A/N: This extra chapter is to make up for 2/10/15 (I missed a day due to work).

Brian kept his eye on his quarry, or tried to, but the figure was moving quite fast and the room (and even the hallway) was filled with swaying, writhing, bouncing, and grinding bodies. He made an educated guess (that the man was heading to the backroom) and turned to the left, dodging dancing, fucking, and leaning couples (the leaners had apparently taken too much of something, which had rendered them incapable of movement). This chase was like an inversion of bowling. They were the pins and he was the ball, desperately trying NOT to pick up the spare. When he finally reached the backroom, the chaos was even more chaotic. There were almost twice as many men fucking, sucking, and rimming as there should have been. Brian cursed. But he was not the type to give up. So he located the best vantage point and started systematically scanning, eyes narrowed and focused like a laser. Brian nearly jumped when he rediscovered his quarry (a splash of red in a sea of bodies). He'd forgotten how exciting the hunt could be. He strode forward and started weaving his way toward where he'd seen the man. He was a little frustrated that he still hadn't glimpsed the guy's face, but it would have to be covered in boils to make a difference. He'd already decided the guy's ass would make up for a passel of flaws.

After some bending, hopping, and sidestepping he was closing in on his target. He even glimpsed the top of the man, but unfortunately from behind. Blond hair. Brian found himself wishing it were possible for his quarry to be Justin. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Why had he even thought of Justin? Justin had blown him off for some pimple-faced twink. They were probably 'connecting' over their art, gazing at each other over a chipboard table. Or maybe they'd taken the passion coursing through them a step further, ONTO the table. He hadn't even bothered to call. Brian growled in frustration. The way he was dwelling he was liable to start growing a uterus. Any second. He moved faster. The best way to forget all this was to bury his dick in a wet mouth or a tight hole, and as soon as possible.

Unfortunately (for Brian's dick), thoughts of Justin and classmates while surrounded by a mass of half-naked men writhing in pleasure reminded Brian of the party. More specifically Justin in the loft bathroom with the fashion designer. Even more specifically, Justin sitting on the toilet (lid down), pants undone, head buried in his hands, drowning in … stupid feelings. Regret, shame, blah, blah, blah. They hadn't even said they were exclusive yet. Brian growled again. But this time, instead of pressing forward, he stopped dead in his tracks and leaned up against the nearest wall. He carded his hand roughly through his hair. Good thing the hand in use was his left hand. He needed the right to push off a series of men who assumed Brian was waiting for 'service' and attempted to provide it. He shoved four different guys' hands from his pants zipper, one from his neck (trying to kiss him), and even one from his shoulders (that guy was actually trying to fuck Brian). Brian paused his musing to not only shove him away but also shoot him an "are you fucking kidding?" look of disgust.

Brian heard himself telling Justin, "Men like fucking and sucking. It doesn't have to mean anything." Then he heard Justin's response, "However hot you might find other men, my feelings matter more than twenty minutes of pleasure. I'm special to you. Admit it."

And in Brian's way, he had. He'd proposed three months of exclusive sex. And other stuff to be determined later.

That's when Brian caught a flash of red moving toward him in his peripheral vision. The man Brian had been chasing was now seeking him out, in fact, kneeling in front of Brian. He should have been pleased, but thinking had soured his mood. The man started unzipping and unbuttoning. For a second Brian let himself believe that this could be Justin. Their hair was nearly identical. He hadn't actually seen the man's face yet (the man was looking sort of down now). Brian ran his right hand up the man's neck. He threaded his fingers through the man's hair. Brian smiled. It even felt like Justin's. Then Brian did, unconsciously, what he always did when his hand was in Justin's hair. He ran a couple of fingers over Justin's scar or the place on his scalp it should be.

Nothing. Brian sighed and shoved the man aside. When he didn't move quickly enough, Brian growled, "Fuck off!" Then he slid his dick back into his pants and refastened and rezipped. He glanced at the man as the man stormed away. Brian grimaced, not because he was a troll but because Brian couldn't believe he ever thought this guy could be Justin. His skin was patchy and too dark. Not soft and porcelain colored. And his ass was flatter close up.

Brian walked back toward the main hallway in a daze. He told himself the only reason he hadn't indulged was that he'd promised not to. He also told himself the disappointment he was currently feeling was from being so constrained. Well, and the red-shirt guy being just okay. The drugs must have been pretty damn strong for him to get it so wrong. He really wished he hadn't left his phone behind. He told himself that was because he couldn't get a booty call without it, NOT because he wanted to know if Justin had ever called. When he made it back to the bar, he ordered a third double Beam. This had been a total waste of his time. He slid a twenty toward the bartender, but his hand was intercepted by another. Brian noticed in amusement how soft the man's skin felt and followed the line of his arm up. But his eyes didn't need to complete the journey. Halfway there, a voice Brian knew well lilted, "I got this, Brian."

And yes, lilted is the word. Brian cursed silently. But he also smiled faintly. Justin was very happy about something. That couldn't be good.

Then Justin was grinning at Brian and sliding an arm around Brian's waist.

Brian batted his eyes, plastered on a fake smile, and said, in his best mocking voice, "What are we so happy about? Plastic sheets on sale?"

Justin just kept grinning.

This was unsettling for Brian. More seriously, and pretending not to care (even looking away while posing the question), he asked, "So how did you know I was here?"

"Cynthia."

Brian grumbled, "Ah. Remind me to fire her on Monday." Then he took a sip of his drink to hide a smile. He might have to give her a raise. Brian cleared his throat. "So … how long have you been here?"

Justin waggled his eyebrows. "Long enough to see you dancing."

Brian huffed a laugh and smiled faintly. Justin had seen everything. The chase. The refusals. The retreat. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.