


Arms Open Wide

by Predec2



Category: Queer as Folk
Genre: Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-16
Packaged: 2013-10-08 12:45:05
Rating: M
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,323
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Story URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5719181/1/
Author URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2160016/Predec2
Summary: Brian is away on business - just what kind of game is he playing? Mainly fluff this time!





	1. Chapter 1: Let the Games Begin!

Arms Wide Open

The vibrating buzz of my cell phone alerted me to the first text message almost two weeks ago. I had been anxiously waiting for word from Brian since he left for Tokyo on Kinnetik business the day before. Since there was a 14-hour time difference, I figured he would probably contact me initially by cell phone anyway, to let me know he arrived safely. But it was WHAT the message said that intrigued me:

_Walk over to the lamppost at 5__th__ and Broadway Streets. Stand under the light just as you did that first night. EXACTLY at 11:30 p.m. You'll receive your first instructions there. B_

What the fuck? What kind of game was my partner playing with my head THIS time? Well, whatever it was, I was so curious by then that I had to obey his mandate.

As he requested, I arrived at the lamppost at 5th and Broadway early, at 11:25 p.m. As I stood there, the light shining like a beacon on my face, I could almost feel Brian walking up to me, asking if I was going "any place special." For a few minutes, I imagined his dark, piercing hazel eyes practically devouring the virginal 17-year-old who stood there terrified and yet excited at the possibilities that might occur. Smiling at the memory, I felt my cell phone vibrating at precisely 11:30 p.m. Laughing to myself, I eagerly pulled the instrument out of my pocket and flipped it open to read the next message:

_Good boy. I can still remember how incredible you looked under that light. Just like a ripe peach waiting to be plucked. Somehow you had me hooked from the first day, you twat. Now here's your second set of instructions: Tomorrow walk to the ice cream shop at Water and Bridge Street. Pick up a pint of Vanilla Bean ice cream at 1:00 p.m. Forget about the fucking carbs. B._

I snorted. Like I was the one who worried about carbs. Okay, I wasn't sure what type of game Brian was playing, but I decided to enjoy it. The times lately when Brian was playful seemed exceedingly rare, and it was a side of him that I always enjoyed tremendously. He always appeared to be so intense lately, mainly because he was trying so hard to make Kinnetik successful. According to Ted, it had exceeded even Brian's wildest dreams, but in his constant striving for perfection, he never thought it was quite successful enough. I longed for the day when Brian would decide that maybe it was more important that we have more time to spend together, rather than having more money than we both knew what to do with. So for whatever reason, while Brian was acting in this nonsensical way, I decided to just relish in it.

_February 2_

The next day, I promptly took the subway over toward the ice cream shop that I had talked Brian into visiting the last time he came to see me. I didn't hold out much hope that he would actually EAT any ice cream, but my roommate had assured me this was the most fantastic ice cream on earth, and sure enough, once I tried it, I thought I was in heaven. They make it the old-fashioned way – something about making it in pots with lots of thick cream. However they did it, it practically melted on your mouth and tasted like no other ice cream I had ever had. One taste and I was totally addicted. Of course, the only thing I could think about was feeding it to Brian and receiving ice cream kisses in return. Part vanilla, part Brian Kinney. Yummy.

With that vision in mind, I eagerly arrived just before 1:00 p.m. and as ordered, purchased a pint of the vanilla bean. Walking outside the shop outside to have a seat at one of their benches, I couldn't wait to dig into the creamy concoction. Just as I was about to lift the spoon to my mouth, however, I felt the familiar vibration of my cell phone once again. Groaning slightly in disappointment, but nonetheless looking forward to hearing from my partner, I quickly set the lid back on the carton and flipped my phone open. Sure enough, there was another text from Brian:

_Enjoying your carbs, Sunshine? Right now, I'm imagining you sitting naked on top of me on my chaise, feeding me that fattening gruel by the spoonfuls, in between your sweet Justin ice cream kisses. Of course, you would drip that fucking shit all over me. Bad boy – you'll just have to lick it up, won't you?_

I groaned again, this time not for the same reason, though. Damn man – only he could get me horny in the middle of downtown Manhattan. Trying desperately to think of something to quell the hard-on he was giving me, I steeled myself for the rest of his message, praying he didn't get me even more turned on:

_Here's your next clue, Sunshine, if you can put the fucking carbs down long enough to read this! _

Sheepishly, I looked down at the spoon that I had absentmindedly snuck back out and was stabbing into the ice cream, hoping to take a small bite as I read the rest of his message. Was this man a mind reader, too? Sighing in resignation, I put the spoon down to finish reading the rest of his message:

_That's better. Here's your next instruction: Tomorrow, I want you to go to the Central Park Zoo at exactly 10:00 a.m. Look for the two monkeys near the front entrance. You'll recognize them because they look just like us – they'll be fucking themselves senseless. Sweet dreams and nighty-night, Sunshine. B_

Huffing, I thought, _sweet dreams, my ass. Thanks to you, I'll be lucky if I get ANY sleep tonight._ Well, I thought, I might as well enjoy the ice cream. Now plunging my spoon into the dessert with aplomb, I didn't stop until I had finished every delicious drop. Frowning afterward, though, I fleetingly regretted my actions, wondering if the next time I saw Brian I was so fat, he would tell me I resembled an ape rather than a monkey and would refuse to fuck me at all…..

February 3

By now I was feeling like one of Brian's so-called Stepford fags, dutifully following through on his instructions about where to go, where to be, and at what time. But he knew I couldn't say no to him, so stereotype or not, I proceeded to carry out his next mandate.

Arriving at the zoo just before 10:00, I walked through the front gate, looking for the fabulous, fucking monkey exhibit. Sure enough, right by the entrance was an expansive monkey habitat displaying a pair of capuchin monkeys furiously "getting to know each other better," totally oblivious to the sometimes shocking stares of patrons, the mothers especially seeing a duty to cover the eyes of their impressionable children. Smirking, my mind wandered instead to Brian and me during one of our marathon fucking sessions. On the bed and couch, of course, but also on the floor pillows, the kitchen counter, the shower, in the elevator, at the center poles, and anywhere else we could obtain some type of footing. We were nothing but versatile.

The ever-prompt Mr. Kinney phoned in at precisely 10:00 a.m. I was beginning to enjoy this game, I decided. Flipping the phone open once more, I read his latest message:

_Those monkeys have nothing on us, Sunshine. Except having tails would put a whole new spin on our fucking sessions. What we lack in tails, though, we make up for in enthusiasm. Here's your next message:_

_Go to the top of the Empire State Building tomorrow at precisely 2:00 p.m. Keep your eye out for the next text. B_

Tails. Hah! I had to laugh at the idea of Brian Kinney strutting around, a long, bushy, auburn tail protruding from his lean ass and swishing between his legs. Of course, as absurd as that seemed, that thought curiously made me again horny as hell. Damn that man! Once more, I sat down at a nearby bench and tried to think of something, anything that would dampen my obvious hard-on, hoping in the mean time that I did not get any disapproving stares from the same mothers worried about their children being corrupted.

_February 4_

Waiting to catch one of the elevators to take me to the top of the Empire State Building, I felt fortunate that I had such a flexible schedule, since my lover was seeing fit to turn me into a out-of-town tourist, visiting various haunts at all times of the day and night. But at this point I couldn't have resisted obeying each message even I wanted to – I was too intrigued. Inexplicably, however, he was refusing to actually answer my calls to him at all right now, even though he had managed in succeeding to make me so horny that I was desperate to hear his voice to jack off to. I could only hope that whatever game he was playing, it would be over soon and whatever was waiting at the end would be worth all the frustration.

I finally managed to catch the next available elevator, impatiently hoping I would make it to the top before the designated 2:00 p.m. By now, he had me so convinced that he could read my mind and somehow see what I was doing that I was afraid to be late. Bouncing lightly back and forth on the balls of my feet, I subconsciously held my breath as I watched the floor numbers ticked by.

Barely reaching my goal just seconds before 2:00, I waited impatiently for the phone alert. I wasn't disappointed. Exactly at 2:00, I felt the familiar pulsation and reached in my pocket to dig out the phone. Opening it up, I enthusiastically read my partner's latest greeting:

_Ah, Sunshine. That's just how you make me feel when I'm on top of you. Like I'm on top of the world. Take your time and look at the world just waiting to see your talent. When you're done looking at gay Paree, as you take the elevator back down, think of the all the times we fucked in the elevator at the loft. I only wish there were as many floors at the loft as there are at the Empire State Building. 102 floors would equal at least 3 or 4 fucks per trip. With that entertainment, they'd be paying US admission. _

Okay. He had done it again. Just the thought of being fucked senseless by Brian several times going down and up in the elevator made me hard once again. Thank goodness for those large freestanding binoculars on pedestals. You know, the kind that conveniently hide obvious erections. Puts a whole new meaning into erector sets.

Eventually getting myself under control, I glanced down to read the rest of my partner's message:

_Tomorrow I want you to go to the massage therapist at Wallace and Nunner at precisely 8:30 p.m. Ask for Diane. What, did you think I would get a man to DO it? That would rub me the wrong way. Nice try, Sunshine. Later – B._

I smirked. So now he thinks he's a comedian, does he? Good thing you didn't give up your day job, Kinney, I thought. But, then I realized that I've never had a massage. Man or not, this should be an interesting experience.

Exiting the attraction at street level, I grabbed a hot dog from a nearby vendor. Walking back to my apartment, I anxiously waited for what the next day would bring from Brian, the would-be comedian with the bushy tail and the carb-laden ass.


	2. Chapter 2: The Torment Continues

_February 5_

In a way, I was actually grateful that Brian had decided to wait until tonight to give me his next set of "instructions," because I was finally able to get some of my much-neglected painting done. Of course, thanks to his daily "attention," my painting today concentrated mainly on my favorite subject – HIM. And his suggestive form of communicating succeeding in inspiring me to create some new preliminary sketches of Brian in all sorts of evocative poses: Brian sprawled in his chaise, long, lean legs draped over the sides as I rode him with the ice cream dripping down his chest, Brian in the shower, hot, slick, and wet, possessively pushing me up against the shower stall as he fucked me raw (hey, it was just a sketch – a guy can dream, can't he?), Brian having his way with me in an Empire State Building elevator, my legs firmly wrapped around his toned waist as he rammed into me, and last but not least, even Brian resembling one of those inexhaustible fucking monkeys, tickling me with his long, bushy auburn-colored tail as it teasingly brushed against my ass cheeks (thoughts of a new character for Rage were threatening to appear after THAT sketch).

On second thought, maybe the sketching and painting weren't such a good idea; if I thought I was horny the past few days, I was downright insatiable right now, with no way to satisfy my appetite, since I had promised myself and Brian that I would be monogamous when I moved to New York. All I could think of was that my partner had picked a hell of a time to start sending me these messages while he was 6,760 miles away (yes, six THOUSAND fucking miles – I checked). _Well, Kinney, when you get back, you are going to pay DEARLY for this torment._

So it was almost a relief when I scrubbed the paint from my hands and changed into a clean pair of chinos and a long-sleeved tee shirt to prepare for my next adventure at the hands of the Kinney Mission Impossible Team (_your challenge, Taylor, if you choose to accept it is_……). Except I wasn't given five seconds before it self-destructed – this man was making me horny within a millisecond of receiving his messages.

Getting off the subway at the Wallace Street station, I looked around for the correct intersection with Nunner Avenue. I wasn't familiar with this area, so for a few minutes I panicked, thinking I wouldn't get to my destination on time. Finally, in desperation almost, I asked a little old lady who thankfully knew where it was. Noticing on my phone that it was now 8:28 p.m., I ran like hell toward the massage parlor, again feeling like I would somehow be found out if I wasn't standing in my designated location at precisely the correct time.

