Chapter 3

The Brave Little Taylor

Liberty Diner was a madhouse in the mornings.

All the fags who had been so frantic to party at Babylon the night before (and almost every night) were now hung over and yet in need to get to their respective day jobs. The answer…Bacon and eggs at the Liberty Diner of course! It was also a good meeting place for friends who had gotten separated in the psychedelic madhouse that was Babylon and trade stories about who had done who in the night.

All this meant that early mornings saw the Diner filled to overflowing and that Debbie could count on being run off her feet. However, she was so effusive and friendly to every queen and dyke that graced the door that everybody thought she loved every minute of it. And for the most part, she did. Except when there was a line out the door and Kiki was late…again.

One morning, at 6:52 AM precisely, the door slammed open and the bell rang angrily. Below the bell, equally angry, his hair wet and askew, his tie untied, his shirt misbuttoned, his blazer rumpled and messily put on, and his shoes rather dull and not their usual high gloss, stood a furious and rather wild-eyed Brian fucking Kinney.

The air was rich with the smells of coffee and frying bacon and sausage. There was the dull roar of good natured morning conversation and the occasional ring from the cash register bell. All the booths were full and only a few stools at the counter were empty.

Brian's eyes were wild as he scanned the room. Fortunately, he saw Michael and the gang in one of the booths. He charged over.

"Geez, Brian! What happened to you?" asked Michael, wide eyed.

"I woke up at 6:30 and was showered and out the door in 15 minutes," he answered.

"In a hurry?" Ted asked mildly from his side of the booth. The drab accountant had a twink du jour with a beautiful smile plastered to his side and Emmett was seated next to both of them, keeping a watchful eye on the both of them. Something was going on but Brian didn't have time to be bothered right now. He had to…

"I need to find this man….right now! He hangs out at Woody's at night but I need to find him now. Anybody seen him during the day?" Brian held up his cell. On it was a selfie of Justin wide eyed and puckered adorably. He had kindly left it on Brian's wallpaper in lieu of a note.

Everybody laughed and loved the picture to bits. And the fact that Brian was "desperately seeking Justin" was icing on the cake. Everybody naturally assumed the twink had jilted the lothario Stud who was now and finally head over heels. (Or at least wanted a do-over fuck).

"Geez, Brian, what is it with you and waiters?"Mikey asked, "You planning on working your way through the Pitts with them?" At Brian's vacant expression, Mikey pointed.

Brian turned and at the same time a pair of baby blues caught sight of him. Justin looked adorable with his sunshine smile on high wattage, his yellow hair pleasantly rumpled and a clean white apron around his waist. He carried a bussing tray. As Brian caught sight of him, the spunky teen swept a table of dirty dishes into it.

Blue eyes brightened with love and happiness. Hazel eyes darkened with rage and hate.

"RRRRAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Brian heard an animalistic roaring in his ears as he charged the blond boy, his arms outstretched, his hands curved into talons. He realized the roar was coming from him.

Closer and closer he got to Justin. His fingers itched to squeeze the boy's neck.

Justin stood there, impassive, waiting for him. He put the tray down on the counter. The rest of the diner was shocked into silence.

Just as Brian reached him, was sure he was going to squeeze the life out of the blond tempter and double crosser, Justin grabbed one of his wrists and pulled him forward instead of pushing back and in a lightning move using Brian's own momentum, had Brian's face shoved down onto the table he had just cleared with his elbow against the back of his neck and the other hand holding onto the wrist he had grabbed and he pulled his arm straight back in what threatened to break it and dislocate his shoulder.

Brian roared in rage and humiliation as pain the likes of which he had never imagined shot through his entire arm. He struggled but quieted quickly as Justin twisted with just enough force to make him realize there was no escape.

"Calm down and I'll let you up. Calm down. Calm down and I'll let you up," Justin repeated this soothingly in his ear and gave it a lick to boot. "Um…..are you calm yet?

Brian struggled briefly but gave up after the blond merely twisted his arm whenever he did. He stood there, bent over the table like a bottom bitch and briefly contemplated his life. He was utterly humiliated and one cheek was shmushed flat into the cold Formica tabletop. It occurred to him that he had very nearly hit rock bottom here. Not quite yet. But almost.

"It depends if you're planning on fucking me over this tabletop," Brian quipped, "I'm a total top and I'm not changing that for a little twink like you. Otherwise….fine…yes…I'm calm," he ground out.

