.

"Jesus, Brian. You could make a stripper uncomfortable by eye fucking her like that."

Well, what do you know. This could turn out to be less painful than you imagined.

"You know, you should come with a disclaimer that reads 'bad at basic human relations and defensive when confronted about it'".

"Stop being a smart-ass. At least tonight you're not walking here alone. I bet even cats are shitting their pants while walking into the alleys."

"If you had a cat I bet he would wear Armani, you snob."

"Hey. Hands off the high fashion, peasant."

This actually feels comfortable. He took your car keys and you bit him for that but other than that you feel like you could get him to sign the divorce papers without any losses.

At the same time... Some feeling that you prefer to keep nameless is slowly creeping down your spine. It's unknown but yet not entirely unpleasant and kind of warm. It slowly reaches out with his soft black paws, testing its new territory.

"This is me. Goodnight."

You raise your eyebrow. Really? He lives in a small terraced house that looks more like a tool shed.

"Come here, kid."

"I really wish you would stop calling me that."

"I don't care."

You pulled him by his jacket and kissed him on the lips. It was all but soft and tender but then again you were quite drunk. He didn't seem to mind but when your hand started creeping to his pocket he pushed it away. Sly little foxy.

"You're not getting your keys."

You looked at him and it was meant to be harsh and scary, not make him laugh, dammit!

"Tell you what, gorgeous. You can sleep on the couch."

Hell no! Brian Kinney takes no couches! You had to chase him to the house with your new murderous glare since he wasn't waiting for you.

What has the world come to.