We're just two friends who happen to like fucking.

It had been four days, three fucks and two blowjobs since Brian had said that but every time they fucked, Justin couldn't help feel it was more than simply fucking. When Brian looked into his eyes as their bodies danced and writhed together. It was making love, wasn't it? At least it was in Justin's head and he hated himself for it because he felt like a lovesick heroine having her heart kicked around the floor by an asshole boyfriend but how could his heart be kicked around the floor? He didn't have a boyfriend … just a guy who liked to fuck him … all the goddamn time. Well, all the goddamn time after he'd meticulously, with FBI-worthy attention to detail, checked that they were completely alone.

They usually met up after school in the cage-like magazine room but last night, they'd gone back to Justin's house because his father was away on business. Brian had spent the entire night and paid the price for it when he next went home the next morning, when he fumbled into his dad as he'd attempted to sneak back in.

"Fuck, Bri," Jack junior winced as his brother collapsed into a chair at breakfast. Brian felt battered. He'd gone from such a euphoric high to such a low point in such quick succession, he wasn't sure he'd ever recover from the emotional pain let alone the physical one.

"What?" Brian snapped. He wasn't in the mood for his brother's mocking this morning. He wasn't in the mood for any of his family's shit. He just wanted to see Justin and Michael and Lindsey and Emmett and … yeah, he wouldn't mind seeing boring, reliable Ted either; maybe not Mel though, Brian and Lindsey's closeness hadn't exactly gone down well with the bull-dyke bitch. But even Melanie would be better than his family. At least she knew who he really was. Those six people, and the frequent Liberty Diner residents, were the only people in the entire world that knew the real Brian Kinney. They were probably the only people that probably ever would.

"You look like shit," Jack said cheerily, shovelling spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth. "How are you going to say you got that fat lip?"

"Mugged by a penguin?" Brian deadpanned. "Fight with an octopus? Ninja attack?"

Eric smirked a little at the response but Jack just snapped, "don't be stupid, faggot." Brian winced at the term but the gesture was passed off as a reaction to his bruises. "What are you going to say, for real?"

"We live on the Hossington Estate," Brian shrugged. "I'll just say I went to the drug store for … something. And some asshole attacked me."

"Good," Jack nodded, like it was his fucking duty to make sure Brian didn't unleash the horrible Kinney secrets to the world. How fucking pissed would Jack be if he knew a whole load of queers knew it all? Brian laughed aloud at the irony and Jack immediately shot him a confused face. "What the hell are you laughing at?"

"Nothing," Brian shook his head and reached for the carton of orange juice. He grimaced as the action pulled at his bruised ribs. Eric nudged the juice closer to him silently and Brian just smiled thankfully.

He poured the juice into a glass and took a few tentative sips. His whole body ached, a constant dull underlying pain like background music to his sorry existence. He took another sip as his dad rounded the corner and practically collapsed against the fridge door. His eyes were glassy and his feet seemed to be unwilling to lift at all, he was slurring his words and he stank of booze.

Brian just sighed heavily. Here it was … the first sign that the end of their time in Pittsburgh was nearing. Jack Kinney getting drunk in the morning and attempting to go into work … strike two. Strike one was that he was shit at his job. He was always shit at his job but how could a man who'd basically given up on life after his third son was born be good at anything … he was too filled with anger and hate.

"Joooaaann," he slurred, pushing himself away from the fridge and landing in a chair next to Jack jr straight across from Brian. "Joooooaaaaaaaan," he called again and the woman appeared. Her eyes were glassy too, distant and cold. Brian knew she'd probably drunk the same amount as Jack this morning but she'd had lots of practice learning to handle in liquor. In fact, Joan Kinney handled liquor so well, she'd vomit if she didn't get it in her immediately in the morning.

"What?" Joan asked.

"Ahh, there you are. Where the fuck were you? Praying to God," he mocked, looking to his sons for back up and appreciation of his so-called joke. "St Joan," he continued grandly. "Stone cold St Joan." He chuckled angrily and then ordered, "bring me my keys. I need to drive to work."

