A/N: The first part of this chapter may be disturbing. J/E sex is alluded to...so read with caution (I hope that it's not so bad as you imagine. I added some fantasy to make it less upsetting).

Justin cringed. He could tell that Ethan wanted to fuck him. He was walking around the apartment naked again and calling him "baby." Justin stopped writing, but didn't move from his chair. It was better that Ethan did not see the look of apprehension on his face. Soon, Ethan was rubbing his shoulders and talking dirty to him. Justin tried to drown out his touches and the disgusting words that accompanied them (Justin liked dirty talk, but not Ethan's sad attempts) with images of Aidan leaning over him as he napped on the couch. In this fantasy, Justin could tell Aidan was near, even though he was sleeping, because he could smell him, cigarettes, coffee, and Aidan musk.

"Aidan," he would breathe.

His eyes fluttering open, he gently caressed Aidan's face and gazed into hazel eyes, hazel eyes that penetrated his soul.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Justin whispered, his voice filled with anguish and desire (In this fantasy, he didn't yet know that Aidan wanted him, that Aidan was in love with him).

"Do you mean it?"

"What?" Justin answered, his eyes clouded with confusion.

"That you think I'm beautiful…"

Justin replied, a little sharply, "I may be pathetic, but I don't lie." He stood up and turned away. He couldn't look at Aidan right now. Not after he'd made himself so vulnerable. Let him know just how much he adored the man.

"You aren't pathetic," Aidan replied softly. He turned the blond around gently and took Justin's hand, placing it on his chest. Justin could feel Aidan's heart pounding hard and fast.

Justin gazed into Aidan's eyes, trying to understand. What he saw there floored him.

His chest ached with desire and…hope…Did Aidan want him? Maybe even love him?

Overwhelmed by pent up longing and sadness, Justin continued to stare into hazel depths as he unzipped and unbuttoned Aidan's jeans. Aidan slowly removed his white wife beater. Justin ran his fingers lightly over Aidan's bronze muscled chest and, then, fell to his knees, as though in a trance. He licked, sucked, and stroked Aidan's cock desperately, wanting so much to make him moan, to give him more pleasure than anyone else had ever given him. He had little experience, but he wanted to touch, kiss, suck, and lick him everywhere, wanted the same from Aidan. He wanted so much that he couldn't even put it all into words; he just wanted. Every fiber of his being longed for Aidan.

Justin shoved Ethan's clammy, unskilled hand away from his cock and stopped sucking on Ethan's.

Trying to sound sincere, he moaned, "I want to cum while you're inside me."

Justin flipped over onto his stomach and tried to imagine that, after Aidan had shot into his mouth, moaning loudly as he did so, and stood in the middle of the living room holding him for a few long moments, he'd whispered, "I want to be inside you." Ethan's thrusts were Aidan's. Aidan was pumping him sinuously. Aidan could easily find his sweet spot and hammered it mercilessly.

Justin moaned, "Fuck, yeah," adding "Aidan" in his head.

He picked up his cock, which Ethan always neglected during sex, so deluded that he thought he could make his boyfriend come without touching it, and started stroking it. Imagining that it was Aidan's strong hand dexterously working his dick.

Justin moaned, "Fuck, oh fuck me!" (Aidan) and came hard. Ethan soon followed. Justin rolled over and nearly puked when he saw the complacent look on Ethan's face.

He thought bitterly, "Yeah, you da man, Ethan. Not!"

Justin said, "That was great, but I need to clean up and get back to work" and slowly walked to the bathroom, though he wanted to run. Once there, he tried unsuccessfully to quell the urge to cry. He sat in a corner, knees up to his chest, his body shaking slightly as silent sobs racked his body, tears filling his eyes. He cursed himself for being a coward, for not being the boyfriend he should be, for being unlovable. Once he recovered, he washed Ethan's sweat off him and returned to his computer.

What's this? A new review from some man named Enigma. Justin smiled brightly. This man had read all his stories and eagerly awaited more, and, not only that, he identified with Aidan. The thought made Justin feel warm all over. How long had he wished Aidan were real and not the product of his imagination? This man had written that he was glad someone like Aidan could find love…but why wouldn't he be able to? Justin wasn't sure how he should reply, if he replied at all. But…this man didn't know him and, most likely, never would. There was no need to be shy. Justin could finally be completely honest with someone.

