Justin finds himself with an unexpected opportunity to showcase his art. But at what cost?

10:00 P.M. That Evening...

Brian tried to ignore the adrenaline rushing through his body, and the quickening of his heartbeat as he slid the door to his loft open and hurriedly shut it, knowing he was running late for the most important 'meeting' of his day: his nightly encounter with Justin. He hastily slid out of his suit jacket, sighing in relief to be rid of the constricting clothing. He had spent several hours after his successful meeting earlier, catching up on unfinished business at Kinnetik, and making sure all the documents were complete and ready to be sent to his newest client to seal their deal, one that would make the coffers of Kinnetik a lot richer than they had been earlier in the day.

Normally he would take sufficient time to hang his expensive suit jacket up in the closet; but he had more urgent needs to attend to at the moment. So he hung it, instead, over the back of his desk chair, and smiled as he flipped open his briefcase lying on the desk to grab his laptop and head over to the bedroom. For what he was about to do, he needed to get comfortable. After all, this would be the first time they would be Skyping with the web cam operating, and it would be his first glimpse of the beautiful man he now knew a lot more about - both physically as well as emotionally. And each bit of information he gleamed from Justin - along with the strong physical attraction he now felt for him - only strengthened his feelings for him. It also made his heart ache in ways he had never thought possible over their separation. The only other person he felt such pangs for was his son, and, of course, the emotions were similar but also different for both.

Placing the laptop open on his bed, he tugged at his tie to loosen it and yanked it over his head, unbuttoning his shirt in between booting up the computer to turn it on, and unzipping his suit pants to push them, along with his briefs, down his long, lean legs and step out of his polished Gucci shoes. Literally throwing his pants and briefs onto a nearby chair, he pushed back the cool covers of the bed and sat against the headboard, smirking as he angled the computer in a way that would be focused on a particular body part that was quickly becoming quite vested in anticipation of a certain someone's face appearing on the screen.

As soon as his desktop appeared, he grinned as he heard a familiar 'pinging,' signaling an incoming call. His mouth widened into a full-fledged smile as he saw on the camera for the first time the man he had left earlier in the day in his hotel bed. He knew it had been this morning, but to him the time between their parting and now had seemed like a lifetime. He chuckled as he noticed Justin rolling his eyes as he realized where the webcam was pointed.

Justin shook his head in amusement. "Getting right to the point, are we?" he asked, his blue eyes twinkling. "God, do you know how long I've been waiting here on my bed for you?"

"Sorry 'bout that," Brian replied, surprising even himself by his apology, which he seldom gave. Despite what he told people, however, he DID say those words on occasion, just on extremely RARE occasions. But then again, with Justin, he was finding himself saying and doing things he would have never thought he would ever do before, so he wasn't totally surprised when the words slipped from his lips. "I've been in meetings all day. I just got home."

"Uh, huh," was the dry response. "Well, I told you I would have the camera ON, and I expected to see your head pop up...just not that one." He laughed as Brian found himself rolling his tongue into his cheek and grinning. "After all, you didn't become such an advertising genius by being vague and obscure, I'm sure."

"Got THAT right, Warhol," he told his caller.

"So everything went well? Or do I even have to ask?"

"You wound me," Brian told him. "Of course it did. And Kinnetik is millions of dollars richer than it was this morning." He couldn't help thinking at the same time, however, that from a personal standpoint, in a way he was a LOT poorer, having to leave Justin in New York when he returned. He couldn't quite comprehend why, but he DID know they were going to have to find some remedy to that situation. "But as you can see, I still have some energy left in me."

Justin laughed. "Oh, I had no doubt of that, no matter where the camera was pointed. Although, I admit you honed right in on one of the most important parts." He smiled, making Brian smile at him in return, even though he couldn't see it. "And we'll take care of that particular issue in a few minutes. But do you think you could humor me for just a bit, and let me see your OTHER head first?"

Brian grinned as he reached over and tilted the laptop monitor so Justin could see his face, making the blond's smile even more blinding. God, that smile, Brian couldn't help thinking. It made his heart skip and his entire body thrum. "Is that better, Picasso?"

"That's Warhol to you," Justin reminded him. His smile turned into something more bittersweet as he softly admitted, "I wish in a way that we had never met."

Brian frowned at the unexpected sentiment. "Why?" he asked, finding that distressing for some reason.