Sure enough, at exactly 8:30 a.m., the phone buzzed. Yanking it open unceremoniously (it's certainly not like I was eager to see it, you understand), I read my partner's latest message:

_Well, Sunshine, don't just stand there. Get in there NOW. Diane's waiting for you. I've already told her what an adorable bubble butt you have and she's practically salivating at the thought. More after you're done – B_

Ewwwww……the thought of a woman salivating over me managed to cool me off for the time being. Good thing, because it would have been difficult to concentrate on my massage with a hard-on showing. Walking into the softly-lit, elegant lobby, I noticed a slender, tall, red-headed woman standing by the front desk. "Mr. Taylor?" she asked, smiling, not trying to hide her obvious appreciative scrutiny of my ass. Well, as much as she could see of it while I was facing her, anyway.

Blushing a little at the attention, I answered, "Yeah." Real literate, wasn't I?

"I'm Diane. Come right this way, Mr. Taylor. I've got the station all set up for your massage." Pointing me towards the back, I followed her through the archway and down a short hallway. "Here we are," she said cheerily, indicating the last room on the left. Walking into the room, I noticed a firm but comfortable-looking platform-type table with a large container of some brown-colored, thick liquid sitting next to it. Looking at her curiously, she explained, "You've been booked for the chocolate massage." Winking at me, she added, "Don't worry, you're going to LOVE it. I'll give you a few minutes to get undressed. Then if you'll lie face down on the table and get comfortable, we can get started."

Get comfortable? Is this woman serious? I'm not sure why the thought of a woman seeing me totally naked was unnerving, but it was. I mean, it was, I don't know, just foreign to my nature. Well, I imagined Brian had spent quite a bit of money on this latest assignment, so I decided to give it my best shot. I undressed quickly to make sure I was at least lying face down when Diane returned to admire my bubble butt, as Brian had put it. To her credit, she DID discretely place a towel over that particular part of my anatomy, but only after a prolonged attempt at trying to act like she couldn't FIND the towel. Right.

I have to admit, though, that once I got used to a woman kneading my tight muscles like bread dough (not THERE – get your head out of the gutter), it was all right. In fact, it was MORE than all right. After several minutes of concentrated massaging on my back, shoulders, and legs with that warm, thick, chocolate liquid, I was putty in Diane's hands. It almost made me feel like a straight man, at least, as much as I could imagine it felt like. And despite her initial intense scrutiny of one of my best assets, she displayed proper restraint in not checking out my ass too closely, keeping the towel draped over my two cheeks the entire time. Plus the fact that I smelled like a chocolate bar, one of my favorite foods, didn't hurt, either. I decided I would never think of a Hershey's bar quite the same way again. In fact, I was so relaxed by the time Diane was finished, I almost fell asleep right there. In addition, it had the added advantage of finally keeping a certain part of my anatomy relaxed. As I sighed in contentment, Diane instructed me to remain there for 15 minutes afterward to allow the full effects of the chocolate wrap to take effect before I headed to the adjacent shower to clean it off. She explained that it was designed to release tension and promote a feeling of well-being. Well, Diane, you did your job, because by the time it was over, I was feeling no pain.

An hour later, I walked out of the massage parlor, rejuvenated and invigorated. I had only walked a few steps before I felt my phone vibrating again. _How does he DO that?_ Flipping the phone open, I read Brian's latest text:

_Feeling good now, Picasso? I hope you reminded her that nobody better lay a hand on my Butterfinger. Except me, that is. Was that chocolate sticky, Sunshine? Well, I bet somebody's been bad again. You've got chocolate all over yourself, messy boy. I'll just have to place you face down on the kitchen counter and LICK all of that warm, ooey-gooey mess off your body, starting with your toes and moving slowly up your legs to that crack in your cute, little chocolate bubble butt. It will be a nice, luscious Justin sundae with nuts on top. Scrumptious._

Justin groaned – not AGAIN. Looking around quickly, I thankfully spotted a table and chairs adjacent to an outdoor café. Of course, in the middle of February, no one was eating there, so I had my pick of which table to sit at and hopefully will my hard-on to relax. Damn that man! Taking several breaths to try and control my quiet panting, I dared to look at the next part of Brian's message:

_Got you hot and bothered now, Sunshine? Here's your next set of instructions: Tomorrow take the subway to Big Apple Fitness World at 17__th__ and Madison for the class at 1:00. Don't forget your tacky gym shoes. Rest up, tonight. You're going to need it. Later – B_

Payback's a bitch, Kinney, I thought. And you're stacking up quite a bunch of it. Even in my youthful state, I doubted if a perpetual hard-on was a good thing, especially when you couldn't satisfy it properly. Well, I decided for once I was going to get a good night's sleep, even if I had to enlist the help of a fucking sleeping pill to get it.

Walking back to my apartment from the subway station, I began to think of all kinds of ways to pay my partner back when he returned.

* * *

_February 6_

Thanks to my buddy, Mr. Sominex, I was finally able to sleep well last night, despite Brian's concerted attempts to keep my body in the "up" position perpetually. Feeling refreshed after a good night's sleep and a couple of Belgium waffles from the neighborhood café, I boldly walked over to the nearby Big Apple Fitness Club, arriving early this time at 12:55. I was prepared to take whatever Brian dished out this time. No more wimps here.

Walking into the club, I had barely made it into the check-in area when just like clockwork I felt the old familiar vibration and opened the phone to read the next words of wisdom from the _Dial-a-Hard-On Club_:

_Did you get your beauty rest last night, Sunshine? Well, now it's time to work off your chocolate fix from yesterday. Check in for the free spin class and ride like the proverbial wind. More later - B _

Muttering to myself when Brian always complained about my extremely high metabolism, I nonetheless felt compelled to obey his directive and proceeded to the check-in counter to pick up my towel and locate the bicycles.

Breathing heavily and wiping my forehead an hour later, I had to admit maybe I wasn't in such great shape after all. That session had unexpectedly taken a lot out of me, considering I hadn't gained any weight since leaving Pittsburgh for New York. Grimacing to myself, I resolved in the future to allot a designated time to working out more regularly as I walked toward the shower room.

As I exited the fitness center 90 minutes later, like some great psychic my partner again reared his cocky head (okay, maybe that name for him wasn't such a GOOD idea considering my hyperactive libido):

_Did you have a good workout, Sunshine? It's certainly not the kind of workout I would choose for you if I were there to participate. Although it DOES make me want to ride you deep, long and hard. Would you like that, Sunshine? Would you like for me to ride you with my wide, thick cock? When we're fucking, everybody Schwinns…….LOL, sorry, couldn't help myself. _

Okay, now I KNEW that name for him wasn't a good idea, because that moniker, plus the image he just put in my head, immediately placed me into major horny overdrive. And I was running out of places to hide behind. This time, I just choose to drape the towel nonchalantly over my arm in hopes that no one would notice what this man was doing to me. Fortunately or unfortunately depending upon how you looked at it, that gave me one free hand to finish reading the rest of Brian's message:

_Here's your next set of instructions, Sunshine. Tomorrow I want you to go to the grocery store at Vine and Hale Streets. Be there at exactly 10:00 a.m. Later – B _

Desperately praying that somehow Brian's business trip would wind up early so I could be spared any further agony at the much too-capable hands of my sexually charged partner, I slowly made my way back to my apartment to await the next round of his perverted torture.


	3. Chapter 3: Brian's Favorite Food

_February 7_

I had now been subjected to a week's worth of mind games at the control of my evil partner. As I walked toward the neighborhood grocery at Vine and Hale, I could only imagine what he had in store for me next. I felt like an eye witness at the scene of a crime – reluctant to get involved, but powerless to look away. So with a certain amount of trepidation, I slowly walked toward the front of the store. It was exactly 10:00 a.m. Seconds ticked away – it seemed like several minutes. Why is it that when you're waiting for something, the time always seems to go by so slowly? Although, I sort of wanted it to go by, and I sort of didn't, if you know what I mean. Was my partner's daily torture of me finally coming to an end?

Alas, as I remembered telling him on the morning of his 30th birthday, no such luck. At 10:00 a.m. and 30 seconds, I felt that old familiar feeling in my pants, and it wasn't from Brian touching my cock (although, lately thanks to his messages, those kinds of thoughts seemed to be the ONLY ones I could visualize lately). Once again, I opened my phone to read his next message:

_Ready to go shopping, Sunshine? Here's your grocery list: Cherries, Brats, Lay's© Potato Chips (_I had to smirk at that one – I mean, come on), _Raisins, Breyer's© Ice Cream, a Tootsie Pop©, Cheese, and last, but not least, Twinkies © (_something told me that last one was going to KILL me). _You've got 15 minutes – go through the 10-item checkout - Don't keep me waiting – B _

I guess using coupons was out, huh, Mr. "I don't care if it is on sale, take it back and get the rigatoni instead," I thought sarcastically.

Gathering up the assigned items on Brian's list, I tried to decipher the meaning behind all of them as I dug out a twenty from my pocket. Some were more obvious than others, but I didn't have to wait long to find out; as soon as I walked out of the grocery, the phone vibrated again with my partner's latest communication:

_Find what you needed, Sunshine? Hope you stayed away from the zucchini. You'll be glad to know I don't care for them any longer – not since a certain BRAT intruded. Get it? The Lay's should be self-explanatory – I can't eat you just once. I have to taste you over and over again. The cherries remind me of your lips – red, sweet, and succulent, just right for sucking my cock. The Tootsie Pop makes you lick it forever before you get to the sweetest part inside, and the Breyer's is as creamy as they come. The raisins are a fucking taste of sunshine. And of course, Twinkies are the best – soft on the outside, with that wonderful delicious cream on the inside. And the cheese? That's for these CHEESY lines you're making me COME up with! _

I'M making HIM come up with? Who started this whole shit, anyway? Although, I had to admit, I would never look at all these grocery items quite the same again. I mean, who would have thought a simple anti-oxidant powerhouse like cherries would get me so turned on? And I always thought Tootsie Pops were harmless enough, but now I thought they were downright decadent. And don't even get me started with the Lay's or the Twinkies; at least I had my grocery bag to hide my erection this time. I knew I wouldn't be going home today to eat my groceries without every lick and suck reminding me of a certain evil villain. I wondered if there was a Guinness Book of World Records entry for most days of horniness in a row, because if there was one, thanks to a certain hazel-eyed, auburn-haired devil I was no doubt heading in that direction. In fact, now I knew why they never draw the devil without him looking horny.

Sighing, I steeled myself for tomorrow's assignment as I looked back at the phone:

_Enjoy your carbs, my little Twinkie, because when I get back you'll get such a fucking workout you'll be sore for a month. Here's tomorrow's assignment: Stop by Wong's Chinese Palace at exactly 1:30 tomorrow for your takeout. Later – B _

Huffing at the endearment – I hardly think a 22-year-old man should be considered a _Twinkie_ – I carefully toted my bag back toward the apartment, sucking on the grape-flavored Tootsie Pop as I walked. At least I could enjoy this part of my assignment; I would hate to let Brian down by not eating every bite.

* * *

_February 8_

Once again Mr. Sominex was my only bed partner last night, helping me to sleep, albeit somewhat fitfully. It likely had to do with the thoughts that raced through my mind last evening every time I bit into a cherry or a potato chip. And probably deciding to eat the Twinkies with the Breyer's didn't help, either, because that only managed to conjure up all kinds of dreams of Brian licking, sucking, and eating various parts of my body. And the brats? Even though they would be a pale imitation of it, they looked way too much like a certain part of Brian's anatomy that I knew and loved, so they stayed in the refrigerator, thank you very much. I discovered about the only safe food I brought home with me was the cheese; at least I could have cheese and crackers without my body going into horny overdrive again.

