A/N: Sorry about last night. Work was busy. Just a note about this part … Again, I'm pretending that Brian and Justin have access to the world as it is today, although they actually don't. For example, the building I mention was designed in their timeline, but not actually started until a few years later. Please do leave feedback – it brings me great joy

Brian and Justin had purchased spray paint in a wide variety of colors, two maglites, a bottle of Flash vodka, rat repellant, and, oddly, peppermint oil. They were now back at the loft, in nothing but boxer briefs. They needed to change, but Brian had stopped Justin when he'd reached for the pants he was to wear. Then Brian had taken out the peppermint oil.

"So … uh what's with the peppermint oil?"

Brian shrugged and explained, "Rats don't like the smell of peppermint."

Justin raised an eyebrow at this, but he stopped caring the moment Brian started rubbing the oil all over him (Justin). Not ALL over him, unfortunately. Mostly his arms, legs, shoulders, back, and chest. While rubbing down Justin's legs, Brian was face to face with Justin's groin. Justin had boxer briefs on and Brian was decidedly NOT touching Justin's dick, but Brian's proximity (so very close) and his massaging hands (so very firm), caused Justin's dick to harden all the same. Justin was a little embarrassed at the strong, immediate effect Brian always had on him. The embarrassment vanished with what Brian did next. In fact, all thought ceased.

Brian cleared his throat (of course noticing) and even started to tease Justin, sliding his hands all the way up Justin's thighs … and then up over his ass. Then when he was rubbing oil on Justin's chest he paused to run his fingers lightly (so lightly) over Justin's nipples before pinching them.

Justin dwelled in the most delicious purgatory for a solid five minutes. He was so turned on in fact that he seriously contemplated a foray to the bathroom to jerk off (this was the only thought he could muster and only when Brian's hands disappeared). But then Brian was rubbing oil over HIS mostly naked form. Justin was NOT about to miss THAT show.

And THEN Brian looked over at Justin, licked his lips, and drawled, "Take your dick out."

Justin's eyes widened.

His voice now husky and low, Brian commanded, "Jerk off for me."

Justin felt those words in the persistent ache of his chest and his impossibly harder dick, which was now leaking. Copiously.

He slid his boxer briefs down in one fluid movement, swiped the precum off the tip of his dick, and started sliding his hand up and down, squeezing as he did so. Squeezing HARD. His eyes never left Brian's. Not when he started panting and then moaning. Not even when he struggled to keep his eyes open.

When Justin whispered helplessly, "Brian … I'm …," Brian felt the desperate need in Justin's voice in his cock. He dropped to his knees in front of Justin, batted Justin's hand away, and deepthroated Justin's dick.

Brian's mouth was so warm and wet and suction-y … and Brian took Justin's dick so deep into his throat (and so quickly) that Justin immediately half-shouted, half-moaned, "OH FUCK" and grabbed onto Brian's shoulders to keep himself standing. Justin had a sudden crazy urge then … he was lost in his desire (desire so keen he nearly blacked out). He threaded his fingers into Brian's hair and started fucking Brian's mouth. He hissed, "That's right. Suck my dick. I know you like being on your knees. Oh yeah, that's it … take it all."

Anyone who knew Brian, or thought they knew him, would have expected Brian to be turned off by a vocally dominant partner. Particularly one of the twink variety. Brian-Fucking-Kinney wasn't exactly known for sucking dick. (Not that he didn't. But he was careful … he generally needed the power balance to fall in his favor, and by A LOT.) In fact, they would have expected Brian to stop and shoot the offending partner a flower-wilting glare. Pre-New York, pre-Justin, they would have been right.

But he did not. Not this time. He knew he'd have to do some damage control later (he didn't want Justin to get TOO comfortable in this role), but he was too fucking turned on by the confidence and command in Justin's raspy purr to stop. A few seconds after that, Justin's dick exploded. And a few seconds after that, Justin pulled Brian to his feet and then fell to HIS knees to return the favor. Brian was actually a little embarrassed by how quickly he came. Part of the reason was Justin's enthusiasm and energy (and his plump lips). But mostly, Brian was still all warm and thrummy from the brief appearance of Justin's dom persona. Something about that, on Justin, was so fucking HOT.