Justin sighed. "Because I already miss you like crazy." He was silent for a moment before he sheepishly admitted, "I was going to call you earlier, just to hear your voice. But I knew you were going to be extremely busy today, and I didn't want to disturb you." He wrapped his arms around his bare chest as he lay in his bed, wishing it was Brian's arms cradling him instead; he could almost feel his fingers caressing his skin, and his shivered at the thought, not because of the cold.

Brian's mouth crooked upward. "I wouldn't have minded," he told him truthfully, noticing Justin's eyes widening in surprise. No use in trying to disguise it. "I...I feel the same."

"Brian, there must be..."

"Justin, there's no easy resolution to this," he quietly reminded him, knowing where the conversation was heading. "We've talked about this before. You have your life in New York City. I have mine here. My son. My company. My friends. Just like you have your friends there, and Vic. I know he's like family to you from what you told me, especially with your father gone. Plus, you have your lessons, and I know how important those are to you."

Justin felt a lump appear abruptly in his throat; not sure if it was because Brian's words made him think of his father's recent passing, or because he knew Brian was right about there being no easy solution to their separation. Perhaps it was both. He nodded, swallowing hard and feeling too choked up at least momentarily to respond verbally.

"Justin," Brian continued, his voice softer. He temporarily forgot about the initial reason why he had been in such a hurry to bring up his computer screen; the fact that he wasn't engaging in some sort of sexual foreplay by now actually surprised him just a bit, but it was further evidence of how he felt differently toward this young man as opposed to all the other men he had surrounded himself with. But wasn't that the point? The other men were just a means to an end. Justin, on the other hand, was different. He didn't want just him for sex. Oh, no doubt about it. Their physical attraction was off the charts; but he wanted to get to know the whole man. "What do you really know about me?" he asked him, not in an attempt to discourage him, but to be realistic. They had only known each other, one way or the other, for a short time. And while he had experienced perhaps one of the best nights of his life (bar the birth of his son), what did they really know about each other? Was it best that they break things off before it became even more difficult?

Justin stuck his chin out defiantly; he was NOT going to let Brian take what they had lightly. He didn't care how long they had known each other. He was young, yes; but not too young that he didn't recognize this feeling for what it was. Perhaps he wasn't quite there yet; but he knew in his heart he was falling in love with this man. And come hell or high water, he wasn't letting him go. "I know all I need to know," he told him. "And it wasn't just plain, dumb luck that you were the one who found my sketchbook."

Brian had to smile at that. "Oh, you're clairvoyant, now, Warhol?"

Justin shook his head. "No. But even you admitted you felt something for me, remember? You couldn't deny it. Are you going to now?"

Brian rubbed his hand over his face. "No," he replied after a few moments, thinking he saw a slight gleam of triumph sweep over the younger man's face. "There's...something there." He shook his head. "It still doesn't help us with our little problem." He briefly tilted the computer monitor downward as he added, "Speaking of a little...well, not so little problem..." He grinned as he heard Justin laugh; he loved that laugh.

"Yeah, it's a rather large problem, in fact. Looks a lot like the same problem that I have. And what did I tell you about seeing your face?" he chided him.

Brian rolled his eyes, but did as Justin asked, so once again, they were face-to-face. "Just wanted to demonstrate my sincerity," he told him. He smiled. "So why don't we relieve a little tension first, and then maybe we'll have a clearer head to concentrate on something else?"

Justin chuckled. "Okay, you win. Get naked, and then we'll get down to business."

"Now that's what I like: a man who knows what he wants, and doesn't mince words. I couldn't agree more." Hurriedly, Brian divested himself of the rest of his clothing as Justin did the same. A few urgent phrases of dirty talk later - followed by a series of moans, groans, and grunts, and a wild imagination - made short shrift of taking care of their physical needs as both men lay panting in their respective beds a few minutes later, sweaty and sticky.

Struggling to regain their breaths, both had goofy grins on their faces as they stared at each other through the computer. "Well, I must admit," Justin spoke at least, his voice raspy from their activity. "It's much better with the web camera on!"

Brian laughed. "No shit."

Justin shook his head as his gaze swept over Brian's lean body, now glistening with sweat from their exertion. "God, I wish I was there right now in your bed."

"MY bed? From where I stand, Warhol, yours looks pretty damn comfortable." In fact, it rivaled his own 'throne' in size.