By this time, I was pretty much just working on automatic – another day, another hard-on at the hands of Mr. Kinney, the texting teaser. So once again, I set out for my daily adventure, this time at one of my favorite local Chinese restaurants, Mr. Wong's. Brian and I had discovered it one day when he was visiting and we felt like just walking around the neighborhood, exploring. Between our joint visits there, and my additional takeouts while I was on my own, the owner had become very familiar with me.

As I arrived at the restaurant at 1:25 p.m., today was no exception, as I noticed Mr. Wong standing behind the counter near the cash register. This time, however, it appeared to me that he had some type of mysterious, Cheshire cat grin on his face. "Ah, Mr. Taylor," he greeted me. "I've been expecting you. I've got your order ready right here." Grinning widely now, he said, "Hope you enjoy. Say hello to Mr. Kinney for me," he added, handing me the fairly large, plain paper bag.

I couldn't help rolling my eyes as I reached out for the pre-paid bag and left, waiting impatiently for the phone to vibrate with my latest bit of literary prose. I didn't have long to wait – flipping it open, I anxiously read my partner's next masterpiece:

_Hey, Sunshine. Did you know you're my favorite type of eggroll? But I definitely wouldn't put sweet and sour sauce on you. You're definitely sweet but never sour. Instead, I told Mr. Wong to put lots of honey mustard sauce in your bag, because you always taste sweet but spicy, too. Just the way I like it. Right now I'd like to put my own personal eggroll on his back so I could take all that honey mustard sauce and rub it all over his body. Then I would lick every fucking inch of his beautiful, pale body, from his cute little twinkie-toes to his adorable little button nose. Then I'd turn my egg roll over and plaster more honey mustard on the other side, not stopping until I had rimmed him senselessly. Definitely no shrimp in my eggroll. _

Damn that man, if he didn't do it again. Only he could make an egg roll sound sexy. All right, Mr. Kinney – two could play this game. Why didn't I think of this before? If HE could send text messages, well, then, so could I:

_You son of a bitch – you realize you are making me fucking horny as hell, don't you? Well, I hope you also realize that paybacks are a bitch, Kinney. Just wait until you get home, you asshole. YOUR hell will just be starting – J _

I felt enormously better as soon as I hit the _send_ button. Unfortunately, my smug feeling only lasted about 30 seconds, which was about the time period it took for my phone to vibrate, notifying me of another text message. Instead of the satisfaction of receiving some indignant retort from my partner, however, it was instead a message from my phone carrier:

_Unsuccessful transmission – sender blocked._

What the fuck? Why, that overbearing, pompous, scheming, arrogant bastard! Speaking of the oversexed devil himself, my cell phone suddenly buzzed again. With much more force than necessary, I slapped the phone open:

_Here's tomorrow's instructions, Sunshine. Take the Pike Street subway to Soho until you reach the Caped Crusader Comic Shop at 11:00 a.m. Ask for Garrett. _

_P.S. Don't forget to eat your fortune cookie, my little eggroll – B _

_My little eggroll, my ass._ This man is unbelievable. I mean, yeah, I may be young with a high libido, but even I can only take so much. Oh, you are so going to get it when you get home, Kinney. Or maybe you just so might NOT get it, Kinney, I thought smugly. For the first time since we agreed to try monogamy, I was seriously rethinking that agreement. Well, okay, maybe not really. But if I were, buster, it would be all your fault. Thanks to you, your little "egg roll" had to keep the bag with his other egg roll in front of him so everyone else didn't notice the bulge in his pants. Little fucker.

It was only after I finally got home and opened the bag that I recalled Brian's reminder to not forget the fortune cookie. Pulling it out of the bag after finishing off my eggroll and chicken chow mien, I observed how difficult it would have been to overlook THIS fortune cookie, because it was the largest one I had ever seen. Most fortune cookies were pretty much uniform in size, this one, however, was more the size of a tennis ball. Breaking it open, I realized why. The slip of paper containing the fortune was huge. Pulling it out, I had to laugh as I held it in both hands to read it:

"_The man you love will slowly and sensually peel off all his clothes for you, exposing his perfect body. Then he will take out his beautiful dick, then you can suck it. Next, he'll rim your ass to get you crazy, then ram his cock up you, and fuck you so hard you pass out in bed….or on the floor." _


	4. Chapter 4: Larger Than Life

_February 9_

Well, thanks to Mr. Kinney's giant-sized, mutant fortune cookie from yesterday and my vivid imagination, I finally had to break up with Mr. Sominex, because despite the best efforts of my new sleeping partner, that damn man had finally succeeded this time in preventing me from getting more than a couple hours of sleep. I found myself tossing and turning last night, frequently pounding my fist into the pillow either with an attempt to make myself more comfortable, or most likely, due to more than a week's worth of pent-up sexual frustration. An endless movie reel of me and Brian fucking in bed played itself continually through my head: Brian smearing honey mustard all over me, before lapping it up head to toe like a dog in heat. Brian making good on his promise to turn me into a Justin sundae – warm, gooey chocolate sauce smeared all over me as Brian aimed a can of whipped cream right at my nuts before he topped me (and we're not talking about with a cherry, either). Brian biting into his Twinkie, licking at the delicious cream filling…..Well, you get the idea. Do I really have to tell you, then, why I was no longer getting any sleep? AARGH!

I finally gave up around 8:30 this morning and stumbled out of bed, dragging myself like a drunken sailor to the shower. Turning the water on as hot as I could possibly stand it, I prayed that it would somehow jar me from my sleepless stupor.

Fifteen minutes later, I could at least open my eyes enough to avoid tripping over everything; I felt a little more alert as I located a semi-clean pair of cargo pants and a long-sleeved sweater. Slipping into my down jacket to help ward off the cold, February wind, I walked outside to visit the local hole-in-the-wall diner down the street for a quick breakfast of blueberry pancakes, sausage links, and scrambled eggs. _After all, a man's got to keep his strength up,_ I thought.

* * *

As I emerged from the subway in Soho, I discovered at least I didn't have to wander around aimlessly until I found Brian's latest "Top 14 Don't Miss Tourist Distractions for the Sexually Deprived" in New York City; the Caped Crusader Comic Shop was just down the street on the left.

By now, the U.S. Government could have set their universal clock by Brian's daily calls, because at precisely 11:00 my phone vibrated. Rolling my eyes in expectation of his next charming ditty, I flipped my phone open:

_Why, hello, Sunshine. And how are you on this bright winter day? I hope you enjoy your visit to the comic shop. I've got you a little something to remind you of me and my smoldering, bedroom eyes until I get back. As well as one of my other best features. You lucky twat, you. More later – B_

Oh, please – can this man be any more full of himself? Of course, right now I would have liked nothing better than to have MY fill. Of Brian and me on the couch. On the bed. On the floor. On the chaise. In the shower. ANYWHERE. You get the idea. But of course I wasn't going to tell HIM that.

I DID have to hand it to him, though – for all my involvement with Michael and our comic, I had never heard of this store in Soho, so I enthusiastically opened the door to check the shop out. As with most comic dives, this one had floor-to-ceiling comic books, some even ON the ceiling. Wondering how they got all those plastic bags to stick up there, I didn't notice the large, true-to-size fiberglass figure stretched out on all fours directly in front of me, looking ready to pounce.

"Hey!" I heard someone irritatingly calling to me. "Will you fucking watch out for Spiderman?"

I managed a literate "huh?" before I promptly tripped over the outstretched web-laden hand, sending my "delicious bubble butt" (as Brian so accurately described it, I might add), crashing down onto the floor.

Expecting some solicitous question regarding whether or not I was all right, I instead got a "did you hurt him?!" from the same man as before. _Thanks for asking, Pal, yeah, I'm just fine. No, no, don't worry – I'm sure Spidey will live another day to weave his web of justice, or WHATEVER the fuck he does….I never did quite understand why a guy acting like an insect would be so exciting, anyway…_

Looking up from my not-so-graceful position on the floor, I observed my "un-rescuer," who had finally approached only after making sure Peter Parker was unscathed. He had long, dark brown hair that was tied into a pony tail and he was wearing a tie-dyed tee shirt that should have been banned from being worn unless there was a blackout in New York City, when he could have no doubt lit up a couple of city blocks with it.

Blinking to try and regain my sight from the blindness, I managed to slowly rise from the floor, rubbing my ass where it no doubt had a big bruise now. _Somehow it was more fun when BRIAN rubbed it._

"I'm looking for Garrett," I told him.

"Well, most people just come up and ASK for me, but you found me." Peering at me through round, granny-type glasses, he asked in a nasal voice, "What are you looking for?"

_Good question, I thought. I wish I knew – I almost hate to find out. _Aloud, I continued, "My name is Justin Taylor. I was told to ask for you."

At the mention of my name, the man's entire demeanor changed, from annoyed to amused now. _Uh, oh. I don't like the looks of this. That's the same game face Mr. Wong had on yesterday._

"Ah, yeah, Taylor, I've been expecting you. I'll be right back." With that, Garrett walked toward the rear part of his shop, separating a makeshift beaded curtain that would have looked more at home in a 60's hippie enclave.

He returned several seconds later, carrying a flat envelope about the size of one of his comics, along with a small, nondescript white cardboard box. "Here you go," he said, grinning even more widely this time. "Take good care of it," he said, pointing toward the larger-sized package, "it's one of a kind. At least I assume you HOPE so," he added, snickering. _Okay - I don't like the sound of that._ Gingerly accepting the packages now as if they were bombs ready to go off any second, I carried both outside, away from the prying eyes of Garrett, the Jimi Hendrix wannabe.

Knowing the typical reaction I had been having lately to Brian's little "gifts," and bracing myself against the windy, blustery day, I decided to walk a few doors down to a small, Mexican-style restaurant that featured a fairly large buffet lunch. It was also somewhat dark – perfect lighting for hiding those little "indiscretions" one gets when they are being constantly teased to a sexual frenzy by their out-of-town boyfriend.

Sitting at a far corner booth after eating a heaping assortment of Mexican delicacies, I was stuffed. At least ONE of my appetites was finally sated. Unfortunately, it wasn't the one I was really interested in. Sighing to myself, I picked up the flat envelope first. Turning it over, I slowly undid the clasp and pulled out the contents. I noticed immediately that it was a comic book; however, it wasn't until I turned it right side up that the title became apparent. Somehow I should have known it would be Brian's ultra ego staring back at me, the love of his life kneeling at his side to give him a blow job to rejuvenate him. Written diagonally across the front of the comic was an inscription written in Brian's handwriting: _To J.T., the REAL superhero of my story. _

_Okay, Brian. You scored some points with THAT one, _I thought, eyes suddenly welling up with tears. I think I realized at that moment that I was not only missing the great sex, but I was also just missing BRIAN. The tender, even vulnerable side of Brian that only J.T. gets to see. I smiled wistfully as I gently placed the comic back into the protective plastic sleeve before sliding it into the brown envelope for safekeeping.

I then curiously picked up the other package - the small, white cardboard box. Sliding my fingernail under the tape to open the end flap, I pulled out another box inside. I discovered the inside of this box held what appeared to be two pieces of black foam together, apparently protecting the contents inside. Fortunately, I had the common sense to wait until no one was within close proximity to me before separating the two foam pieces, because let's just say the contents likely wouldn't have been looked upon fondly by nearby families eating their tacos together. Because, there, in all his glory, was a bobblehead of Rage, wearing his skin-tight, dark gray, Lycra crime-fighting outfit and his mask.