"Do you think that's a good idea dad?" Eric asked quietly.

"Well, how the hell else am I going to get to work?" Jack demanded.

"Maybe you could call in sick," his middle son suggested quietly. "I mean, you're quite … er."

"Wasted," Jack junior finished bluntly. "You're fucking wasted dad. You can't drive like this."

Brian stayed quiet. At that moment, his body aching from the beating he'd just had and his heart aching to be back with the friends who actually liked him, Brian almost wanted Jack Kinney to get in a car and drunkenly drive it off a cliff, maybe he could take his wife with him and that would be the end of the Kinney family hate-fest. He'd go to their funeral. He may even shed a tear but he'd be better off … much better off without them.

"Well, who's fault is it that I'm wasted?" Jack growled, glaring straight at Brian. Brian just picked up his glass and got himself slowly and painfully to his feet so he could leave it by the sink where theoretically Joan would wash it later. But that was a bullshit farce. It would actually just be left along with the mountains of other dirty cutlery until Brian and Eric would wash it all up because they'd had enough of the mess or because they were sick of eating meals of pieces of paper or old boxes because no plates were clean.

"If you," Jack sr seethed, "hadn't stayed out all night I wouldn't have worried and wouldn't have had to drink."

That was bullshit, Jack Kinney had been stone cold sober when he'd thrown Brian against the sitting room wall and kicked him a few times in the stomach. He'd only got drunk in the last hour or so.

"Don't say that about my baby," Joan cried wrapping her arms around Brian's shoulders, breathing alcohol fumes all over him. "The lord loves all our creations. The lord has a purpose for Brian in the same way he has a purpose for all his children."

Brian stopped listening. It was the same old bullshit he heard everyday. He wriggled from his mother's loose clutch and went to get his bag.

On his way out of the door he called, "I'm working with the magazine tonight so I'll be home late." His parents wouldn't remember. They were both too drunk to remember they're own goddamn names. As usual, he'd barely made it to the end of the street when his brothers caught up with him, except this time they were in Ol Jack's car.

"Get in, faggot," Jack shouted across from the driver seat.

"No fucking way. Dad will kill me if he thinks we took his car."

"So just don't come home … again," Jack smirked. "Come on man, get the fuck in."

Brian just rolled his eyes and jumped in the back seats. Truth was, he'd probably be the one to get in trouble whether he went in the car or not. He might as well deserve whatever the punishment would be.

"So, where the hell were you last night?" Jack smirked, catching Brian's eye in the mirror.

"I went out with a few of the guys," Brian said casually. "We got back kinda late and kinda drunk," he smirked, making sure he caught his brothers eye at that point. "I figured it would be safer for me to crash on the sofa there."

"Uh-huh," Jack nodded clearly not believing a word. "Was she an absolute dog?" He smirked. "Or a hooker?"

"That's just you," Eric chuckled.

"Fuck of cocksucker. That was for my birthday, so it's okay."

"Bullshit," Eric chuckled, "you still had your first time with a filthy whore."

"Who was yours?"

"Megan Grimaldi."

"No shit. She was like a fucking whale."

"Fuck off."

"Did you have to harpoon her first?"

"Fuck off!"

"Jeez. How many chins did she have?"

"Jack, fuck off. She was beautiful on the inside," Eric smiled looking out of the window. And, just as Brian thought one of his brothers might actually have some kind of heart, he added, "and fucking filthy! Man, the things that girl would do." Which had Jack in near hysterics as he turned down the road towards school.

Brian knew it was coming but he still squirmed a little when the question was thrown at him. He couldn't really tell them he'd never really experienced sex until a few weeks ago when he first fucked Justin Taylor so he just muttered the name of the skanky bitch who'd blown him last year around the back of the school when they'd lived in Portland.

