Brian decided that he must be out of his fucking mind. After an assload of brainstorming, Brian had come up with the bright idea of taking Justin "camping" on one of New York City's many islands (for their fifth date). Why, one might justifiably ask? Brian Kinney was certainly not the outdoorsy type. He didn't like to get dirty (unless by dirty one meant kinky), he didn't like animals or bugs, he couldn't stand a night away from his platform bed and 500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and he preferred haute cuisine to anything containing pigs' butts or gelatin. However, he'd kind of liked being on the rooftop with Justin looking at the stars and the city lights (not that he'd ever admit it), and he wanted them to be somewhere with no conceivable interruptions when he 'gave it up.'

Unfortunately, not being a New York City native, Brian hadn't realized that most of the islands (excepting Staten Island and Manhattan) were or had been home to insane asylums, jails, and hospitals for people with infectious diseases. Dumping grounds for the untouchables. Translation, none were exactly suitable for camping (unless one was starring in a horror flick). So…Brian decided that a fireplace, some (shudder) marshmallows and hot dogs (he might eat a marshmallow, but no fucking way was he going to eat pigs' butts on a stick; Justin could have all of those), a bearskin rug, and some ecstasy would do. He'd decided to include the latter for three reasons. One, sex with Justin the first time (if memory served) had been incredible (though if questioned, he would characterize it simply as 'not bad'), so on E, he expected the sex to be amazing. Two, he wanted to spend the entire night fucking Justin (and E would give him the energy to do so, but again, if asked, he'd deny needing anything to fuck all night). And three, Brian wasn't sure he wanted Justin to remember that Brian had been his first (he imagined that that had been one reason he was reticent to fuck Justin again). Brian was confident that E would keep Justin's mind very much in the present.

Brian had a fireplace in his office (he didn't have a bearskin rug there, but he had a soft white one he could bring from the loft). The office also seemed like the perfect location because it had an incredible view of the sky (and the skyline), and Brian had been having office fantasies about Justin all week (he imagined that Justin had been having them too, at least since his attempted seduction and maybe before). Plus, he could call Justin back to the office after everyone else went home on the pretext of needing to work late.

And that's just what Brian did. So come 8pm, Justin walked into Brian's office, in khakis and a crisp button-down shirt, to find a bearskin rug lying in front of a crackling fire and a table (rising to knee level so what was upon it could be reached from the rug) on which someone (a caterer who was convinced that Brian had lost his mind and with it all his taste) had set various condiments in silver bowls with tiny silver spoons, a large silver bowl filled to the brim with marshmallows, a silver tray containing hot dog buns, another containing uncooked hot dogs, yet another on which sat several bottles of water, and two silver skewers (with wooden handles) for toasting.

Brian, who had been standing by the window, turned when he heard the door close. Justin hadn't even seen him (the only light in the room was the orangey glow cast by the fire) until Brian emerged from the shadows wearing jeans (his top button unfastened) and a wife beater, no socks or shoes. Brian sat on the rug, extending his legs and leaning on one arm, and drawled, "Care to join me?"

Justin just gaped for a long moment. But then he replied a little shyly, "Sure" and moved to sit next to him.

"What is all this?"

"Date number five. Care to toast a wiener?"

Justin giggled. He resisted the urge to say, "I'd like to do something to a wiener..." Instead, he confessed, "Well, I am a bit peckish…"

Justin grabbed a hot dog, skewered it, and then thrust it into the fireplace just above the flames. He nearly jumped when he turned back toward Brian (and the table of condiments) to find Brian staring at him intently. Justin would have felt the heat from that gaze a mile away. A delicious shiver traveled down his spine and then spread throughout his body. Apparently, tonight was the night. At once, Justin felt exhilarated and terrified. Justin was reaching for the ketchup when Brian, his tongue firmly planted in his cheek and an amused expression in his eyes, drawled, "Your shirt must be chafing you."

Justin's eyes widened, and he grinned. Had Brian just made a Simpsons reference?

Brian continued, "Here let me take it off." And that he did. He worked the buttons slowly and traced his fingers along each inch of skin as it was exposed. Brian's fingers left goosebumps in their wake, but Justin was far from cold. Oddly, he grew warmer with each button Brian unfastened. When Brian slipped Justin's shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, caressing Justin's skin lightly as he did so, Justin's breathing grew shallow.

Thus began their game of chicken. Justin dribbled ketchup, mustard, relish on his hot dog (still on the skewer) and then drew his tongue along its length. Next, he sucked on the tip and then pushed it almost all the way into his mouth. Finally, he pulled it out and licked his lips before gobbling it up in two bites. Justin's eyes twinkled, and he grinned. He fucking loved the effect he was having on Brian. His breathing had grown slightly ragged, and his eyes had darkened with desire. But Brian gave as good as he got. He muttered, "Messy boy" and started licking, sucking, and kissing various parts of Justin on which he 'found' dabs and drips of ketchup, mustard, and relish: Justin's neck, right at the pulse point, his left nipple, his cheek, and his ear lobe. Justin closed his eyes and bit his lip to stifle a soft moan. Then he grabbed another hot dog and began round two.