Standing it upright on the table to get the full effect, I noticed with glee that Rage's head wasn't the only thing that bobbled, because as the brunet head bobbled up and down, so did another part of his anatomy, and in perfect rhythm. Of course, that only got ME thinking about J.T.'s head bobbing up and down as he gave Rage one of his mind-blowing, fucking fantastic blow jobs. And that, of course, got a certain part of my OWN anatomy bobbing up and down, but mainly staying UP. I wondered fleetingly if maybe Rage bobbleheads might one day replace those bobbing-head dogs or hula dancers I always saw swaying in the back of cars when I was growing up, but I thought, nope, this one's just for ME. _Take that, you_ _suckers_! I was so entranced by Rage's skills at synchronized bobbling that it took me a few seconds to notice the phrase printed at the bottom of the base: _BITE ME. _

Laughing out loud now, I covered my mouth with my hand as I glanced around quickly to make sure no one else had observed my curious behavior before carefully tucking Rage back into his protective foam covering for his journey back to his secret lair, also known as my apartment. Placing both items into my backpack, which I just happened to place in front of my body through sheer chance, you understand, I exited the restaurant for my walk back to the subway.

Just as I was about to enter the underground station, I felt that old, familiar buzz. _Aha – J.T. was beginning to wonder about his next assignment, Rage. _Opening the phone, I read my latest bit of wisdom from the mild-mannered ad exec by day, gay crusader by night:

_Ah, J.T. Were you afraid Iced Teana had me in her clutches? Don't worry – trouble isn't BREWING yet! Here's your alter ego's assignment for tomorrow. Go to the Risky Business Bakery on Oak Street at 2:00 p.m. – ask for Wally. Now I must go and save the world. Later – B _

_Ah, Rage, you've got to save me first! I desperately need some of your healing powers myself. Please fly home to me soon_, I thought, as I took my place at the back of the train.


	5. Chapter 5: A New Game in Town

_February 10_

I decided last night that if I couldn't sleep with the real thing, I could at least gaze upon my mini-me version of Brian, so I stood him up on the night stand to watch over me as I tried to get some sleep. I know that I DID get a little sleep, because I proceeded to have the strangest dream. I dreamed that I was an actor, starring in the latest recreation of the _Incredible Shrinking Man. _This was great, because I was proportioned at just the perfect size for me and Rage to get to know each other better. Only problem was, with that damn pedestal he stood on, it did not make for very comfortable fucking positions at all. And he kept keeping time as we fucked, just like one of those metronomes you see next to a piano student, except instead of swinging side to side, his bobbing head and miniature but still impressive cock were going up and down, up and down, as I rode him and hung on for dear life. When I woke up later, legs twisted violently among the sheet and duvet, I found that my miniature Rage had somehow found its way into the bed from the nightstand. I like to assume it was because I was flailing in my sleep, but one of those old, black and white _Twilight Zone _episodes kept popping into my head as another distinct possibility. Humph! _Damn man always finds SOME way to get back into bed._

At least since the normal-sized Brian was sending me to a bakery later today, I assumed I'd at least get something tasty out of it. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be the tasty treat I was most looking forward to, but it would have to do for now. Noticing it was almost 11:00, I trudged into the shower to get ready for my next go-round with Mr. Kinney, the biggest tease since Nikki Blonski in _Hairspray._

I arrived in front of _The Risky Business_ right before 2:00, wondering why in the world a bakery would have a name like that. Do the workers come sliding out in socks and long shirts, singing karaoke like Tom Cruise? Do they use a spatula to sing with rather than a candlestick and a fire poker? _I'd like to use MY poker on a certain brunet right now_, I thought wickedly.

Just as I was about to open the door to find out, you guessed it. My own personal vibrator went off (well, at least the only one I had access to at the moment) as I flipped the phone open:

_Hey, Sunshine. About to partake of some sweets? Well, nothing in there will ever be as sweet as you. The sweet smell of your hair right after we've fucked in the shower and I slowly wash it, your entire scalp tingling as my long fingers massage that mango-cucumber shit into your hair. The sweet smell of your mouth as I tongue-fuck it, slowly savoring every succulent drop. The sweet taste of you as I suck and lick every bit of your cream sauce from that thick, gorgeous cock, and bite into that incredibly tight ass. Here's your assignment for tomorrow: Be at the Parting Shots Photography Studio at Keller & Del Monte tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Tell them who you are – they'll take it from there. B_

Letting out a groan easily audible to anyone within 100 feet of me, my hard-on was never more impressive as it was at that moment. _DAMN that man_! I was just thinking maybe I might actually be adjusting somewhat to this temporary separation. _Right_……And this time, of course, I had nothing for "camouflage" coverage. Finally resigning myself to the inevitable, I opened the door and prayed that no one looked up until I had the chance to press myself firmly against the bakery display cases.

Unfortunately, the _Risky Business_ had a bell tied by a rope to the top of the door; as soon as I opened it, I heard a loud, cacophonous clang from the bell, which looked like it might be more than adequate to call in Elsie and the rest of her dairy herd from the back forty. No mistaking when a customer came in THIS place…Each of the three male heads behind the counter looked up toward the door as if they were in a synchronized bakery relay as I entered their establishment, my flag at full staff and my face a deep red to match the numerous valentines hanging from the ceiling.

Trying to hide their smirks, the one over by the cash register asked me, "May I help you?" as he looked me over from head to toe. Somehow I don't think his question was directed toward whether I needed help with a bagel, either. Clearing my throat in embarrassment, I meekly asked, "Are you Wally? I think I have an order to pick up. Under Taylor?"

At the sound of my name, the coordinated Olympic bakery team all smiled knowingly. _Why does everyone get the same look on their face when I mention MY NAME? _The one near the cash register reached down under the counter and pulled out a plain, white rectangular box with a green ribbon tied around it diagonally. I noticed my name written on a bakery order slip taped to the top. "That's me," Wally verified, pointing to his name tag. "Here you go," the man answered, handing me the box. "You sure you don't any help eating all those? That's a lot of sweets for such a cute little thing like you," he cooed in what sounded like a southern drawl.

"Thanks, but I think I can manage," I assured him, turning around and rushing out of the bakery as fast as my _cute little legs_ would carry me. I walked at least half a block with the newest memento from my partner, before I found a spot inside the subway terminal that was fairly secluded. By now, I had learned when it came to Brian's little gifts, it was best to open them privately. This one was no exception, because as I untied the ribbon and lifted the box top, I noticed a dozen cream-filled pastries of various kinds (the bakery had helpfully included a legend of each type, just like the kind you see sometimes with chocolates). I noted from the enclosed paper description that there was one of each flavor – strawberry, blueberry, chocolate, cherry, apricot, caramel, banana, pineapple, coconut, lemon, grape, and blackberry to be exact. But what made them distinct was the SHAPE of each cream-filled cake – each one was a realistic depiction of a cock, with the cream just barely spilling out of each treat. Taped to the inside of the box top was a small envelope. Pulling it off, I opened the envelope to read the card inside, which just like with the comic, was in Brian's handwriting. It simply said, _"Bon Appetite, Sunshine – B."_

Well, it wasn't the cock I really wanted to be tasting at the moment, but like the miniature Rage, I decided it would have to do for now. Choosing the cherry one (how's that for irony?), I licked the surplus cream at the tip of the "cock" and, imagining it was someone else's well-loved appendage instead, I bit into it with tremendous relish. After finishing it off within minutes (the hell with stamina!), I replaced the lid back on the box and carried the rest of my treats onto the subway for my trip back to the apartment.

****************

_February 11 _

After getting up several times during the night due to severe heartburn, I decided too much artificial cock-sucking and cock-eating makes Justin a sick boy; I definitely needed the real thing. And SOON, damn you. Sighing, I rose from my bed and just like the guy in Groundhog Day, toddled over to the shower for my morning routine.

I reached my destination at the _Parting Shots Photography Studio _just before my taunting tyrant instructed me to arrive; it was 9:58 a.m. I waited impatiently just outside the photography entrance, watching the time tick by until my phone read precisely 10:00 a.m. Just about to decide Brian had finally slipped up, I went to touch the door handle when I jumped; I had apparently changed my phone setting somehow so that when I received a text message, it chimed rather than vibrated. And it chimed LOUDLY. Cursing at my phone and my ineptitude, I flipped it open to read my latest message:

_Batter up, Sunshine! Hope you got the balls for Spring Training. How many triple plays you think you can handle in one night? We'll find out soon. At least you won't need your uniform washed – I like the one you wear to bed the best. _

_Here's your trip for tomorrow, my little artiste. Go to the Playhouse on Troy Street at 11:00 a.m. Tell the skinny, Pee-Wee look-alike that your package needs his package – he'll take care of you. Later – B._

Shaking my head, somehow I don't think the _Playhouse_ will be showing the latest reincarnation of _A Chorus Line._ Deciding to guess later about what Brian had in store for me tomorrow, I turned the glass knob of the photography studio and entered. The first thing I noticed was the studio's motto prominently displayed over a desk against the back wall: _Your Privacy is Our Business._

A woman wearing entirely too much makeup and hairspray (a 90 mph wind wouldn't have displaced one hair on THAT head) looked up from the couch she was sitting at, apparently previewing proofs for a client. Glancing over at the sample photos, I noted they weren't half bad – various poses were taken of a blonde-haired woman wearing a sparkly evening gown and an almost-not-there swimsuit. Not my cup of tea, but I decided from an artistic standpoint, they were tastefully and creatively done.

The woman smiled politely at me, asking, "May I help you, sir?"

As she stood up to face me, I advised, "My name is Justin Taylor. I believe you have a package for me?"

_There it was again – that "look."_ The woman smiled broadly. "Yes, I sure do. Oh, and please tell Mr. Kinney our photographer really enjoyed his assignment this time." _Uh, huh. Okay._ She walked over to a long filing cabinet and after flipping through several packages, she pulled out a long, flat parcel that looked to be about 16 X 20 inches long. Handing it to me, I noticed it was more rigid than a normal photograph. "It's been mounted," she explained. "It helps to keep it lasting longer."

"Uh, thanks," I mumbled, too engrossed in thoughts of Brian's rigidity, endurance and his talents with mounting to barely acknowledge her as I walked outside with my _whatever it was._

Noticing a small park located directly across from the studio, I walked over and sat down on a wooden bench under a now-bare oak tree. It was shortly thereafter that I realized the tree had something in common with my gift when I broke open the plastic wrapping surrounding the package and slid out the contents inside. I first noticed a protective, flat bubble-wrap sheet placed directly on top of what I assumed was a photograph. As I turned to place the sheet down on the bench beside me, I looked back at the now-uncovered photograph that I immediately noticed was Brian. Only it was not taken in his normal business attire; in fact, I can honestly say that I had never seen Brian in this type of outfit before.

In front of a Three Rivers Stadium background, my partner was wearing nothing but a sexy smile and a Pirates baseball cap, jauntily perched to the side on his tousled, brunet hair; crouching in a catcher's stance behind home plate, the mitt was strategically placed in front of him, sadly hiding my most favorite part of his body. _Batter up, indeed,_ I thought. _My stick is definitely ready to come out and play with your balls right now._

But if I thought I was ready for a little run around the bases, I was downright drooling at the thought of a World Series as I read the note in Brian's handwriting tucked into the lower right-hand corner of the framed photo:

_When I get home, Sunshine, you can be the pitcher and I'LL be the catcher. It will be our own perfect game. B_


	6. Chapter 6: Making a Splash

_February 12_

Well, the good news is I was able to get some more sleep last night. I'm not sure if that's due to my feeling of resignation that Brian may decide to stay in Japan and open up a new chain of bath houses, or if it's due to the wickedly creative ideas my partner has been putting in my head lately during my dreams.