"It is," Justin readily admitted. "But it doesn't have YOU in it." He let out a deep sigh as Brian gazed back at him intently. "I know...I know. There is nothing we can do about it...for now," he added for clarification, still determined to find a way. After all, if they couldn't be together more often, what was the point in Fate bringing them together at all? No, he wouldn't believe that Fate could be that cruel. "Tell me more about what you do at Kinnetik," he urged him, his desire to know every bit he could about Brian as strong as ever. "Don't leave anything out."

Brian smiled wryly. "Not even the guy who has a cold in the Art Department, and keeps sneezing all over my fucking foamboards? Or the girls who I know are ogling my ass as I walk by, even though by now everyone in the whole damn company has to know I'm queer?" He certainly had made no pretense of hiding that fact, and with the gossiping that went on daily, he found it hard to believe that everyone didn't know by now. He supposed that still didn't prevent the ladies from admiring him, though.

Justin crinkled his nose in distaste before shaking his head. "No, I don't care WHAT it is; I want to hear all of it."

"You know my company's offices used to be a bathhouse?"

"What?! They were?" Justin replied in disbelief; he had never been to one of those places, but Vic had told him about them before, mainly back during the time when Emmett was trying to immerse him in the world of queerdom. After being hit on by several guys at the dance clubs, he decided there was no way he would ever waltz into one of those bathhouses with nothing but a towel on; especially not if he wished to keep his virginity intact. Emmett almost made them sound glamorous, but Vic had set him straight. They were basically sex houses, where you did whatever and whomever you wanted, even with more than one man. No, he did NOT want his first time to be like that. Thank God he had waited for Brian to come along.

"You DO know what that is, right? It's not like a communal washing station."

Justin snorted. "Give me a little credit, okay? I know what they are."

"Are you telling me that you've been to one? Trust me, Warhol. They would have eaten you alive there." The very thought shot a stab of jealousy through him for some reason. He often visited them before Kinnetik got off the ground; hell, he still did it to an extent at other bathhouses, although not as much. So why should it bother him if Justin did it?

Justin hesitated, not wanting to sound like some little kid, but he didn't want to lie to Brian, either. "Well...no. But Vic's told me about them - and Emmett, too. Em probably would have taken me to one, but I decided not to."

Brian laughed congenially, silently relieved. "Okay, I'll take you at your word on that. But yeah, that's what it was." He smirked. "In fact, you could say I knew it from top to bottom...well, at least from the top, before it became the building for my new company. Gave me a perfect place where I could put a private bathroom in my office suite, too. Already plumbed in and everything."

"I'm sure," was the dry response. "Wow. I should be surprised by that, but I'm not somehow. Tell me more. About how your company got off the ground. And how you wound up working in advertising. About all the changes you had made. Even what you were like in high school. Did you play sports? And when did you decide you wanted to get into advertising, anyway?"

"Hey, this could take all night," Brian teased him as he interrupted. "Sure you can't think of something better to use our time for instead?"

Justin blushed, knowing exactly what he meant by that. "So...we'll spread it out. A little sex, a little conversation. Rinse and repeat. Sleeping is way overrated, anyway."

Brian chuckled with a nod as he began to tell Justin more about his life. It would be near dawn - after hours of conversation and phone sex - before either of them got any sleep at all.

Two Months Later...Chicago

Justin stepped out into the bright, late morning bustle of O'Hare International Airport, blinking against the sunlight. He gripped his carry-on bag in one hand as he grasped the strap of his portfolio with the other, threading through the mass of people congregated nearby as he strode toward the bank of taxis sitting by the curb. He had been fine on the way here from New York City - having sprung for the luxury of a first-class seat to help make him more comfortable during the flight - but now that he was in the Windy City, getting ready for the interview of his life, he was on edge and anxious. Not so much about his talent. He knew he was good; it wasn't bragging, but just a fact. He had heard enough people tell him that, even his tutor, Mr. Faberini, and he had continued to improve under his instructor. But to be invited to speak in front of the Board of Admission to determine whether or not he would be attending one of, if not the best, art schools in the entire Midwest? That was huge. Yes, huge, and also nerve-wracking.

