Thanks to Boriqua522 and Albiku for all their help in this chapter….

Brian looked at the Corvette for a long time. He had a stupid urge to stroke it and say something like, 'just you and me now old girl' but that would be ridiculous even if it was true. He also had the urge to call Michael, find out where he was and join him. They could resume the Brian and Mikey show for another fifteen years until eventually, he'd just give in and he and Michael could retire a couple of old queens in Palm Springs, or if this level of search continued, Spain. Then he felt sick. The thought of Michael and he growing old was about the most disturbing thing he'd ever imagined. Fuck that shit, he intended to go out in a blaze of glory long before retirement or grey hair or wrinkles had even begun to become an issue. So it really was just him and the car; the lone ranger and his noble stead.

He sighed heavily and pushed the button for the central locking. The sudden flashing of the lights as the car signalled it's opening, brought to his attention a second shadow on the alley wall. His hand immediately went to his gun, which he pulled from his pants and kept pressed to his side.

"Who's there?" He said calmly and he felt calm, for the most part. The part that wasn't calm, however, was eating quickly away at the rest of him.

What if it were the cops? Or a happy go lucky mugger with a gun and a nervous disposition? Or what if it were something else altogether? He heard a noise behind him and immediately swung around and pointed his gun in its direction but there was nothing, just some bricks and mortar. He frowned, lowered the gun and turned back towards his car. And that's when he saw it, the outline of a man stood casually next to his fucking car. He pointed the gun straight at the shadow and growled menacingly, "who are you?"

The man didn't answer for a second, he just muttered something that sounded a lot like, "always with the goddamn gun," and stepped forward just a foot into the light. First to be revealed was the mop of blonde hair, then the milky white skin and the seemingly innocent blue eyes. And then, last of all, the furious expression. Shit, Brian thought, he must not have been as quiet as he thought, when he'd left the bed.

"Going somewhere?" Justin hissed.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Brian asked.

"I should ask you the same question. Did you actually think you could just sneak away in the middle of the night?"

Brian shrugged awkwardly. "It seemed like the best thing," he answered sheepishly. He felt like an idiot now. When he'd made this decision, he'd imagined the act to be chivalrous and altruistic but it had turned out embarrassing and awkward. "It's not fair on you," he mumbled. "If I leave then you can go home, you can get on with a proper life."

"You can't leave," Justin said sternly. And then, with a little smile, he added, "what would you do without me?"

"I'm sure I'd survive."

"No," Justin answered confidently. "You wouldn't." He gazed at Brian for a long time until, eventually and with much reluctance, Brian met his eyes.

They just looked at each other and for a second, Brian didn't know how he'd managed to come so close to walking away from this kid. He was like a goddamn drug; more delicious than ecstasy, more addictive than cocaine, more dangerous than heroin.

Justin's eyelids fluttered a little as he whispered, "what … what would I do without you?"

"You'd do what you should have done a long time ago," Brian said firmly. "Find some twinky your own age."

"What would I want with some kid who's never done anything, who doesn't know shit."

Brian didn't have an answer so he just stayed silent, staring at anything other than Justin's face.

"So, you're willing to give up your safe house and potentially your freedom … for what?" Justin asked, his words soft. "For me to have a proper life? Whatever the fuck that is."

Brian silently shrugged. He felt trapped in a corner. He'd always been a man of action, doing what he thought was right without a thought for reasoning or consequences but now he was facing both reason and consequence and he found both had rendered him pathetic, emotional and weak.

He heard Justin's footsteps getting closer and he saw his old, scruffy trainers come into his view before he felt strong but slender hands rest gently on his chest. The hands moved slowly, almost tentatively, as they moved to his shoulders, behind his neck and eventually pulled him close to hug him tight.

"Come back to bed," Justin whispered in his ear. "Don't be stupid. It's not over yet."

::

The next morning, Justin had cheered up immensely. Now that he knew what Brian would give up for him, he knew he loved him and he didn't need anything more than that. The attic didn't feel like the prison cell it had once, instead it felt like a rundown honeymoon suit. Brian was more than happy to see that Justin had regained his appetite for food and fucks and they both decided the days would pass much quicker now. Justin even talked about asking Marv and Ignacio to get him some paints so he could liven up the walls of the drab space.

"You are both still here?" Ignacio said with a slightly surprised look on his face when he brought up the dinner that evening.