Take last night, for instance. Instead of cavorting with my mini-me Rage, I had the most vivid dream of me and Brian running the bases at Three Rivers Stadium, both of us wearing only a Pirates baseball cap and a smile. Oh, and Brian's catcher's mitt, too. Seems he's become attached to it, and thought that was the only way he was going to catch his "pitcher." He kept chasing me around the diamond, yelling, "Batter, batter, swing!" Why an extremely sexually-deprived person such as me would be running AWAY from him was beyond my imagination. I kept giggling as I ran away, yelling, "I've never been farther than second base, keep your foul balls away from me!" At last, I finally got winded and Brian managed to catch me in the stands, where we made good use of the bleachers. Those hard plastic chairs were a pain in the ass, though. Literally. I decided I much preferred to play with Brian's balls in his chaise lounge at home, thank you very much. _Now if I could only get my man traded from Tokyo to Pittsburgh for a player to be named later, I would have it made_, I thought, as I opened my eyes to face another day without my star catcher.

Sighing, I once again dragged myself to the shower to prepare for today's assignment. It had now been almost two weeks since I last saw my partner. TWO whole fucking weeks. Or should I say, two whole NON-fucking weeks. How long does it take to wine and dine some Japanese big-wigs? When Brian left, he wasn't sure how long he would be gone. I maybe could have tolerated it with some good, old-fashioned phone sex to tide me over, but all I've gotten have been daily reminders of what I'm missing without Brian, aka the spy who USED to shag me. I mean, a man can only take SO much. _If you're trying to test my willpower here, Kinney, you're doing a hell of a job, buster. Whose idea was this whole monogamy thing, anyway? Oh, yeah – it was mine. Fuck._

I had never heard of this _Playhouse_ Brian was sending me to today. Knowing Brian, though, I could only imagine. The only question was, what kind of toys did he order for me? Whatever they were, I had a feeling they would be yet another major test of my willpower. _I've got a LONG memory, Kinney._ _You're really racking them up here, Pal._

Hurrying out the door for the subway, I began to formulate just what type of punishment my partner deserved when he got back. What I SHOULD do is just refuse to "put out" for the damn man, but, hey, I'm not stupid. For someone my age and with my libido, that was THE worst kind of punishment – for ME. Looks like I'm going to be the relief pitcher for a LONG time, buster. And YOU'RE the one who's going to provide the relief, I said to myself, smiling smugly.

I arrived just before 11:00 on Troy Street. I did not have problems spotting the _Playhouse._ After all, a storefront painted bright pink with a neon, blinking cock for a marquee is kind of hard to miss.

My phone vibrated promptly on time as usual; at least I had had the wherewithal to change the setting back from chime to vibrate so it didn't scare the hell out of me like yesterday. Flipping the phone open, I read yet another piece of literary genius from my MIA partner:

_Why, hello, Sunshine! Are you ready to play? Uh, uh, uh, no playing by yourself, though. You have to learn to play nice with others. Didn't your mother ever tell you it's a lot nicer to share? Soon we'll be in the same toy box TOGETHER. So wander on in to the Playhouse and pick up your toys. More later – B_

As I entered the store, my senses were assaulted from all sides – the smell of candles and incense, the sight of all types of adult toys and clubbing fashions, the sound of "thumpa thumpa" music, and the taste of free samples set up at stations throughout the store (_nice perk_, I thought, as I nibbled on some type of edible thong). Being so close to Valentine's Day, the store was packed with shoppers. As I somewhat uneasily noticed the pointed stares of several hungry admirers raking me over with their eyes, I easily found the person Brian referred to as the "Pee Wee" look-a-like. A rather skinny, dark-headed man with hair cropped close to his scalp looked up from the sales counter and chortled a greeting to me just like Pee Wee Herman. His nerdy, black pin-striped suit and red bow tie finished the look.

"Toodles, well, aren't you just the CUTEST thing?" he crowed appreciatively. "What can I do for you, honey?" he asked, smiling broadly.

I couldn't prevent the rolling of my eyes at his overenthusiastic welcome. _Down, Pee Wee, _I thought. _This big boy's NOT interested in ANY part of your pee wee anatomy…._

Out loud, I started to inform him of who I was. "My name is Justin Taylor," I began, before I was quickly interrupted.

"Ooh, I know who YOU are! I should have guessed," he giggled. "I have just the basket for your basket," he advised me, opening leering at me now. "And what a delectable one it is!"

"Uh, thank you." (_I think_). "The package, please?" I reminded him politely, as he continued to stare openly at me. _I guess they don't let poor old Pee Way out of his Playhouse much, do they?_

"Oh, yes, yes!" he exclaimed, chortling again. "The package for your package! I've got it right here, you beautiful little yellow goldfinch! And such big, blue eyes – just like the color of Tidy Bowl!"

Okay, if I didn't get out of there soon, I was seriously going to hurl. "Look, Pee Wee, I just want the package, okay?" I was trying hard to be civil, but this loud, obnoxious parrot wasn't listening. Holding out my hand and assuming my most stern game face, I fervently hoped he would take the hint.

Thank heavens, the man FINALLY decided to follow directions and reached down to pull out a large basket wrapped in silver tissue paper. A card was tied to the package with a maroon ribbon and a large, matching, shiny bow on top. As I reached out and grasped the gift firmly, Pee Wee couldn't resist one final gem in parting: "If the Big Bad Wolf ever lets you out to play, come back and see me, you hear?" With a little wave of his hand, he thankfully turned back to his cash register to finally wait on someone else.

Sighing in relief, I rushed out of the store before I encountered someone else; I was afraid to turn around for fear Sponge Bob Squarepants might be pursuing me. I didn't stop until I had walked at least a half block. Trying to find some place secluded to open the latest present from my partner, I finally found an indoor movie theater whose large lobby was mostly empty at this time of day. Walking just inside the doors, I found a corner bench and sat down with the package, my back turned away to shield me from anyone's curious stares.

I opened the card first to read Brian's message written in his familiar, sprawling handwriting:

_Just a little basket of goodies for a couple's serious doodling – and canoodling. B_

Curious as always to see Brian's latest masterpiece, I eagerly ripped open the tissue paper to see what lay beneath. I smiled as I uncovered Brian's idea of proper "doodling and canoodling" tools: there were several edible paint markers and a large bottle of chocolate body wash which would no doubt come in handy for some stimulating doodling and canoodling in the shower; in addition, there were two scrunchies made out of the softest material I had ever felt – as I looked at the tag, I was surprised to find out they were made from bamboo. Prominently displayed, also, was a large tube of something I had never heard of, called _Dave's Delicious Edible Strawberry, Heat Warming, Non-Greasy Lubricant. _I couldn't help noticing the lubricant wasn't the ONLY thing that was heating up at the thought of using something like that in my return appearance on the pitcher's mound. But I laughed out loud at the item hidden toward the bottom of the basket, hidden under the two scrunchies – two bright, yellow rubber duckies with the names "Doodles U. Duck" and "Canoodles I. Duck" written in script on their sides.

Looking around to make sure no one was wondering what in the world I was laughing at, I hastily packed up my basket of goodies, covered it with the tissue paper, and quickly exited the lobby to find the nearest subway. In my hurry to get back to my apartment with my prize, however, I forgot I hadn't been given my latest set of instructions for tomorrow. Luckily, Mr. Psychic somehow knew now was a good time to contact me, because my phone buzzed once again – as I opened it, I read his next message:

_Hope you like your water toys, Mr. Doodles. Mr. Canoodles can't wait to make a big, fucking splash with you in the shower. He wants to lather you up good from head to toe with the chocolate body wash and paint the fucking Sisteen Chapel all over your beautiful ass. Then he'll do a few laps around your nipples to get them all wet and wrinkled from his beak and finish you off with the heat warming lube. Wait until you get a LOAD of that, Mr. Doodles! He's impatiently waiting to do the breast stroke with you again and rub and caress your beautiful cock to get it all squeaky clean. _

Good – I was beginning to get worried that my equipment was malfunctioning, until he got to this last message; now I know my plumbing is working just fine, thank you. At least thanks to Mr. Canoodles the HOT function is working perfectly.

_Now that I've got you all hot and bothered, Mr. Doodles, here's your assignment for tomorrow: Go to the Sea Glass Park on Tompkins Street tomorrow at 2:00 p.m. We'll do a little horsing around. Take plenty of quarters with you. And take good care of me, Mr. Doodles, until we can canoodle again. B_

Assuring Mr. Canoodles silently that I would take good care of him until his owner returns, I swung the basket in front of my now erect "package" and took my place on the subway train for my latest ride home.


	7. Chapter 7: Riding It Out

_February 13_

I was almost afraid to take Mr. Canoodles and Mr. Doodles out of their basket after I got home last night, especially after my previous nights' dreams with Rage and my own personal baseball catcher. But I thought, they're just a couple of rubber duckies – what could possibly happen? Well, after last night, I will never think of feathers in quite the same way again.

In last night's dream, Brian and I were finally in our bed at the loft. Our rubber duckies had suddenly sprouted real feathers, and Brian had plucked all of them off Mr. Doodles to construct a feather duster, which he was using to tickle me mercilessly, from my head down to my toes, deliberately tormenting me by bypassing my balls and my cock until I was about to pass out from the anticipation. He kept saying to me, "duck, duck, goose," as the feather duster lightly glided over my body, brushing over my nipples and my abdomen, causing my stomach muscles to ripple in a delicious shiver. Finally, Brian took out the edible paint markers and, rolling me over, he painted a bull's eye over each of my butt cheeks, before tracing the same path thoroughly with his expert, swirling tongue. He then squirted a generous dollop of _Dave's Delicious Edible Strawberry, Heat Warming, Non-Greasy Lubricant_ on his long fingers, licking it to get a taste, and was preparing to introduce me to it in an up close and personal way when I suddenly woke up, wondering what in the fuck happened. As I sputtered and opened my eyes, I noticed somehow I had feathers in my mouth. I was relieved to find out they were from my down pillow that had ripped open, rather than from "fowl" play: Mr. Doodles and Mr. Canoodles were safely ensconced on the bathroom vanity. As I passed by them on the way to the shower, however, I was tempted to knock their smug little asses right off their perch. Resigning myself to yet another jacking off in the shower, I prepared to greet another day without my favorite bath toy. And catcher. And superhero. And ice cream topping. Well, you get the idea.

As much as I knew Brian Kinney insisted that he "didn't do romance," I still couldn't help missing him more and more as Valentine's Day approached. Whether he liked to celebrate holidays and birthdays or not, just the thought of my partner not being home on a day that commemorates love made me even more depressed. Fuck knows he already had me frustrated as hell, but despite my vow that I would make him pay dearly for my horniness when he returned, I just wanted the man I loved HOME, with me. I knew how important it was that he travel for his business, but _enough is enough, Kinney. I want you home NOW_.

Throwing my concerns aside about being looked at as a drama queen and temper-tantrum-throwing little kid, I opened my cell phone and dialed a familiar number. _This was getting ridiculous._

"Oh, hello, Justin," Cynthia answered as I identified myself. "How are you?" I could swear I heard a slight snicker in her voice.

My building frustration had not put me in the mood to be polite and spout platitudes. "You want to know the truth, Cynthia? I'll TELL you the truth! I'm horny and frustrated as hell because your BOSS has been away on business for almost TWO WEEKS now. And he's had the nerve to BLOCK me from sending him calls or texts. In the meantime, he's sending ME daily messages taking me all over the fucking city to pick up little MEMENTOS created by his evil mind. THAT'S how I'm doing, Cynthia," I finished with a flourish. I suddenly felt a little embarrassed at my outburst when I did not hear any response from her for several seconds.