From: buttercup

To: enigma

Date: Thu, June 12, 2003 at 10:01 am

Subject: Re: Innocence

Enigma,

Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm so happy to hear that you enjoy my stories.

Why shouldn't someone like Aidan find love? If he existed, I'd be instantaneously smitten. Aidan is gorgeous, sexy as hell, smooth as butter, and experienced, as well as a brilliant salesman, but one with depth and a soul. He protects what he loves with everything he has and faces the world bravely, never once denying who he is or what he wants. Aidan's lover, though beautiful, sweet, and artistic, is sexually inexperienced and jaded, no longer willing to face the world. He withdraws into his art because that is the only time he truly feels alive and safe. Then, he meets Aidan, and his world is never again the same.

Buttercup is the name of my favorite Powerpuff Girl. She, despite her small stature, is tough, brave, and loving (though, sometimes, she seems cruel and is occasionally selfish).

Buttercup

Taking a deep breath, Justin clicked 'Send.' Maybe he should have restrained himself. Now he'd be a wreck until the man responded. He was nervous, but excited, too.

*****

Brian read the email Buttercup had sent him for the tenth time since he'd received it two days ago. He wasn't sure what to make of it or how to respond. He sensed that Buttercup was being honest, saying everything and then some, if you counted what he didn't realize he was sharing. Brian perceived great loneliness and sadness in that email, which made him feel oddly protective.

Buttercup had taken the name of someone he'd described as being "tough, brave, and loving." People generally selected the names of those they admired, people they were not, but wished to be. There was no doubt in his mind that Buttercup was a loving person. He couldn't write the stories he did if he weren't. So he probably thought of himself as weak and cowardly. Did he identify with Aidan's lover, James? James was, after all, extraordinarily shy and timid. He locked himself away because he was afraid to be himself, afraid to trust; he was sure that he'd be rejected or otherwise hurt if people knew who he really was, if he really let anyone in. But he was such a beautiful person, inside and out. Loving and devoted to a fault. Talented, interesting, and funny. Sweet. What was so monstrous about any of that? Course, Brian couldn't really blame James. You never knew what was real about people. Those you cared about most, trusted most, often caused you the most harm, the deepest pain imaginable.

He wanted to believe that what Buttercup had said about Aidan applied to him, but he knew well enough that he didn't deserve to be loved or admired. Sure, he was successful, and most men and women drooled over him, but no one he knew loved the 'real' Brian or even knew the 'real' Brian. If they did, they'd probably be horrified. That or they'd laugh. An advertising dynamo, Brian knew all too well that everything was about presentation. Downplaying or hiding the negative and highlighting and accentuating the positive. On top of that, everything was about sex. You had to be attractive, confident, and coveted. It didn't hurt if you drove a hot car, had much more money than you needed, and appreciated the finer things in life. The clincher was being completely self-sufficient. Not needing anyone or anything. Brian had done all of that. His image was perfect, though people often thought he was a superficial, selfish jerk. But better that than be perceived as an ugly, penniless loser. Better that than be pitied.

Brian wondered what would happen if he were simply himself. Would Buttercup run in horror? Laugh? It was so tempting. Worst case scenario, Brian would stop corresponding with him. Buttercup would never know who he was in 'real life.' He would never have to experience rejection or insult face to face, and Buttercup couldn't 'out' him because he wouldn't know his real name.

The piercing ring of the phone pulled him from his thoughts. It was 8:00 p.m. on a Saturday. It had to be Mikey. Brian sighed, let it ring a few more times, and then picked up.

"Hello."

"You took a while to answer. Are you fucking some guy?"

Brian laughed. Of course Mikey would assume that. Brian-Fucking-Kinney was always indulging in pleasure of one form or another when he wasn't working.

Brian smiled wryly and jumped into character. He purred, "Two actually." Then he barked, "So make it quick."

Mikey laughed. That was his incorrigible Brian. "I just wanted to know if you were going out tonight. That is, if you don't already have an orgy planned." With Brian, you never knew.

Hmmm. Another night of mind-numbing chatter and meaningless sex, made endurable only by alcohol and other drugs. Sounds fun, right?

"No orgy plans yet. So I'll see you at Woody's at ten."

Mikey was brimming with excitement. Just walking into the bars with Brian and talking to him occasionally afterward made him feel like one of the cool kids in high school, like he mattered.