All sated and pepperminted, Brian and Justin dressed. They were both wearing all black. Justin was nervous – he wasn't sure what Brian had in mind – but he was still enjoying himself. He was particularly relishing seeing Brian a little more casual – wearing tight black jeans that framed his dick nicely, a black wife beater with a short-sleeved black silk button-down over top, and black SNEAKERS. Justin was wearing the chainmail shirt and the plaid pants he'd worn to the party (he hadn't had a chance to return them to Seth – he wasn't really looking forward to that encounter). The clothes were fashionable and dark enough to not make him easy to spot should they encounter "5-0." Brian had actually used that term. Just remembering made Justin giggle.

Once Brian had made sure both their phones were charged, they headed downtown. They took the blue line down to 14th Street (in Manhattan) and then transferred to the L. Justin assumed they were headed to Williamsburg or Bushwick, which made sense, since those areas were home to a more fashionable set (many of whom were also non-straight) as well as some amazingly artistic graffiti, but Brian actually wanted to get off at Union Square. When Brian led Justin up the stairs to the platform for the yellow line, Justin was completely baffled. The R went to Bay Ridge, the N to Coney Island, and the Q to Sheepshead Bay.

"Where are we going?"

Brian pulled Justin by the wrist onto the N, which had just pulled in. Then, he said, "Atlantic."

"What? Why?" No amount of shock was sufficient.

Brian smiled. "Barclays Center."

Barclays Center was a sports arena for Brooklyn's basketball team (The Nets). It also sometimes hosted hockey games, boxing matches, and music concerts. Justin would have NO clue that it even existed except that Frank Gehry had helped to design the structure. The basic shape of the building came from three steel bands. Over top those lay a glass 'curtain' and steel panels set in a pattern that called to mind Brooklyn's brownstones. The bands were situated in such a way as to create an 'oculus' – an eye-shaped opening at a 45-degree angle. Overall, the structure kind of looked like an off-center tea cup made of brick with a glass dome over top.

Barclays Center was right near two major shopping centers (Atlantic Terminal and Atlantic Center) and a couple of MAJOR thoroughfares: Atlantic Avenue and Flatbush Avenue. AND the station was HUGE: There the red, orange, yellow, and green lines converged.

Justin asked nervously, "Brian, why are we going to Barclays Center?"

Brian's eyes danced. "Why do you think?"

Justin dropped his head (and his voice), leaning into Brian and whispering, "Please, PLEASE, tell me, we're not about to vandalize Brooklyn's Madison Square Garden."

Brian smiled. Then he drawled – a very sexy drawl Justin couldn't help but observe, "Well, that's not ALL we're gonna do."

Justin leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his head cradled between. He moaned, "I'm too pretty to go to jail."

Brian laughed. "You are. But no one's going to jail."

Justin looked up suddenly (he'd just had a thought). He sat up and leaned toward Brian again, whispering, "Why did we bother with all the rat repellent? I thought we were going into the tunnels."

Brian nodded. "We are. AFTER."

Justin buried his face in his hands. He moaned, "Definitely going to jail."

Brian kissed Justin on the cheek gently, some might even say sweetly.

Justin dropped his hands and turned toward Brian (he gaped a little, you know, because of the gentle kiss). Brian pulled out a small bottle and removed a single pill. He slid it into Justin's hand. In answer to the unspoken question in Justin's eyes, he said, "Xanax."

Justin nodded. He'd actually taken Xanax for a while after the bashing. That and an anti-depressant. But they'd fucked with his emotions and sex drive, so Justin had stopped taking them after he'd gotten through the worst of the bashing's aftermath. He grabbed a bottle of water from his messenger bag, which they'd used to store everything, popped it into his mouth, and took a long pull off the bottle.

He was still drinking when Brian leaned close to Justin and whispered something into Justin's ear, his lips pressed against Justin's ear lobe, his breath warm on Justin's skin, and his voice husky.

What Brian said nearly caused Justin to choke.

"Do this with me and, assuming we're not in jail, I'll let you fuck me. Tonight."

Justin's body heated to boiling in a matter of seconds.

Brian asked, "You with me?"

Flushed and breathless, Justin barely managed to get a single word out. That word was "Yes."