Cynthia had already been told about Brian's plans for Justin before he left for Tokyo. She also knew some additional information that Justin wasn't privy to; being Brian's executive assistant, she was aware of his travel plans and when he was due to return. However, she was sworn to secrecy at the threat of losing her lucrative job if she uttered so much as one word about it. Besides, she was secretly enjoying every moment of Brian's torment of Justin; after all, she had been instrumental in helping Brian arrange many of the items he had ordered for his partner. _Brian Kinney didn't do romance? Indeed._

I heard her abruptly burst out laughing at my diva imitation, diminishing what might have been an attempt by her to sound sympathetic. "I'm so sorry, Justin," she said, although she didn't sound TOO sorry to me as she kept chuckling. "That must be difficult for you."

"THAT'S a fucking understatement, Cynthia," I said, irritated she was not taking the situation seriously enough. "You have NO idea."

Still laughing softly, Cynthia asked innocently, "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yeah. You can tell me when your asshole boss is getting back from Japan!"

"Oh. I'm sorry, Justin, I don't know when he's due back. It all depends upon how successful he is pitching his ad ideas to the company. I DID talk to him yesterday, and unfortunately he sounded very frustrated at his lack of progress with them. I guess the cultural difference is making it hard to find just the right approach to take with them."

I groaned loudly. "He's NOT the only frustrated one. Fuck! I don't know how much more of this I can take! Damn that man!"

Cynthia knew Brian had changed significantly over the last year; he still admired the "scenery" at Kinnetik when a handsome man came into Kinnetik for business, but unlike previous times, he looked but he didn't touch. She knew his heart AND body now only belonged to one man – a man who was extremely discouraged at the moment.

I sighed. "Can you at least get a message to him for me?"

"Sure," she answered fondly. She thought very highly of the intelligent and passionate man who had finally lassoed Brian Kinney's heart.

I thought for a few seconds to come up with just the right message. All kinds of thoughts about payback being a bitch and methods of retribution drifted quickly through my mind. Finally, though, I realized there was only message that was important. I told her softly, "Just tell him I miss him and love him. And tell him he better get his fucking ass back here right away before I forget what it looks like!"

"I'll tell him," Cynthia assured him, before hanging up. _Hold out just a little longer, Justin – the best is yet to come,_ she thought, smiling to herself.

* * *

I approached Sea Glass Park at 1:50 p.m. The extra ten minutes gave me a little time to take a look around; I had never been to this part of Brooklyn before. I imagined the neighborhood would be absolutely beautiful in the spring and summer; there were several, large maple trees that would no doubt provide a canopy of shade later in the year. I made a mental note to come back when it was warmer before I approached the entrance to the park, which I had learned from some online research was an indoor amusement area devoted to the mythical character of King Neptune and his sea kingdom.

I once again felt my phone vibrate right on time at precisely 2:00 p.m. _The man's nothing but punctual,_ I thought cynically. Even after almost two weeks of this daily ritual, I still couldn't help my heartbeat quickening and my pulse racing. Flipping open the phone, I read my partner's latest message of torture:

_Hey, Sunshine! Ready for some rough riding? You've got to try out the seahorse on the merry-go-round. Make sure you saddle up – I wouldn't want you to get any pimples on that adorable ass. More later – B._

I looked at my latest message in disbelief. _You've GOT to be kidding, Brian. I mean, come on, the oldest kid getting on that thing has to be no older than 5. This is fucking embarrassing, Kinney. Why am I even doing this??? I mean, it's not the like the man can SEE me! _Nevertheless, in my owned fucked up mind, I somehow thought it was like cheating if I didn't obey his instructions, so feeling totally out of my element, I used several of my quarters to purchase a ride ticket and handed it to the attendant. I hid my eyes from his smirking gaze as I spied the gaudy, emerald green seahorse Brian had mentioned. I had to stare down a chubby little boy with my death-ray eyes when he had the audacity to show an interest in my horse; taking the hint, he shrunk away and settled on sitting down inside some hideous-looking black octopus. As I swung my foot into the stirrup and sat down on top of the fiberglass figure, the calliope began playing noisily as I rode up and down; except, it was a certain brunet I was riding on top of, not this imaginary creature. _Who would have thought you could get horny riding on a merry-go-round? _I thought, smirking. The little boy who had tried to steal my horse gave me a puzzled look, wondering no doubt what I was getting so excited about. I just raised my eyebrows in return, preferring instead to keep my sweet, erotic dreams to myself.

I couldn't keep the slight, dreamy smile from my face as I walked off the merry-go-round at the end of my ride. Spying a nearby food stand, I decided a little cotton candy was in order. As I pulled some of the sticky, sweet confection from the paper wand and plopped it in my mouth, I had to lick my fingers before pulling the vibrating phone out of my pocket to read another message from Brian:

_Did you enjoy your ride, Sunshine? I was thinking about your tight little ass riding my cock, up and down, up and down. What a ride! But have no fear, little buckaroo – when I get back, we'll definitely be doing some rough riding of our own – only we won't need a fucking saddle for the kind of riding I'VE got in mind. _

My body instantly shivered and went on alert after reading Brian's latest message. Was he really saying what I hoped he was saying? By mutual agreement, we had been monogamous now for over a year – could he really be telling me he was finally ready to make love with nothing between us? Just the thought of doing it bareback made my breath quicken and my palms sweaty with excitement. _Of course, it goes without saying that another part of my anatomy was excited, too_, I thought, exasperated. For a moment, I considered whether it might not be too late to call Cynthia back and change my message to Brian. Returning my concentration back to my tormentor's message, however, I read the rest of it:

_Here's your next assignment, Sunshine. Tomorrow go to 1593 Broadway Street on Times Square at exactly 9:00. By the way, Cynthia said you called – she gave me your message. I'm afraid I'll need at least another week. She told me what you said – ditto. B_

I sighed deeply; well, so much for fucking Valentine's Day. Why should I have been surprised? After all, to Brian it's just another day. I unsuccessfully attempted to keep the unshed tears of longing and disappointment from appearing. Half-heartedly, I thought, _at least I got an "I love and miss you,_" albeit in a typical, Brian Kinney roundabout way.

My interest in candy cotton suddenly disappeared as I dejectedly shuffled my feet toward the nearest subway station, thoughts of my partner never far from my mind and heart.


	8. Chapter 8: Lovesick

_February 14 - Valentine's Day_

So here I am – it has now been 14 tortuous days of extreme frustration, desperation, and longing; the bright, sunny morning today that followed on the heels of yet another sleepless night seemed to mock me. I couldn't even get a decent erotic dream going last night – I simply tossed and turned, every hour on the hour. My arms were now physically aching for my partner's body spooned beside me. Because despite what Mr. Kinney tried to tell everybody with his blustery bravado about not doing cuddling or romance, I was on to him. In his sleep, he can cuddle and yes, downright snuggle, with the best of them. In fact, some mornings I would wake up to find an almost vise-like grip on me, as if he were afraid I would somehow disappear during the night, never to reappear again. _Fat chance, buster. I told you before, remember? You're not getting rid of me that easily. _I sighed to myself, hugging his pillow to my body, as I sank even lower into misery. Another week without him. It just as well could have been another YEAR, as unhappy as I was. I've tried to suck it up (okay, maybe that's not a good way of looking at it – that conjures up too many OTHER ideas) and try to be an adult, whatever the fuck that means. But I couldn't help it – I MISSED the son of a bitch. Champion torturer or not.

My downtrodden footsteps slid across the cold floor as I went to shower and get dressed. I had all day this time before I was to carry out my next set of instructions; I curiously noticed yesterday that Brian didn't actually give me a destination this time, merely an address. I had been to Times Square numerous times so I was certainly familiar with the area. I thought briefly about just Googling the address to find out more about it, but I finally decided I'd just rather be surprised. Maybe having something to anticipate during the day today would make it go by faster until I could at least hear from Brian again. By now I was racking up plenty of toys and other diversions to use on my partner when he got back. I tried not to think about them TOO much, though, because they just served to make me even hornier and short of jacking off again, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot I could do about it except daydream about the man I was itching to use them on when he returned from the land of rice and sushi.

I shrugged into a turtleneck sweater, jeans and my coat before deciding to take my sketchbook and walk down to Central Park to look for some inspiration for my next painting. I had just received a commission from some upper-class maven to paint a landscape of New York City; fortunately, she had left it up to my discretion as to what to choose for preliminary sketches. From those, she would select the ultimate subject for her actual painting. I much preferred to have autonomy over my artwork, so being able to choose my focus was a plus for me. That and actually having some income again. It was gratifying to be able to pursue what I loved, but being an artist didn't allow for a normal, steady influx of cash. Fortunately, though, I had been able to sell enough of my freelance work that I at least had almost enough to maintain my apartment here.

Brian and I saw each other fairly frequently since I moved to New York; fortunately, Kinnetik had a great deal of business here so he often had to be in town for his agency. And I came home to Pittsburgh as much as I could, too, although my income didn't allow for a lot of flying back and forth, and I refused to keep permitting Brian to pay for everything. I was hopeful that if my artwork continued to be a success, I might be able to afford a more comfortable apartment and lifestyle.

Walking in the crisp, morning air helped me to clear my head a little and think about my future with Brian. At least I DID see a future with him. When I left for New York, it was the hardest decision I think I ever had to make, even harder than leaving Brian for my disastrous period with Ethan. And I still can't say for sure that I made the right decision; sometimes I feel like I was just doing what everyone ELSE told me I should do, not what I really wanted to do. Brian, as always, continues to encourage me to do what I feel is right for me; I just hope one day I will be sure what THAT is. Stay and continue to progress with my art here in New York, or find a way to love what I do with the MAN I love? As I continued to walk, my thoughts churned around inside me. There simply was just no easy answer to this question, I decided, as I stopped at a vendor's cart to pick up a cup of coffee to drink along the way.

By mid-day, the sun had warmed the temperature considerably; it was actually near 45 degrees, which was about normal for this time of year. The fairly seasonal weather had brought out several couples on their lunch hour to enjoy the sunny day; as I sat on a bench along the main path, sketchbook in hand, I noticed pairs of all ages and composition (old, young, gay, straight), walking together, many of them holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes. Wistfully, my thoughts once again centered on Brian. _How can it hurt SO much to be this much in love? _I thought pensively. _Now I understand what it means to be lovesick._

"That's very pretty." I jumped, startled, as I heard a woman's voice behind me; I had been concentrating so much on my people watching that I hadn't even seen her approach. Now I turned slightly to my left to study the middle-aged, slender woman who had spoken to me. She smiled somewhat apologetically as she sat down next to me. "I'm sorry if I startled you," she said. "I was taking a walk and noticed you were drawing. I couldn't resist taking a peek. You're very good," she observed, nodding her head toward the sketch I was completing of a landscape scene that included the nearby lake.

I smiled at the compliment. "Thanks," I said simply. "I like to come out here for inspiration. It's one of my favorite locations to find ideas for my art," I explained.

"So do you draw for a living?" she asked curiously.

I laughed a little. "Well, I'd LIKE to. I'm working on it. I can't say it really pays the bills all the time, though. Some weeks are better than others," I confessed. I had saved enough from my comic book sales for a little nest egg; however, it was quickly drying up as the months went by, and it wouldn't be too long before I didn't have it to fall back on.

"Well, I would be surprised if you weren't successful; that's really great," she replied encouragingly. "My name's Diane, by the way. Diane Feltner."

Shaking her outstretched hand, I introduced myself.

"Where are you from, Justin? Are you a native New Yorker or a transplant?"

"I'm from Pittsburgh originally – I've been here for about a year now."

Diane answered, "I'm actually a native. Born and raised in Queens. In fact, I still own the house I grew up in. Bought it from my parents just before they retired to Phoenix. My husband and I have been there for about ten years now." She studied me carefully before adding, "My husband always calls me perceptive – I think it's his polite way of saying I'm nosy," she advised, laughing softly. "Says I always have to know what's going on, so I'm not going to make an exception with you. You seem sad somehow. Are you okay?"