"Where else would we be?" Brian asked casually.

"I don't know. Just yesterday, things seemed, er, how you say," he waved his hands around a little as he tried to locate the word, "ah, tensas."

"Tense?" Brian raised an eyebrow.

"Si, si." He smiled and looked at Justin before babbling something Spanish so quickly that Justin couldn't pick up a single word except 'amante' which seemed to be Ignacio's nickname for Justin when he was talking to Brian but whatever he'd said seemed to piss off Brian who snapped back quickly. Justin just quirked an eyebrow, there was something beyond sexy about this new found talent of Brian's.

The argument continued for a moment until Brian eventually exploded. "I should never have listened to your bullshit in the first place. And neither should Justin. You're a shit stirrer Ignacio. You always were. Anything to create a drama."

The Mexican shrugged haplessly. "I thought I was doing the best thing for both of you a bit of friendly advice from the old country. You know, we have this saying in México …"

"You know Ignacio," Brian cut him off immediately, "we have a saying in America it's; 'fuck off'." Justin snorted a little and Ignacio fired of a few insults in Spanish, which Brian returned with equal gusto before as good as kicking the man out of the room.

"That was no way to treat our host," Justin smirked.

"That's because you didn't understand what he was saying," Brian scowled, his fists clenched as he paced the floor. "Fucking, piece of shit," he muttered, marching further and quicker until … BANG! His head came into contact with one of the slanted beams.

"Fuck!" Brian yelled, spinning and punching his fist straight through the closest wall. Justin jumped in surprise as the drywall shattered under the impact.

"Shitty fucking walls," Brian snarled, yanking his fist free and sinking to the bed nursing both his injuries and scowling so much his features seemed to actually morph into something else.

"Brian," Justin said slowly, trying to asses just how angry the older man was.

"Fuck off!" Was the response; so it was safe to say 'very angry' then.

This shit mood continued for a while until Marv eventually came up to find out what the noise was and explain that the customers were becoming suspicious. Justin couldn't help chuckle at that.

"What did you tell them it was?" He asked.

"I told them I couldn't hear anything," Marv sighed. "I could hardly say you were huge fucking rats could I?" He looked at Brian's bloody hand and the hole in his wall and let out a bit of a groan. "You have to be quiet Brian," he urged, "if people think there's something suspicious up here they'll call health and safety or pest control or even the police and then you'll be fucked. Now," he said, taking Brian's mangled hand and looking at it more closely. "I'll get you some ice."

When Marv returned, he handed over the ice and patted Brian anxiously on the back, sitting down awkwardly next to him. "I, er, I've got something I think you need to hear."

"You're very serious," Brian noted cautiously, hissing as he pressed the ice bag to his hand. "You're not dying are you?"

"No, no, nothing like that."

"Ignacio's moving back to Mexico?"

Marv smiled a little. "No."

"Shame," Brian frowned. "So, what is this sombre news you have for me?"

Marv just looked at his friend solemnly. "It's Michael," he almost whispered. "He's been arrested."

Brian stayed silent. He just looked at his hand and asked very, very quietly, "when?"

"A day or two after they'd raided the house. The media caught wind that there'd been an arrest made last week but the police hadn't given a name but, well," he sighed, "now they have." Marv squeezed Brian's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Bri. I know he was important to you."

"It's okay," Brian said quickly, too quickly, as he got to his feet and threw off Marv's uncomfortable consoling. "It's fine. Fucking fine."

"Brian, are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"With you?" Brian scorned, looking at his old friend. "No. Why don't you return to loves young dream?"

"Er, sure." Marv nodded, making a speedy exit.

The door slammed shut and Brian sat back down on the bed just staring at a spot on the plywood floor where the boards didn't match up, so there was a lip sticking out a little. He focused on all the layers of wood mashed together and he thought of how he and Michael had used similar stuff to build a secret den in Deb's garden when they were kids. It had actually just been four bits of wood nailed clumsily together with a hole cut out of it and a sheet of green tarpaulin tied over it but the thing had managed to withstand the elements for the whole of summer break before finally coming down in the storm that hit Pittsburgh on Labour Day. He remembered watching it collapse through the kitchen window and feeling somewhat nostalgic about it. Their safe house, their place to be alone, the first place they ever kissed or showed each other their dicks. He smiled a little at the memories but he felt completely numb.