If not for Mr. Faberini's letter of recommendation, Justin knew despite his talent he would have never had this opportunity. And until his esteemed art instructor - who had taken on a stint last month as a visiting professor at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, one of the best art schools in the country - he would have never even considered going anywhere else outside of his hometown. The chance to come to this school, however - renowned not only across the US but the world - was too good of a chance to pass up. To Justin, their graphic arts program was second-to-none, even outshining the school in NYC he was planning on attending in the fall. So despite Vic's concern for his welfare, and the knowledge that he would miss both his friends Daphne and Emmett terribly if he were to relocate, he also knew he had to take this chance. Just the thought of being a student there made his heart pound with excitement. The chance to be taught by so many well-known artists in their field? To create projects under their tutelage, and even be given the opportunity to possibly display his works at various art shows throughout the city? The mere possibility thrilled him beyond measure.

He had done some traveling with his father when he had been alive - mainly for leisure, or to accompany him on business trips as needed (he would hunt out museums and art supply shops while his father worked), but this would be the first time he was on his own in such a large city; at least, one he wasn't familiar with. He would be independent and self-sufficient for the first time in his life, and he found that he liked that idea.

Opening the back door of the taxi and explaining to the driver where he needed to go (he was traveling light, since it was just a one-day adventure for now), he sank back into the worn seat and let out a sigh to try and release some of the tension building inside of him, placing his art portfolio and carry-on bag on the seat beside him as the taxi pulled out into the heavy traffic. Peering out at the Chicago skyline, he used the approximately 20-minute drive to pull out his portfolio to review the pieces he wanted to show to the Admissions Board.

A few minutes later, he placed the portfolio down on the seat, clasping his hands tightly together as he stared out the window, mentally rehearsing answers to questions he expected them to ask, such as why he wanted to attend their school, and why they should select him as a student. He had the original letter of recommendation from Mr. Faberini with him, which he hoped would help him pass the admissions process, and two other letters from some of his late father's colleagues, who had come to know him over the past several years, and were vouching for his character more than his artistic talent. Would all of that be enough? He had never had any formal artistic training until Mr. Faberini had agreed to instruct him, not even in high school. He had always loved art, but the private school he attended placed more emphasis on academics than on creative arts or even sports. He had excelled with his grades nonetheless, but he had had no real outlet to pursue his passion for art...until now. This would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and he wanted it badly. He had something to prove to himself, and he was determined to succeed.

He wished that Brian were here. He would be much more comfortable and at ease if he were here to encourage him, to bolster him. To reassure him that he did, indeed, have what it takes to succeed in this dream; to banish any fears he might have. But apart from telling Brian a few weeks ago that he was considering the possibility of other art schools besides the one in New York, he hadn't told him that he had narrowed the list down to either the SAIC here in Chicago, or the School of Visual Arts in the Big Apple. When it came down to it, however, Chicago would be his choice if he were given the chance. It was the best of the best.

At the time they had talked about it, Brian had sounded indignant with him that he would even question his artistic talent, which had made his heart warm at his words of conviction. Since their one and only in-person encounter, despite their best intentions, neither man had been able to make their schedules mesh adequately enough so they could repeat that one, incredible night together. Except for rare occasions, however, they never missed their nightly webcam conversations. It provided them with some satisfaction and brief release. But never enough for Justin. He missed Brian's touch deeply. He liked to think that Brian felt the same way; he seemed to in his tone of voice over the laptop, and in the way he looked at him through the webcam. But he longed to feel Brian's arms around him again, holding him like he did that morning in the hotel. Not being able to touch him was killing him. It was almost better that he had never experienced it, because now he knew what he was missing.

His breath caught in his throat as the cabbie suddenly swerved to just barely miss a city bus that had pulled out from the curb unexpectedly, causing him to grab onto the back of the driver's seat to avoid being thrown to the floor. He let out a shaky breath and reached to gather up his portfolio and carry-on, now lying on the floor, trying furiously to calm his thumping heartbeat as the man glanced back at him through the rear-view mirror and shrugged as if it occurred all the time in Chicago. Perhaps it did.

A few minutes later, the cab slowed down in front of a sleek, contemporary building housing the art school's administrative offices. Reaching into his suit jacket pocket, he grabbed his wallet to pull out some cash and a tip to hand it to the driver, hurriedly grabbing his portfolio and carry-on to open the door and step out onto the curb.

Only when the cabbie had started to drive away did he realize something: his sketchbook, which had been tucked in a pocket of his carry-on bag, was no longer there; it must have slipped out when the taxi had veered sharply to miss the bus earlier. "Shit!" he cried out in alarm. "Not again! Wait!" he yelled at the taxi, frantically waving his arms to try and get his attention. But it was no use. He stood there in dismay, dropping his hands helplessly to his sides as he observed the taxi disappearing from sight.