I don't know why I felt like confiding in this woman who was a complete stranger, but her friendliness put me at ease somehow. And maybe I just needed someone to talk to. Taking a breath before I spoke, I told her, "I'm just missing my partner, I guess. He's away on business. Has been for two weeks now."

With a gleam in her eyes, she said, "I take it this is not a BUSINESS partner we're talking about?"

I smiled, simply admitting to her, "No." At least this woman did not seem close-minded and judgmental about my being gay.

"And I guess with today being Valentine's Day, that doesn't help matters much, does it?"

My eyes tearing up a little, I admitted, a little embarrassed, "I know it's kind of silly. Brian doesn't even like to acknowledge birthdays or holidays. Says it's just another day like all the others. But I guess I can't help it. I'm more sentimental than he is – he's learned to put up with it," I explained, smirking a little. "When I moved to New York, Brian had to stay in Pittsburgh because of the company he owns. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make. But everyone pushed me to move here so I could pursue my dream of being an artist."

"But….." she encouraged me. "You're not sure you made the right decision?"

I smiled. "Your husband was right. You ARE perceptive, not nosy. Yeah, I guess that's the problem. My art has always been important to me. But so is Brian. And I'm not sure how much of my happiness I'm willing to sacrifice just for the chance of possibly being successful here in New York."

She pursed her lips together thoughtfully. "You've got quite a dilemma there, my friend. But if it helps any, let me tell you something. My husband was a lot like your Brian. He used to own a very successful sales company that involved him traveling across the country all the time. So much that he and I never got to see each more than once a week, if then. Finally, though, we sat down and discovered how miserable we were without each other. It was almost like two strangers who just happened to live at the same address but never were there at the same time. My husband finally decided he wanted the life we had when we were first married and we did everything together. We vacationed all over the country, we went for long walks just to talk about our hopes and dreams, and we did charity work for the causes we loved. He was lucky enough – WE were lucky enough – that he found another job doing the same kind of work but involving a lot less traveling. Yes, he doesn't make quite the same amount of money as he did before, but you know what? He found something more important – he's HAPPY. WE'RE happy. Happier than we have ever been. I always thought it's not the end but the journey that's meaningful. Maybe you and Brian can find a way to make the journey together and still do what you both love." Standing up, she reached out to grasp my hand again. "I've taken up enough of your time with my sermon," she quipped humorously. "I need to get going anyway. I wish you and your partner the best of luck. I hope he gets back soon and you work something out. I've got a good feeling about you; you just need to listen to your heart." Smiling, she walked away with a short wave as I stared after her, deep in thought.

* * *

I reached the Times Square area just before 8:45 p.m. – I wasn't exactly sure where the address was that Brian had given me, and I did not want to risk getting there late, especially since I didn't know what type of "assignment" my partner had me undertaking tonight. He had only given me the street address, nothing more. As always, the entire square was awash with people and flashing lights from storefronts and theater venues shining everywhere. The sounds of horns honking, people excitedly talking and strolling musicians playing assaulted me as I scrutinized what street numbers I could find on Broadway; I found to my consternation that there were very few identifying addresses on many of the buildings along the busy street.

I was beginning to panic a little; it was nearing 9:00 and I still hadn't found 1593 yet. And not knowing exactly what type of establishment I was looking for didn't help, either. I now regretted not doing some internet research beforehand; if I had known more about what the address was FOR, it would have helped me considerably now as I continued to search for the elusive number.

I finally resigned myself to hoping that Brian would give me some hint as to what I was looking for when he called; the closest I could come to the number was "1587" written on a brick hat shop. I tensed a little when I felt the familiar vibration of my phone; fishing it out of my pocket, I frowned as anxiously read my partner's cryptic message:

_Lost, Sunshine? Is my eye candy having trouble finding the candy store? _

Candy store? Well, I HAD hoped Brian would give me a hint as to where I was going - looking around, I immediately noticed what he must be referring to – a tall building with several stories stood just ahead at the corner of Broadway and 48th Street, with the word "Hershey's" spelled out prominently in front, along with several candy bar brands all lit up in bright lights. _Well, at least you chose a sweet place for me to visit,_ I thought. I imagined with it being Valentine's Day, too, the place would be packed. I hoped Brian would give me another hint as to exactly what my particular assignment was, soon, because otherwise I might go in and never find my way back out. Although, I could think of worse ways to die than from a chocolate overdose.

As I walked toward the building, I noticed it was the largest chocolate store I had ever seen: It must have been over a dozen stories tall. I stood there, simply amazed at the size of it and unsure now as to how to proceed. Brian's message wasn't very helpful. Normally when he sent his instructions, they were pretty clear. Now I was confused about what to do. I felt awkward as I stood there, looking at all the couples celebrating Valentine's Day; even in the midst of all the hubbub and bustle of the big city, I felt lonely, desperately craving the man I loved who for now was only a disembodied piece of technology, sending me cryptic (and sometimes downright evil) messages until he returned. _Well, Brian, what do I do now?_ I wondered, as I stood with puzzlement near the store, waiting for some sign.

I didn't have long to wait, fortunately; my phone once again buzzed for my attention. Flipping it open, I was mystified as I read the next message, which simply said:

_Look up._

_Huh? What kind of instruction was THAT? Look UP? _I felt a little weird standing there by myself, craning my neck to look up – look up where? The building was so tall; all I could see were flashing signs advertising candy bars: Mounds, Heath, Twizzlers, Reeses. _What was I looking up FOR? A bird, a plane, Superman? _I thought, smirking. I held my hands out in a sign of confusion, but I had to laugh at myself – it wasn't like Brian could see me through the phone or anything.

Speaking of which, just then the phone buzzed again. This message, like the last one, was short as well:

_Not THAT high, you twat. Look above the DOOR. _

My eyebrows furrowed. _What the fuck? _As I did what Brian told me to do, however, my attention was drawn to a feature just above the door. There, running around the perimeter of the building, was a scrolling marquee sign in bright red letters. And it took my stunned mind a few seconds to register exactly what the words were saying that ran rapidly around the perimeter of the building, as my mouth hung open in shock, the words repeating over and over:

_JUSTIN TAYLOR – I LOVE YOU. MARRY ME FOR REAL THIS TIME! JUSTIN TAYLOR – I LOVE YOU. MARRY FOR ME FOR REAL THIS TIME! JUSTIN TAYLOR – I LOVE YOU. MARRY ME FOR REAL THIS TIME! _

My hand suddenly clapped itself over my mouth; I couldn't believe what I was reading. My eyes filled with tears of happiness. _This can't be happening,_ I thought. _It's just my overactive, frustrated imagination. _I swallowed, trying to control my breathing that was quickening by the second.

Just then, my phone buzzed yet again. Now I had to forcefully pull my eyes away from the sign as, my heart beating rapidly, I glanced down to read one last, short message from my partner:

_TURN AROUND_

My heart leaped into my throat with excitement; I was almost frozen to the spot, almost afraid to turn around but hoping the message I just read meant what I thought it meant. Slowly, I closed my eyes briefly as if in prayer before I turned around. Opening them, I saw a tall brunet man with a black leather jacket, black long-sleeved shirt and tight jeans standing 10 feet away, holding his arms open wide in invitation, a single red rose in one hand and a small box in the other, a broad smile on his handsome face.


	9. Chapter 9: Play Ball!

My heart pounded in my chest and my mouth continued to hang open, staring at what I hoped wasn't just wishful thinking on my part. Was Brian actually standing here? I received my answer when, smirking, he reached around to the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a Pirates baseball cap, placing it haphazardly on his tousled, auburn head. "Ready to catch some balls, Sport?" he asked, his eyebrows wiggling in an obvious invitation.

I couldn't speak; I was so overcome with emotion after being without my partner for two weeks. I simply chose to answer him by launching myself bodily into his waiting arms, relishing in the feeling of his familiar body against mine as I practically plastered myself to him, his own lean, toned arms snaking around my waist to embrace me firmly in return. "Brian," I finally murmured against his chest, not caring in the least if we were creating some type of spectacle or not. To me, there was no one else there at the moment except Brian.

"Miss me a little, Sunshine?" he kidded softly, as his arms began to rub tantalizing paths across my back, eliciting a moan and an involuntary little shiver of anticipation from me; when it came to my partner, my body was on overload and ready for takeoff, especially with that fashion accessory perched jauntily on his head. Just that piece of apparel alone was producing all kinds of delicious thoughts into my overactive little head, as well as agitating other parts of my anatomy.

Brian must have figured that part out already, because he didn't give me a chance to respond verbally before answering me teasingly, "Yeah, I guess you did." He finally released his firm hold on me long enough to lean back to stare into my eyes. "Well, Sunshine, I missed you too," he admitted, causing my heart to beat even faster. He took one of my hands and pushed it down between our bodies, pressing it into his cock. "A LOT."

Okay, that wasn't a good idea, because suddenly I wanted nothing more than to fuck my catcher senseless right into the pavement; did this man not realize that I had just spent two weeks as a virtual eunuch at his evil expense? "Brian, please" I barely managed to squeak out, partly in warning and partly in extreme longing; _so much for being the one in control here_.

A delicious tingle went through my body as he leaned down to whisper in my ear, "Uh, uh, uh, Sunshine, you haven't answered my question yet." He punctuated his statement with a lick and extended nibble on my ear. My brain was totally dysfunctional by now; what was he saying?

"Mmmmmm?" That was about all I could eke out at this point.

"I asked you a question, Justin," he continued seductively, again emphasizing the question with another nibble, this time on my neck. The way he said my name just made my cock harden even more, which I would have thought impossible at this point. I finally managed to murmur, "Huh?"

I continued to wantonly rub myself against Brian's chest, just like a purring alley cat stroking himself against someone's pant leg; after two weeks of deprivation, I simply couldn't get enough of this man – his smell, his feel, his voice. I was in heaven.

"Justin." This time Brian said my name with more urgency in his voice, as he placed a hand on each of my arms to try and get my attention to focus on what he was saying. I finally managed to direct my blue eyes toward his hazel ones long enough to try and concentrate on what he was saying. "I asked you a question." Smiling at me tenderly, I was practically melting by now as he said to me, "What do you say, Sunshine? Will you marry me for real this time?" Looking into the eyes I knew so well, I almost thought I saw some uncertainty in them, even some nervousness. Was this man actually afraid I would turn that type of invitation down? Was he fucking crazy??

My eyes filled with tears – happy ones this time, though. My conversation earlier today with Diane at the park filtered through my mind: "_I always thought it's not the end but the journey that's meaningful. Maybe you and Brian can find a way to make the journey together and still do what you both love."_

Looking into his eyes, I smiled at him as I answered his question without hesitation. "Yes." I couldn't help kissing those luscious lips for emphasis. "Yes." Another kiss. "Yes." Well, what's one more?

Brian's gold-flecked eyes lit up at my response; his smile almost matched the ones I was famous for as he practically beamed at me. He couldn't help asking me, "Yes, what?" This time, though, I knew he really didn't need a confirmation, as he released one hand from the hold on my arm and presented me with the red rose, which I dutifully took, not able to stop myself from inhaling the intoxicating smell. _Almost as wonderful as Brian's smell, but NOT quite, _I decided.

Then he opened the box he held in the other hand; I had assumed he was holding our wedding bands that he had been keeping ever since I left for New York, but he surprised me. He handed me the box and encouraged me softly to open it. Furrowing my brow, I slowly opened the lid and looked inside. Instead of our rings, the box contained a gleaming platinum key ring with a small, solitary key attached, a heart charm dangling from it. "Turn it over," he instructed shyly, his lip curling under in a manner that was purely Brian.