Michael, his Michael, his best friend, his soul mate in many ways had been arrested. It didn't seem right. Michael wasn't stupid, certainly not stupid enough to get caught on the run. There were places he could have hidden, Brian knew them all. There was the motel in Baker street, the hut in East Pennsylvania that his Uncle Vic owned as a second home, but he'd probably have been safest above Buzzy's comic book store. So why hadn't he gone there? What the fuck had happened?

Brian was vaguely aware of a dip in the mattress next to him and a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Justin whispered gently.

Brian was quiet for a moment and Justin wondered if the older man was just going to ignore him but then, his head look up slowly at Justin and he said, "I'm fabuloso, señor."

Justin sighed and screwed up his mouth a little. He knew Brian was lying but what could he do? "If you want to talk about it…" he offered softly.

"What's there to talk about?" Brian said, placing the bag of ice on the floor and pushing Justin back into the mattress, straddling him quickly. "Mikey fucked up. That's his own goddamn problem."

"But he's your …" and then Brian's mouth attacked his so hard all other words were swallowed by his insistent tongue. It was hardly seconds before Brian was yanking Justin's shirt up roughly over his head and resuming the kiss. And Justin couldn't help feel he wasn't being kissed so much as gagged. It was obvious Brian didn't want to think about Michael and he certainly didn't want to talk about him. So was this how he intended to avoid the pain of it, by fucking?

Well, Justin refused to be part of any pain management Brian Kinney was planning. He pushed his hands into Brian's chest and pushed him away hard.

"Stop," he gasped breathlessly. "Stop."

"Since when do you turn down the fucking of your life?" Brian snarled. He was pissed that he'd been halted so violently.

"When you're only doing it so you don't have to think about Michael!"

"That's not it," Brian insisted, dipping his head and licking a long line from Justin's collar bone to the patch of skin behind his ear. "You're just so fucking hot."

"Brian," Justin protested, pushing the man more forcefully. Brian fell limply onto the mattress to the side but he soon sat up again and fixed Justin with his most smouldering bedroom eyes.

"What if I say it in Spanish? I know that makes you hard, mi amor."

Justin sat up and turned his back on the older man, shaking his head firmly but it didn't stop Brian from trying. He pressed his lips to Justin's neck and murmured;

"Quiero follarte. Quiero follarte toda la noche."

"Brian," Justin whispered, his willpower crumbling by the second. "Brian, what are you saying?"

"What does it matter," his hand cupped Justin's cock through his pants. "You're hard, aren't you?"

Justin closed his eyes tight. No. He couldn't let this happen. He had to be stronger than this, for Brian's sake as well as his own.

"Brian." He pushed himself up onto his feet, shaking Brian off. "Brian."

"What? You know you want it."

"A fuck so you don't have to think about Michael?" Justin shook his head firmly. "I don't want that. Now," he took a deep breath, "if you want to talk, I'll be over there." He nodded to the place he liked to sit when he sketched and with that, he stood up and walked away leaving Brian sprawled flat out on the bed being forced to think.

"Fuck," he shouted, running his hands down his face exasperatedly. Justin jumped a little at the sharp sound. He looked over to see Brian just staring up at the battered ceiling before he finally announced, "I need a shower," and disappeared into the tiny cubical.

::

As Brian had got out of the shower, Justin went in. He needed to be away from Brian for just a few minutes longer. He needed to prepare himself for whatever the backlash to Michael's arrest would be because he knew Brian well enough to know that even though he'd say he was fine and pretend everything was great, he'd manage his pain one way or another. So now Justin had refused him a fuck and his joints had run out a few days ago. Justin wondered where his sanctuary would lie. Justin didn't have to wait long to find out. By the time he'd stumbled out of the shower, Brian was well into a bottle of Jack Daniels that he had stored in his travel back for emergencies.

"Sunshine," he said loudly in that way he sometimes did when he was drunk. "You know what…"

"What?" Justin asked warily as the taller man grabbed him and pulled him close. "You're getting wet," Justin said.

"It doesn't matter," Brian announced, his alcohol breath, flowing over Justin and making him gag slightly. "None of it matters."

"It doesn't?"

"No," Brian shook his head, "because in the end … they always win."

Justin frowned. Brian had a horrible habit of turning even more vague and ambiguous when he was drunk. "Who do?"