"See," Jack had looked to Eric as though Brian's admission had proved some kind of wonderful point. "She's a future hooker. Me and Brian are more alike than you'd think."

Brian hoped that that wasn't the case.

::

"Shit!" Lindsey whispered, when Brian joined her in chemistry. He'd become her lab partner since his break up with Sandy and chemistry had become a lot more enjoyable. "What the hell happened to you?" She asked, watching her friend wincing as he sat on the stool.

"I stayed out all night," Brian hissed as he tried to mask his pain. "Ol Jack wasn't overly pleased."

"Where were you?" She asked.

"He thinks I crashed at a friends."

"That friend being Justin," Lindsey nodded, with a knowing smile. "I understand."

"Mmm," he tried to reach for a beaker of light blue liquid but his ribs protested in agony. He grimaced and tried again until eventually Lindsey reached over and grabbed the beaker and poured a measurement into a test-tube.

"What about football?" She asked. "Haven't you got a game tomorrow, with a scout coming to watch? How are you going to play if you're in this mess?"

"It'll be fine," Brian insisted, this time trying to reach for a Bunsen burner. "I'll be fine."

"Brian you can barely reach two foot for a Bunsen burner," she pointed out.

"I'm doing it. I'm not letting my dad ruin football for me." Brian knew there was nothing stopping him reaching that Bunsen burner just the agony of a bruised rib. He took a deep breath and reached out. The pain shot through his chest like a heart attack. He just wanted to curl up into a ball but his teeth just dug into his lip as he tried even harder the pain was excruciating. It was catching his breath in his throat but it was just pain. He had to be able to throw a football tomorrow. He forced it even more and then, something in him just seemed to snap. His arm shot across his chest and he folded over, his head landing on the table with a bit of a thud. Everyone looked over to them and Lindsey stood up and said,

"I don't think he's very well. I'll take him to the nurse." Before picking up both their stuff and ushering him to the door.

::

They stopped when they reached the magazine room. Brian all but collapsed into one of the beanbags. He looked a little pale, maybe even grey but more than that, he looked pissed; really, really pissed.

"Let me see it," Lindsey demanded.

On any normal day, Brian would have reminded her that she were a dyke and that demanding to see it was not in her nature but he didn't want to. He was tired from his limited sleep and he was tired of all the drama that had happened in his house this morning and he was worried his dad would lose his job and that Brian would be forced to leave and would never see Justin or Michael or Lindsey of the rest of them ever again. He'd have to go back to playing the straight jock. He wouldn't have Justin to kiss and touch and fuck and worship and talk to and he wouldn't have Michael to talk about comics with and he wouldn't have Lindsey to look out for him and care for him in a way his parents never did.

He pulled his shirt, with her help, slowly over his head. She gasped when she saw it. A huge purple-black mark, speckled with greens and yellows and even red right over his left ribs.

"What the hell?"

"I was on the ground," he winced as she ran her cold fingers lightly over it. "He just … kept kicking." He smiled weakly and Lindsey thought she might have seen tears just behind his eyes but she didn't say anything. She just kissed him gently on the cheek and hugged him, avoiding pressing the bruise.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "You don't deserve any of this."

Brian didn't go to any of his classes for the rest of the day. He just lounged on the beanbag with Lindsey, Michael, Justin and Emmett, Mel and Ted for company. They all ditched class to be with him and cheer him up. When school finished, the others went home telling Brian to feel better soon but Justin stayed. Justin would always stay. Justin and Brian didn't say much for the hour they spent in the room together. They just got themselves comfortable and held each other. Brian clung particularly tightly. He couldn't lose this because of his fathers drunkenness. He could let Jack Kinney get fired. He needed these days and these moments. He needed these times when he actually felt like he wasn't the scum of the earth or a second or third of maybe even forth class citizen. He needed these moments of relaxation where he could be himself. He buried his nose in Justin's hair and breathed in. He loved how Justin smelt, it was just like everything was alright with the world. He pressed a kiss into the golden hair and enjoyed a few more minutes of bliss.

