A/N: I was going to have Cynthia lend a helping hand, but I decided that Brian and Justin needed to work this out on their own. Sorry for the backpedaling.
Brian planned to take the 1 train all the way to Christopher Street, but he realized a few moments after the subway car doors closed (when the train entered the tunnel and he could see his reflection in the windows) that he would need to stop at the loft first to change (he was WAY overdressed in his charcoal grey Armani suit). So he got off at the next stop and switched to the uptown train. He'd have to go uptown and then all the way downtown. All told, the delay meant that he arrived at the bar/club an hour and a half later. He was even more thoroughly annoyed at this point, particularly since he realized that he'd left his phone at the office. Part of him was relieved that he wasn't glued to the damn thing (checking the missed call list every ten minutes). But the rest of him was uneasy. He didn't like not knowing whether Justin had called. He didn't like not being able to brush Justin off directly. He especially didn't like NOT having the option of eventually allowing Justin a booty call, once Brian had let the boy suffer for a sufficient length of time.
Brian walked into the building. This was a bar-club combo, piano bar above, dance club below. So he walked in and saw a hot red head in a tuxedo playing Debussy on a grand piano in the back. Several older gay couples (who looked like they hadn't hit the gym in about a decade) wearing suits sat at the bar, drinking wine and scotch and speaking to each other quietly. Brian shook his head and headed down the staircase to the far left. Brian loved walking down this particular staircase. It was an "entrance-making staircase." The walls on either side were faced with mirrors, so as you descended you could see yourself from nearly every angle. The staircase was wide and long with a gradual slope downward. It opened out onto a dance floor. The bar was on the back left, the DJ adjacent to the bottom of the staircase. To the right of the main dancefloor was an entry into a smaller dance space. That room was lined with mirrors, too, except where the other doorway sat. That doorway opened onto a hallway. If you went right, you found bathrooms. If you went left, you ended up in another hallway, this one wider and longer. That was the backroom.
The DJ was playing disco. Brian sighed. He forgot it was a Friday. He would normally come here (when he was coming here on a much more regular basis) on Saturdays. Then the DJ played music from this decade. Brian hated disco night. The 'talent' was much less talented on disco nights (the crowd was usually older … with more trolls – and those who were hot were generally less hot than Brian liked). Brian decided he'd need a few drinks and maybe more if he were going to have any fun in these circumstances. So he approached the bar and ordered a double Beam. Then he situated himself so that he could see both the main dancefloor and through the doorway into the second dance space. While he leisurely drained his glass, several men passed close, shooting him suggestive looks. Brian didn't even bother to shake his head. He simply rolled his eyes. They got the hint. Brian ordered a second double Beam and headed into the other room. But he didn't stop. He passed through into the hallway. But instead of heading left (into the backroom), he turned right. The bathrooms were also a good place to acquire chemical enhancements, and at this point, Brian had realized that they would be necessary.
When Brian re-entered the second dance space 15 minutes later, he was already feeling much better. So much better in fact that he gulped down the rest of his drink, balanced the glass on the bar tracing the room waist high (for leaning or … 'whatever'), and started dancing. He closed his eyes and swayed, even gyrating a little. He was flying pretty high.
Cynthia had come prepared to drag Brian out of the backroom by the ear and read him the riot act, but she had arrived 30 minutes before Brian (though she did not realize that) and when she went searching for him, she hadn't found him. She assumed he'd had a change of heart. She nodded in approval. Maybe he truly had evolved (despite the temper tantrums he still periodically engaged in). She smiled as she left. The evening was still fairly young. She headed to the karaoke sushi bar. Lots of hot up and comers frequented that one.
Justin was on his own.
Brian danced for two songs (alone) with his eyes closed. His energy level had spiked and his body felt amazing, like pop rocks were crackling through every cell. The sensation was close to orgasmic … an orgasm that tickled out. For the first time in several hours, Brian had managed to get Justin completely out of his head. He had just one thought in his head now. If he could just find someone to rub up against, all would be right with the world (that was the thought). Brian opened his eyes and scanned the room. After a minute or two of searching, Brian scowled. Finding someone 'decent' would be a challenge. Brian was just about to broaden his search (go back into the main room) when he glimpsed a figure in skin tight black jeans and a red half shirt. He'd seen him in one of the mirrors. The room was so crowded now (and filled with moving people – wiggling, bending over, and bouncing) that he hadn't seen the guy's face. BUT his ass was just about perfect and his waist slim. If his face wasn't hideous, he would more than do. Brian narrowed his eyes and scanned the room again, this time more carefully. He caught a flash of red in his peripheral vision, heading into the hallway, Brian imagined, into the backroom. He smiled and gave chase. Tonight wouldn't be a total loss after all.