"Them. The man. The authorities. The government. Tthe police. The slick, straight, white, male asshole who thinks he rules the world." Brian let go of Justin so suddenly that the smaller man fell onto the bed with a soft thud but Brian barely noticed, he just took another swig of his drink and sighed. "So what's the point? Why do we keep running? When inevitably the day will come when the universe decides we're to be punished for what we've done and the police come knocking on the door and they drag me to darkest depths of a medium security prison. And you," he squinted a little as he considered the other man in the room, "who knows what the fuck they'd do with you? Probably wrap you up in a straightjacket for complying or announce to the world you developed Stockholm Syndrome or," he pulled his gun out from his waistband and placed it against Justin's temple and said no louder than a whisper, "they'd say I put a gun to your head and forced you to fuck me." Justin looked up at Brian's eyes. They were a little bloodshot around the edges but they were unfocused. "They'd never know you're one of us." He pinched the kids chin and placed a sloppy kiss on his lips. "That you love the thrill and the danger as much as we do."

"I'd tell them the truth," Justin whispered back honestly. "I'd tell them I wanted you, that I wanted this."

Brian just shook his head. "No," his voice was still quiet, serious and solemn. "You'd tell them I made you. You'd go back to your life."

"I could never go back really, not now," Justin insisted. "And why are you talking like this?" He asked loudly, suddenly breaking the strange, strangled whispering. "Listen to me. Are you listening?"

Brian just nodded.

"It's not over yet, Brian. You're not going to give up."

Brian ran a hand down Justin's cheek, the cold metal of the gun handle scrapped a little at his pale skin but he didn't say anything. "You're so naïve," Brian commented eventually.

"I prefer to think of it as optimistic," he smiled, kissing Brian carefully before letting the older man fop back onto the mattress and spread out like a starfish, staring at the ceiling.

Brian passed out completely about half an hour later and after removing his shoes and helping him under the duvet, Justin decided to join him too. It had been a tough day maybe tomorrow would bring something better.

::

What tomorrow and the remainder of the week actually brought, was rain and lots of it. Before the rain had started Justin hadn't imagined how much the attic would leak. He hadn't expected to only be able to sit on the bed because it was the only dry patch of the room. He hadn't expected to have to change the buckets every ten minutes because the rain didn't just drip through the roof, it poured like a fucking waterfall. And he hadn't expected it to be so goddamn noisy, like fifteen baths all running at once.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Justin moaned returning to the sanctity of the dry, warm bed after emptying all the buckets for what felt like the millionth time. It was the sixth day of this shit now and although they had found plenty to do in bed, it would be nice to just be able to look of the window, or sit on one of the old restaurant chairs Ignacio had brought up to give the attic a more homey feel.

"I didn't know it could rain this much inside or out," Brian sighed, watching as the bucket closest to him was already a third full. "It makes you wonder how Marv and Ignacio cope if we're not here to empty these buckets. I mean do they just let the place fill up with water?"

"Probably. Oh, shit!" Justin groaned as another bit of the roof at the far end of the room, sprung a leak. "This is the last bucket," he moaned, pushing himself out of the bed and rushing to put the final bucket under the fresh downpour. "What the fuck do we do if anymore of the roof decides it's had enough?"

"Drown?" Brian suggested.

"Might be better off," Justin moaned, trying and failing to dodge a particularly large torrent of water on his way back to the bed. Brian couldn't help laugh as Justin's hair became plastered to his face. Of course, when Justin was close enough he decided to shake the water out of his mane like a dog, covering Brian with droplets of water.

"Twot," the older man moaned but he still pinned him to the mattress and kissed him deeply. Well … it wasn't like there was anything else to do.

::

Amazingly, as time went on, things got better. The weather improved a little and they'd both came to realize that the situation was shit but that it was up to them to make the best of it. They'd certainly made the best of it in the makeshift bed and on the cushions on the floor, the old restaurant chairs, the shower … sort of. Everywhere the attic space permitted.

Justin found he had all the time in the world to work on his art. He'd managed to persuade Ignacio to buy him some supplies and his artwork had improved a lot, which Brian pointed out on one of the many lazy days they spent hiding out.

"You think so?" Justin beamed.

"Yeah," Brian confirmed, leaning over and flicking back through the sketchbook. Even Justin had to admit, the improvement from his first sketches to now was huge. "Maybe when you get out of here, you can try your hand at being an artist."