::

Justin's mother had dropped him at his home and Eric had met him at the door.

"Where have you been?" He asked suspiciously.

"Working at the magazine."

"You know, I've never seen your name in that magazine. Apart from the couple of photos that are in there. I mean, are you really working there or do you just hide somewhere for an hour and then come home."

Brian smiled, both of those answers were true really but he just said, "I really work there" and winced a little as he tried to tackle the stairs.

"Do you want some ice or something … for your ribs?" Eric asked. "You need to be better tomorrow's game. There's going to be a…"

"Scout, yeah, I know."

"Yeah but he's from University of Notre Dame. Everyone knows that's the best one. If you get in there, it's like guaranteed NFL."

Brian was sure there was more to it than that, like getting picked to play for the team. And then playing well and then getting drafted in by the NFL teams but not in Eric's world.

"Sure," Brian just shrugged. He already knew there was no way in hell he'd be playing football in the game tomorrow. He knew that he was going to miss the scout and he knew who was to blame. His goddamn fucking father.

Ol' Jack Kinney had cost him his chance at a place in one of the post prestigious college football teams and all Brian could do was head butt his pillow in frustration.

::

He'd watched the game from the bleachers with the cheerleaders and the other schools football fans. He knew Justin would be around somewhere but he didn't want to hear any of the blonde's misplaced optimism. All Brian wanted to do was wallow in his own misfortune because there wasn't just one scout at the game today there were four; Notre Dame's Fighting Irish, Washington Huskies, Pittsburgh Panthers and Louisiana Fighting Tigers.

It was the worst possible scenario. It wasn't just that he was too injured to play and it wasn't just that Chris Hobbs taking an age about making piss-poor decisions and it wasn't that his bothers were having the best game of their lives and it wasn't that they were losing when they should have been winning and it wasn't even that Sandy was babbling on and on in his ear about who she thought would win between some actual fighting Irishmen and some actual fighting tigers. It was a combination of these things and more. Brian wanted to scream or kick something or smash something to pieces. He had to get rid of this feeling. He felt ready to explode and if he heard Sandy whine his name again before asking some inane question, he thought he'd probably throw her down the stand. So he got up calmly, spotted Justin in the crowd. He was sat alone near the exit and walked over to him.

"Let's get out of here," Brian muttered. "I can't watch this anymore."

Justin nodded and went with the taller boy.

"Hobbs is shit, isn't he?" Justin commented as they walked off the school grounds. "I didn't think he was that bad last year but now we've seen you play he looks really slow."

"He'll still get scouted," Brian sighed. "The Panther's will take him if no one else does. His dad's company give them a load of money. This is America after all," he sighed. "Money talks."

Justin nodded and looked at the miserable face of the other boy.

"Are you okay?" He asked. He knew it was a stupid question. He knew Brian wasn't okay. He knew he'd lie and say he was fine and he knew that he'd accept that because he always did. So when Brian insisted he was fine, Justin suggested they go to the Liberty Diner for a milkshake but Brian was angry. He had all this pent up frustration so he suggested they go somewhere to fuck … hard and Justin wasn't completely apposed to the idea.

They'd ended up at Justin's house and Brian had been a Wildman. Justin thought he'd be sore forever and that wasn't a particularly bad thing.

"What brought all this on?" Justin asked, when the silence had dragged between them for long enough. Brian didn't answer, so Justin turned his head to look at the other boy. He could only see the back of his head, the juts of his shoulder blades and the rippled of his spine, surrounded by muscles. He was perfect from every angle.

"Brian," he whispered, "are you okay?"

His head nodded but he stayed silent.

"Brian," Justin pushed himself onto his knees behind the taller boy and began to need his neck muscles gently. "Is this because of the football? They'll be other games and other scouts. You'll still play college football and," he smiled, kissing the bit of skin behind Brian's ear, "if you can fuck like that, you'll be playing football in no time."