"Well, that's just super!" chirped out Justin like a Disney princess. He let go Brian's arm and neck and pulled him up gently but somehow in such a way that they were spooned tightly together, back to front, his crotch pressed against Brian's ass, and his lips warm next to his ear. "But uhhh….don't knock it till you try it, Stud!" And he gave a calculated nip to Brian's earlobe that left the Stud gasping and weak in the knees.

The entire diner was riveted and watching the scene play out like it was a pricey opera.

Once Justin had partially released him, Brian snarled and shoved himself the rest of the way free.

"You little FUCKER! You double crossing little shit! You said you'd help me! And I wake up…to…to nothing! And I'm meeting Shulmann's first thing this morning! There's no time for anything else!"

"But I did help you, Brian. Didn't you see the board?"

"Oh, the board….the board….of course…of course!" Brian mumbled as he stomped over to the front door where he retrieved said board, "You mean this piece of shit! What the fuck, Justin!"

The offending board was displayed to one and all. Painted on it was an artistic yet simple thought bubble that simply said: I'm not hip. I'm a classic. Additional notes written in pencil indicated that the offending shoe be placed under the thought bubble.

"But that's not a piece of shit. That's your ad. Just place the shoes under the thought bubble and you'll be fine."

"But this…this can't be it! There must be more! There has to…all those things we did!" he continued in a furious whisper, using the board as a makeshift barrier in a vain attempt at privacy. He received none as everyone heard everything. "All those things I did! You owe me…there has to be….well, there must be more!"

"Sometimes more is less," said Justin, "There are times when the simplest statement can be the most profound. The maker of these shoes…I could tell he is from another era. He makes those shoes not for the sake of looks but because he's from that other time and yearns to return there, to re-create it. A better time, in his eyes, a simpler time. And so, a simple ad will appeal to him. Trust me. This will work."

"It damn well better! Or I will come back and take it out of your ASS! Fancy moves or not!"

"Promises, promises!" Justin smiled impishly.

"Grrrrrrrr…!" Brian growled in his face and turned on his heel to get out of there.

"Wait a minute! Where are you going?" Justin said.

"Oh I thought I'd go ice skating and then take in a show," Brian snarled sarcastically, "TO WORK! Where else!?"

"But you can't go looking like that! Oh no! That would never do!" Justin said in real distress, sounding exactly like Cinderfella's fussy fairy godfather.

"Honey, I've been telling him that for years!" piped up Emmett, "But he never listens to me!"

"That's just because you haven't been saying the right things," Justin said, snaking a hand around the back of Brian's neck firmly. He pulled down and no nonsensically shoved his tongue down his throat.

"Land o'Goshen! Sorry honey, but there are some things, even I won't say!" said Emmett.

"Yeah! Very few things," quipped Ted drily.

Emmett shushed him unnecessarily.

Justin continued for a few minutes until the ad exec was thoroughly fuc – uh…I mean frenched. Brian would never admit it but his knees were weak and his toes were curled into talons inside his Armani loafers.

At last, Justin pulled back and pulled a now pliant Brian over to a stool at the counter.

"You have quite the way with words, little elf," Brian sassed.

"I like to get my way," Justin sassed back. "Now…when you come in here, what do you like to eat?"

"I leave and go somewhere better," said Brian nastily.

"I see…so bacon and eggs it is," Justin ordered for him, "with….orange…no, guava juice, I think."

"How did you know that?" Brian growled.

"I saw a mess of it in your fridge the other night," Justin said sensibly.

There was a buzz and a hum as the rumor mill started that indeed this was a trick that had spent the night and may have just even done a (gasp) repeat with Brian, the Great Stud of Liberty Avenue!

"Now…I want you to eat every bite…no complaining about carbs for once in your life, he added as Brian opened his mouth to complain about the carbs.

"And…this wrinkled blazer will never do." Justin peeled it off of him. He handed to Kiki who was working the grill. "Hang this above the grill for a few minutes. It'll steam out the wrinkles."

"No! I'll smell like bacon all day!" Brian yelled.

Justin sighed and thought a bit. "The pancake grill," he amended.

While Kiki did that and kept an eye on that, Justin knelt in front of Brian reverently.

"Wha…what are you doing?" asked Brian in alarm.