"I don't know," Justin blushed. "I might not be good enough."

"Probably not," Brian agreed abruptly, which caused Justin's head to snap up. "Not with that attitude," Brian clarified. "Think like a loser, get treated like a loser. But," Brian sighed, "if I had your talent, I'd at least give it go."

And as with any compliment Brian paid Justin, it had led to fucking.

Brian found the time when Justin was drawing was most tedious. That was the time he had alone with usually only his thoughts for company and they didn't make nice companions. He usually ended up thinking of Michael, of all the times they'd had together and of the way he'd left, waving like an arrogant asshole as he drove into the sunset with his blonde boy toy at his side. He wished he'd said goodbye properly because, even though Michael was still alive, Brian knew he'd never, ever see him again. It was impossible.

He'd taken to doing anything to take his mind off Michael. He'd spent two days taking apart and putting back together all of his guns … several times. He'd invented a game, where he had to flick playing cards into various tubs and containers with each one being worth a different amount of points. Eventually, he even consented to teach Justin some Spanish.

"Teach me the good stuff," the kid insisted, bouncing excitedly on the floor cushions.

"Like what?"

"Well, I know how to say me llamo Justin."

"Felicidades" Brian mocked.

"Were you just sarcastic in another language?"

"Sí," Brian smiled. "You're learning."

"You're predictable," Justin corrected, with a smile. "So," he crawled across the cushions towards the other man. "Teach me the good stuff."

"You mean the swears?"

Justin nodded. "And how to say 'fuck me harder'."

Brian just smirked. "You know you could just say it in English, I'd understand."

"But what about when I've left you, and I've fled to Mexico or Spain and I need to talk dirty to some hot guy in a club?"

"You can call him a hijo de puta," Brian suggested.

"What's that mean?"

"Son of a bitch."

Justin chuckled, "are you getting jealous over some fictional future Spanish guy?"

"Or Mexican."

"I'll take that as a yes," Justin beamed. Then after a quick pause he said, "okay, role-play."

"Great," Brian smirked, his eyebrow raising immediately. "You can be a country club child snob and I'll be a gang member, who's kidnapped you and tied you up in some shitty little hideout above a Mexican restaurant." He smiled a little and lowered his voice to a sexy purr, "and then we can fuck."

"Tied me up?" Justin asked, his eyebrows raising a little in amusement.

"If you want," Brian nodded, nuzzling a little against Justin's neck. "I brought the jump ropes Ted bought us for our Santa's elf re-enactment."

"I'm glad you only brought the essentials," Justin laughed and then he stopped. "Wait. It's not that kind of role-play."

Brian looked genuinely disappointed but never to be completely disheartened he said, "could it turn into that kind of role-play?"

"Everything usually does," Justin pointed out and Brian just smiled.

"I'm in."

"Okay," the kid continued, "I'm in a club in Spain, in Ibiza, and I see a hot guy."

"I'll play him," Brian smirked.

"Of course," Justin grinned. "I walk over and say… Hola."

And, because he had nothing better to do and because this slightly amused him and because he was on a promise of kink Brian actually said "hola," back.

"Me llamo Justin. Cómo te llamas?"

"Erm," Brian seemed to think for a second before saying, "Pedro," so matter-of-factly that Justin actually laughed.

"Nice to meet you, Pedro," the younger man snorted.

"Igualmente, Justin"

Justin felt a shiver run down his spine. He didn't know what the older man was saying. He could have been telling him he looked like the back end of a donkey but the way the sounds rolled of his tongue, the way his lips moved as he spoke, Justin wasn't sure how much more he could take before he just dragged the older man to bed anyway. He blushed a little but he managed to stay composed enough, until Brian continued,

"Quiero presentarte a un amigo, Brian Kinney."

Justin frowned. "I think I heard 'amigo' and your name."

"Yeah, you did," Brian nodded. "I said; I want to introduce you to my friend, Brian Kinney." Then he lowered his voice to a whisper, "he's much hotter than Pedro. And, what a bonus, he speaks English."

"Mmm," Justin screwed up his face as though making a particularly difficult decision. "No. I think I prefer Pedro."

Brian couldn't help but let out a puff of laughter. "Twot," he smiled.

"Now, what's a good pick up line?"

"Hmm," Brian thought aloud, "a good line. What about 'soy un ladrón, y he venido a robarte el corazón'."