Brian stayed silent, turning his face away from the other boy.

"Brian," Justin said more firmly. "What the hell is going on?" He pinched the other boys chin and forced him to turn around and face him. His face was red and blotchy and there were wet patches on his cheeks dribbling from bloodshot eyes.

"Brian," Justin gasped. "What the hell is wrong?"

Brian shook his head a little, drying his tears on the back of his hands before pressing a kiss to Justin's lips, jaw and sucking on his earlobe.

"I want it," he whispered, his breathed still a little raged from his non-tears.

"Want what?"

"I guess it makes me a real proper fag, doesn't it?"

"What does? Brian, what are you talking about?"

"I want to feel what it's like," he sniffed, pushing Justin to arms length and looking carefully into his eyes. "I want to feel you inside me."

Justin smiled a little and pressed a chaste kiss to Brian's lips. "Are you sure?" He said carefully.

Brian just nodded, another tear falling from his eye. "I want it," he promised. "Please," he begged.

Brian wasn't sure what he'd wanted from bottoming for Justin. Maybe he wanted to feel as broken physically as he did mentally but how he actually felt was elated. Yes, it started off painful, like someone was shoving a broom up him and then he'd relaxed and although the pain didn't entirely subside there were other feelings that seemed to just drown it out. He felt numb, taken away from the moment and right in it as well and Justin looked as beautiful as ever. He pulled Justin close and kissed him furiously because he couldn't sum-up how he felt in words.

Afterwards, Brian didn't feel dirty or wrong. Just happy and maybe a little sore.

"So," Justin smiled, rolling over and slinging a pail arm across Brian's chest. "How does it feel to be a real, proper fag?"

"Normal," Brian said honestly, "natural."

Justin grinned a little and then Brian continued, "I think I prefer topping though."

"Some guys are weird like that," Justin shrugged and Brian smiled as his lips were caught in a slow almost loving kiss.

::

Brian returned home a few hours later to find his dad throwing a small party for Eric and Jack.

"What happened?" Brian asked, walking into the kitchen where Eric was trying to convince his drunken mother to let him light the candles on the congratulatory cake.

"We both got scouted," Jack beamed, raising his bottle of bud in Brian's direction.

"Well done," Brian smiled but he couldn't really sound enthusiastic. He was tired, he ached for all sorts of reasons. He just wanted to sleep. "Who wanted you?"

"Fighting Tigers and Panthers put me on their books," Jack grinned. "But this fucking asshole's been picked up by the Fighting Irish!" He punched Eric proudly on the arm. "Fuck me, I didn't think you'd get that."

Eric just beamed proudly. "Joey got on the books with the Huskies and Hobbs with the Panthers. The coach was fucking ecstatic."

"Eric," Joan scolded from the kitchen counter where she was pouring more sherry into a glass. "Must you use such fowl language."

"Ah, Joan. Leave the lad alone," Jack sr said cheerily. "This boy's a football genius! The goddamn Fighting Irish. Do you know who else played for them?"

Eric shook his head.

"Joe Montana, Brady Quinn, Arnaz Battle, er, Tony Fisher, I think …" he paused for a second. "Joan, get it up on the computer NFL players who played for the Fighting Irish. And then, look up all the ones who played for the Tigers. My sons are a talented bunch. You know what this means though, in means that I must have been a hell of a football player myself. I just didn't realise it."

Brian shook his head and ducked out of the celebrations. It was too harsh a reminder that he'd blown his first chance in three of the best Universities for football. He went to bed, hungry and with his chest still throbbing painfully. And however natural getting fucked by Justin had seemed an hour ago, now he just felt disgusting. It was like coming here was real and that had been a dream and as this world shone a light on that one, he saw himself for what he really was. A fucking queer wannabe NFL player. And how many of those were there? One. Drew Boyd, and he'd just been suspended from his team. This was shit. Really, truly shit.