Justin gently grasped one of Brian's feet in his hands and lifted it worshipfully toward his face. "There is nothing quite like the smell of Armani leather," he said, taking several deep sniffs. "And there is nothing Armani leather loves quite like a spit polish to make it shine." He paused dramatically.

The diner was dead silent. There was not an eye that was not riveted, not a breath that wasn't hitched and held, wondering, wondering what the blond twink was going to do next.

And then…he did it. He bent his head forward and kissed the top of the shoe. He licked it. He laved it. He French kissed it up and down. He sucked on it. He made animalistic noises of pure pleasure as he basically made love to Brian's shoe.

"Justin! What the FUCK! Stop!" Brian yelled, appalled that he should be debasing himself like this in public all for the sake of him.

But Justin didn't stop and he wouldn't let go. He licked up and down and around and sucked the tip all the while casting his wide blue eyes up into Brian's horrified ones. But at the same time, it was giving the ad exec a raging hard on.

Justin didn't stop till he was good and ready and when he was he lifted his head and placed Brian's treated shoe in his lap so that it was resting square on his cock. Then he took his other shoe and laved and slobbered all over that.

Not an eye looked away, not a word was spoken and there was not a soft dick in the house.

Justin took a clean cotton cloth out of the waistband of his apron and proceeded to rub and clean and buff Brian's shoes to a high gloss like an old timey shoe shine boy. He gave them a few finishing whacks with the cloth and inspected them with pride. They were perfect. At least they'd be perfect for the meeting.

He stood up. Whistling and catcalls and thunderous applause broke out. The only ones not cheering were Michael and strangely enough, Emmett.

"But…but…why?" Brian strangled out.

"I was once told…" Deft hands buttoned his shirt the right way.

"That the greatest love you can show…" The hands tied his tie into a thick Windsor knot.

"…your fellow man is the cleaning and care…oh, do you have a comb?" Brian handed it over. Justin dipped it in a water glass and lovingly combed his hair.

"Where was I? Ahh yes…the greatest love…is the cleaning and care of one's feet…and shoes." Justin motioned for his blazer. Kiki handed it over with shaking hands. Justin lovingly put it on him and pulled the damp fabric until it was taut in all the right places and all the wrinkles were smoothed out. He used his fingers to scissor in creases in all the right places. "So…don't you agree?"

"I wouldn't know. Nobody loves me," Brian said callously, "And just who do you think you are? My fairy godfucker!? Leave me alone, for Chissakes!" He struggled free of the fussy, fairy, fixing fingers.

"Maybe so…It all depends…" he paused and waited.

Brian seriously considered leaving him hanging. But then…the little twink did just end up making him look like a Prince.

"On what?"

"On whether you get the account and meet me at Woody's tonight at 7," said Justin.

"Oh, no you don't! You wolf in twink's clothing! No more meeting you in the dark woods…I mean Woody's…I mean…"

Justin kissed him hard and hot. "Round three. It's up to you," he drawled suggestively. He patted him on the bum and stood him up and emptied his plate into a cardboard doggie bag. He added a few lemon bars to boot.

"And now…you'd better be off. If you don't hurry, you're going to be late for work. Hurry now! Hurry!"

And darned it, if Brian wasn't hustled out the door in a bum's rush! Before he even had time to register that he looked fantastic, tailored and polished, the door was ringing, he was on the sidewalk, the bell rang again as the door slammed behind him and he was on the cold and snowy street with his doggie bag and ad board. He barely had time to dodge out of the way before the door hit his ass on the way out. He'd gone in mad as a hatter and come out looking like a million bucks.

What the hell had just happened?

B*J*B*J*B*J*B*J

Meanwhile, inside, Justin took a deep breath and pasted on his most sunshine-ey smile and turned around to face a horde of hungry and now horny queers.

"So…who's first? What can I get someone?" he said sunnily.

Money appeared from everywhere and there was cacophony of thumps as many shoes in many feet angled out and hit the floor of the aisle.

Justin rolled his eyes and shook his head. This was going to be a looooong day.

B*J*B*J*B*J*B*J

Little fucker.

Good goddammed if he wasn't right.

Shulmann's loved the ad. He loved the simplicity and it turned out Justin had read him like a book, artist to artist just by his shoes alone.

Shulmann signed on to his agency and gave him a contact. Moreover he called up Brown's and gushed about him a bit and in the end Brown gave him another contact as well

Of course, they were both shoe companies. Of course.

So, in the end, it was as if he was left with four pairs of shoes to work with.

TBC