"What's that?"

"I'm a thief and I'm here to steal your heart. It's a pick up line and factual, what more could you want?"

"Something less cheesy," Justin frowned, his nose wrinkling a little at the suggestion. "I wanna fuck him, not marry him."

"Oh, okay. Then you should probably go with 'Vamos a follar'."

"Which means…"

Brian just gave the younger man a semi-smug, semi-arrogant look and said, "let's fuck."

Justin chuckled a little. "Blunt and straight to the point. Do you think that would work?"

"It would depend on the bar and the guy," Brian conceded, "but," he shot Justin a wolfish look, "if he's anything like you then probably."

"Are you suggesting I'm easy, Mr Kinney?" Justin cried semi-indignantly. "'cause I'm not."

"Bullshit," Brian laughed. "You've been hard since the first Spanish word I said."

Justin blushed a little and almost looked embarrassed for half a second and then he just fixed Brian with his seemingly innocent blue eyes and whispered, "vamos a follar."

Brian smirked, leaning in to kiss the younger man. "You're a truly great student."

::

They were lying sated after a very 'hands on' Spanish lesson, in which Justin learned to say a lot more interesting phrases. Justin was going over and over them in his head, and storing them in his arsenal of weapons he used to get Brian just where he wanted him. Brian had just lit a cigarette and was taking a drag. He felt completely satisfied, even happy, in spite of everything.

"What's the worst chat pick up line you've ever heard?" Justin asked eventually.

"I got Theodore to walk around a gay club once saying 'I'm gonna rip all your fucking clothes off and make you sit on my nine inch dick."

Justin chuckled a little, plucking the cig from the older man's fingers and taking a drag himself. "Did it work?" he asked.

"I seem to remember he went home with a fucking ugly troll so … I guess so." He screwed up his face a little as he thought of Ted and the troll, "sort of."

"The worst line I've ever heard was to my friend Daphne. This guy came over, acting all masculine." Justin held out his arms and puffed out his chest as though the word masculine needed clarifying with gestures. "And he says 'I'm feeling a little off tonight, could you turn me on?'"

Brian laughed through his nose. He couldn't help it, the tacky line coupled with Justin's impression of a muscle-bound straight guy added to the fact Brian was inexplicably, and unequivocally happy had made him stupid and giggly. Christ. He almost felt high.

"What did she do?" Brian asked.

"Threw her drink over him. It was good to watch."

"Mm," Brian hummed in agreement as he took another long drag of his cig. "I think," he murmured thoughtfully, puffing the smoke into the air in perfect circles, "the worst line I've heard used in Babylon was to Mikey. We were about seventeen I guess. We'd snuck in with fake ID and this big bear had been cruising Michael since the second we'd walked through the door." He smirked a little at the memory. "Anyway, he walks up to Mikey and leans it really close, like this." Brian explained, pushing his lips next to Justin's ear and in a low, sultry tone he continued, "and lowers his voice, like this. And then, he says. 'Hey Kid, my dicks just died, mind if I bury it in your ass?'"

And Justin practically squealed with laughter, as he fell back into the mattress overcome with giggles.

"What did Michael do?" He asked, when he'd calmed down enough to speak.

"I don't remember," Brian shrugged, laughing. "Probably told him to fuck off."

Justin smiled a little, just looking up at the broken ceiling and thick beams before saying, "what's the grossest thing anyone's said to you?"

Brian thought for a second before deciding, "one guy asked me to be his boyfriend once."

"I meant the dirtiest pick up line," Justin laughed, putting his head on Brian's chest.

"Hmm," Brian hummed thoughtfully, his fingers pulling gently at the blonde locks. "There's loads."

"Just tell me a couple."

Brian groaned a little as he tried to remember the worst ones. "There are 206 bones in the human body," he quoted lazily. "Do you want another one?"

"That's gross," Justin laughed. "Did you fuck him?"

"Of course not," Brian scorned. "I've also heard; do you believe guys think with their dick? … Well, in that case, will you blow my mind?"

"These are awful!"

"No. That one worked," Brian remembered.

"Eww," Justin laughed and they starting giggling again. Brian laughed too. He felt like a pathetic queeny faggot but he didn't care as he and Justin swapped more horror pick up lines late into the night, Brian began to wonder if perhaps he could actually live like this forever.