He answered happily, "See you then, Brian."

Brian sighed. Another lonely night in his pointless existence. He decided that he would be completely honest with Buttercup. What the hell? He had nothing to lose, and he was tired of pretending.

From: enigma

To: buttercup

Date: Sat, June 14, 2003 at 8:10 pm

Subject: Re: Innocence

Buttercup,

I don't blame James for being afraid. The world is filled with fake and cruel people. If I knew a person like James, I'd do everything I could to keep him safe and happy. He's loving, devoted, talented, interesting, funny, and sweet, not to mention hot. The world needs more people like him.

I'm a little surprised that you named yourself after a cartoon character, but it's kind of cute. I admire people who can preserve enough of their childlike innocence to enjoy them. But, of course, as in everything, moderation…My best friend is a little too childlike. He's obsessed with comic books. I don't watch too much television, but I do enjoy the occasional James Dean or Marlon Brando movie.

Speaking of my best friend, I promised I'd go out to the bars with him and a couple of his friends tonight. That's what I usually do on Saturday nights. I used to really enjoy it. Being thought of as the hottest man in the club, with countless men begging to suck me off, was definitely a high. It helped me forget how much my parents and sister hated me and how lonely I was, even in crowds. But it's not as effective as it used to be. Just once, I wish someone would admire me for more than my cock size or perfect hair. But I guess I shouldn't complain. I made this life for myself. When I was a kid, it was all I dreamed of. Being praised and desired instead of being despised, bullied, or ignored. I didn't want to hide in shame. I wanted to be impervious to insults and narrow-minded bullshit. I didn't want to need anyone or anything or live a boring life. On that score, I guess I've succeeded, but I don't know. I want, but I'm not even sure what exactly. All I know is that something's missing.

Enigma

*****

Justin breathed easy for the first time that night. He'd spent the evening entertaining Ethan's friends and admirers, preparing hors d'oeuvres and smiling while feigning interest in Ethan's music. Once upon a time, he'd really been interested in his boyfriend's obsession, if only because it was something he knew little about and something Ethan loved deeply. But it was now a sore subject. Justin was tired of being snapped at or made to feel stupid if he made a comment or asked a question Ethan found inappropriate or ignorant. He was also tired of listening to Ethan ramble on for hours about music, taking little to no interest in what he found fascinating, art and writing. Now, when the subject came up, he simply smiled and nodded, all the while thinking about the plot of his next story or a painting he'd seen that day.

Justin had been particularly amused that night when one of Ethan's toadies had asked him what it was like to be the muse of such a passionate and romantic man. He'd nearly laughed out loud. He wished he knew. Ethan wouldn't know passion or romance if it bit him in the ass. For passion to exist, two people had to admire one another and know one another intuitively. The only thing Ethan admired about Justin was his ass, well, and his cooking. But that wasn't something Justin did because it fulfilled him on some emotional or spiritual level. He did it to make Ethan happy. It made his boyfriend notice his other 'failings' less, that is, his seemingly non-existent sex drive and his hermit-like nature (little did Ethan know that Justin was constantly horny, or nearly so, just not when it came to sex with Ethan. He masturbated all the time while fantasizing about Aidan). Justin cringed every time Ethan bragged about his 'little wife's' cooking. As if that's what he was about. Course, with an ego like Ethan's, a man might easily believe that other people existed only to please him. Justin wished that just once someone would be interested in more than his ass or culinary skills. That someone would actually listen when he spoke.

Justin sat down at the computer in relief. This was where he felt the most comfortable. He could engage with the world, but from a safe distance. The moment he sat down, he did what he always did after turning the computer on, he checked his email for reviews. He lived for them. His romance stories were the only 'real' area of his life (translation, important to Justin) in which anyone praised him.

But on this night, Justin felt happier than he ever had about what he found in his inbox. An email from Enigma. He'd thought for sure he'd scared the man away. He'd waited two days for a reply, but, this afternoon, not having received one yet, he'd assumed he never would. He wanted to jump for joy when he saw the email, but he was also a little scared. Would Enigma tell him that he shouldn't take his stupid little stories so seriously or that he was disappointed that Buttercup was a Powerpuff Girls fan? He should just be happy that he wasn't ignored. Whatever the email contained, Justin would be grateful for that. With trepidation, he slowly moved his mouse arrow and clicked.