As I did as he asked, I noticed an inscription on the back of the charm: _To my prince – the key to my heart. _I honestly thought my OWN heart would explode at that moment. My eyes teared up again, and this time I was unable to prevent a few of the drops from escaping down my cheeks.

"Damn sentimental twat," Brian chided tenderly, before he reached up and brushed my cheeks with both hands to wipe the tears away. I looked at him then, an unbidden question on my lips.

"You want to know what the key is for." He stated, as if he could read my mind. That was how deep our bond was, and how intimately we knew each other. I simply nodded my confirmation.

"It's a key for your new luggage back at the loft," he explained. "You're going to need it for the honeymoon."

"Rather sure of yourself, weren't you, Mr. Kinney?" I asked him gruffly, emphasizing his last name as I pretended to be indignant when I knew he could see right through me.

Brian smiled at me, before responding with surprising truthfulness, "Just hopeful."

My mind suddenly targeted another question, my curiosity suddenly piqued. "Where are we going?" I asked breathlessly. I really didn't care, though, as long as I was with the man I loved more than life itself. The man who would soon be my husband; just the thought made me terribly excited.

"Well, Sunshine, you'll just have to find out, now won't you? I've rented a suite at the Trump Hotel – got any ideas how you might be able to wrestle the answer out of me?" he drawled seductively and smirked, before taking his ball cap and placing it firmly on my head, giving the top of my scalp a firm smack.

I grinned wickedly in return; _I think you're right, Diane – the journey is DEFINITELY better than the actual destination, _especially after spending the last 14 days with an overactive imagination and thoroughly stunted libido. Somebody needs to do a LOT of sucking up to me - literally. Leering at him in return, I reached down between us and gave my catcher's balls a firm squeeze, producing an audible moan from my star player, before I replied, "I'm sure I can come up with something. Why don't we go back to your hotel suite so we can do some practice shagging?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Sunshine," Brian said softly. "Let's get out of here and go run some bases."

I downright giggled as I thought about my dream from the other night, receiving a puzzled look from Brian. "I'll explain later," I said, grinning, as arms around each other's waists, we walked away from what would be my last long-distance assignment.


	10. Chapter 10: Grand Slam Conclusion

Brian and I had only walked a few feet when he suddenly stopped. "What is it?" I asked, a little concerned as well as maybe a little impatient. I couldn't help it if I was just a little anxious at this point, you understand, having suffered from Brian withdrawal for FAR too long.

Brian smiled at me, "Nothing. I almost forgot my package I left at the candy store," he answered, winking at me. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me back toward the Hershey's building.

I stood somewhat in awe as we walked inside, my mouth hanging open. There were candy boxes everywhere you looked; I had never seen so much chocolate in my life. I was glad that Brian only had to pick up a package at the counter, because with Valentine's Day in full swing, you could barely walk around the displays.

"All set," he announced, as he walked back to join me toting a medium-sized bag with the Hershey's logo emblazoned on it. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," I answered absentmindedly, trying to divert Brian's attention long enough to snatch the paper bag away from him. "What's in the bag?" I asked, unable to control my curiosity any longer; Brian always swore off carbs and this candy had to be shit full of the stuff.

Brian held it up out of my reach just before I was about to grab it. "Uh, uh, uh, Sunshine. You'll have time to be a naughty boy LATER," he taunted, emphasizing the last word and winking at me, causing my face to break out into a blush.

I put on my best Justin pout and said, "Please," while I batted my eyelashes and flashed Brian my baby blues, but he was on to me. "Not going to work, little boy," he admonished me. "The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can play ball," he reminded me as he growled sexily. "Ready to go?"

Okay, not a hard question to answer there; I decided the dessert I would be receiving later would more than make up for a lack of treats now. "Ready," I replied instantly, as he once again took my hand to gently pull me out of the store. As we walked away, I turned my head back momentarily to read the scrolling marquee sign one more time to burn it into my memory, before I heard Brian laugh softly beside me. "Don't worry, Sunshine. I took a video of it on my cell phone. I KNOW how you are." I beamed as he quickly reached down and planted a quick kiss on my cheek.

Fortunately for the two of us, the Trump Hotel was only a block or so from the candy store, because I was getting hornier by the second the longer I walked next to this work of art in motion. And the baseball cap on my head kept reminding me of Brian's promises to me earlier; I urgently hoped that I was about to hit a grand slam instead of pitching a no-hitter.

As we reached the hotel, I also decided that the damn elevator was taking way too long from the lobby for my liking as it agonizingly inched upward. It was fortunate, though, that Brian's suite was located on the 24th floor, because it gave me a little time to get reacquainted with his body as we were thankfully alone in the car on the way up. I waited maybe one floor until I proceeded to start my pitching warm-up. He made the mistake of looking over at me with those damn eyebrows raised in a silent dare before I turned and roughly slammed his back against the rear of the car, pouncing on him like a lion about to eat its prey.

My quarry, however, wasn't very afraid of his attacker, because he quickly wrapped his long arms around my waist as I reached up to nibble on the side of his neck, my arms stretched around his shoulders. After Brian turned his head to offer me more access to his neck, however, I moved on to the next part of my strategy: I rapidly began to push his jacket off his shoulders in hopes he would be a smart man and help me remove it so I could concentrate on better things that lay beneath. I always knew Brian was intelligent; he removed his hands from my back long enough for me to completely remove the jacket. I was surprised by the fact that Brian then dropped the expensive piece of clothing onto the floor of the elevator, rather than holding onto it. I determined I must have moved up quite a few notches for him not to be concerned about his expensive leather jacket and I decided he deserved an award for being such a good boy: I started to open the buttons of his shirt, impatiently reaching inside to tweak his right nipple while I worked on the other one with a long swipe of my tongue.

"Justin," Brian moaned, as I felt his body tremble; he roughly pulled my head back up to his and attacked my lips with gusto, our tongues dueling for supremacy. I'm not sure which of us would have come out victorious, for just as I was about to move on to other pieces of Brian's clothing, the elevator loudly dinged, bringing us back to reality. Both of us were breathing rapidly as Brian quickly straightened up his clothing just before the door opened and an elderly, well-heeled couple glanced at us curiously before we nonchalantly walked past them to exit the car. Just before the door closed to take them back down to the lobby, Brian winked at them and smiled. "Come along, Mr. Doodles," he said to me in falsetto, smacking my ass while eliciting a shocked expression from the couple and a giggle from me.

"Brian!" I scolded him, still giggling.

"What?" he said, eyebrows rising innocently. "Let them get their own fucking bath toy," he growled, as he tugged at the collar of my shirt to pull me along firmly. "Doesn't Mr. Doodles want to come out and play?" he asked me in baby talk, whispering sexily in my ear as he produced the key card from his jacket pocket.

"He certainly does," I agreed easily, looking down at a particular part of Mr. Doodles' anatomy that was standing at attention. I noticed that Mr. Canoodles was experiencing the same condition; I smiled at Brian seductively, my tongue darting out to lick my lips for emphasis. I couldn't help hearing the soft groan that escaped my partner's own lips as I grinned; my first part of my mission was accomplished. _It's time for payback, Mr. Kinney,_ I thought greedily, as I waited impatiently for him to open the door to his suite.

As soon as he managed to insert the card and unlock the door, I pushed him urgently into the room, turning just long enough to slam the door shut with a loud thump. Brian didn't get a chance to utter whatever he was trying to say to me as I once more launched myself into his arms, attacking the lips again with gusto. Not that my partner was putting up much resistance; instantly, he returned the kiss with equal ardor, both our tongues once again coming out to tangle with each other, as he wrapped his arms around me. We both walked half blind toward what we hoped was the bed as we concentrated on our kiss and tried to divest each other of as much clothing as possible. The jacket was once again haphazardly discarded as Brian threw it near a chair; it fell just short of its goal and landed on the floor instead, totally ignored now by my partner as he was too distracted by my busy fingers at the moment to notice. My fingers quickly finished unbuttoning Brian's shirt as I pushed it open and silently urged him to help me get rid of it; fortunately, Brian proved to be very accommodating as he opened his arms to help me slide it off his lean, toned shoulders as I threw it on the floor to join his jacket.

I slapped Brian's hands as he tried to unbutton my jeans, causing him to give me a stunned look momentarily, before he raised both hands up as if in surrender and said, "Okay, Sunshine, I get it. We'll play ball your way, then. I'll have my Justin sundae later," he vowed, smirking. My heart raced and I felt my face flush; I wasn't sure if it was more from the rare permission he was giving me to play to my heart's content, or the promise of what was to come later when Brian "topped off" his dessert. I decided both sounded absolutely, wonderfully wicked to me.

As I stood next to the bed with Brian, my fingers were shaking slightly in excitement and eagerness as I unbuttoned the top button of his jeans and pulled the zipper down, noticing he wasn't wearing any underwear underneath. "Why, Brian, you little baseball slut," I purred, again eliciting a groan from my star catcher. "Just the thought of being with an ace pitcher makes you SO horny," I teased, my voice husky with desire as I looked at his growing erection that was getting harder by the second. As I pulled off his shoes and he stepped out of his jeans that were now pooling around his feet, I playfully pushed on his chest as he fell back onto the bed, propping his head up on his elbows to watch what I would do next.

"Batter up, Brian," I rumbled softly. "It's time to catch some balls." I enjoyed the hungry sneer on Brian's face as I pulled my coat off and discarded it on the floor to join Brian's clothing. Inch by agonizing inch, I then pulled my long-sleeved turtleneck sweater over my neck and off my body, tossing it, too, on the floor as I ran my hands over my nipples, circling the pink peaks for good effect. I then turned around facing away from my partner while I gradually opened my jeans, bending over while I slipped them down my slender legs, not missing the groan that again escaped my lover's lips, only louder this time. Smiling to myself, I then slowly eased my briefs down my legs, slipping out of them and raising myself upright. As I pulled off my sneakers, I slowly turned around, now wearing nothing but a predatory smile and my baseball cap. Brian continued to stare at me like a deer caught in the headlights, mesmerized, a sparkle of gold in his lit-up eyes.

His eyes never left me as I seductively sauntered toward him; I could see him wanting desperately to scratch his sudden itch but he somehow kept a tenuous control over his actions, vowing silently to me that he would keep his promise as a consequence of my two weeks of extreme torture at his hands.

"Such a good boy," I purred, as I slowly kneeled down on the bed beside him and placed both of my hands to either side of his body to kiss his lips tenderly, my tongue running itself over his mouth, seeking entrance. Just as he was about to open his mouth to deepen our kiss, I pulled back slightly, a smug smile on my face. "Justin," he growled softly, "You're killing me here, you fucking tease."

"Hold on, _Mr. Kinney,_ we have to do warm-up practice first," I chided him, backing away just enough to keep him from pulling me down flush against him on the bed. Again Brian groaned at the abrupt loss of contact. "Well, then, get your fucking balls out and let me CATCH them," he commanded.

"That's not ALL you're going to catch, _Mr. Kinney_," I reminded him sternly, before suddenly Brian reached up and pulled my head down into a full-blown passionate kiss, my tongue instinctively surrendering to his and my body pushed hard against him. Chuckling under his breath in victory, I broke our kiss apart before breathlessly protesting, "Hey, you're not playing fair. I can always trade you to the Yokohoma Bay Stars for a player to be named later, you know," I warned, trying to be indignant but sadly not succeeding as he now started tickling me in the sides, right where he knew I was so touchy.

Brian laughed in return as I launched a tickling attack of my own, right near his waist where I knew he couldn't resist; sure enough, he squirmed as he tried to move away from my relentless counter-offensive, continuing to laugh in that delightful way he seldom does, except for me when he is particularly happy. Of course, he told me once that if I ever divulged that little secret to anyone, great sex or not, he would have to kill me. "Okay, okay, I'll play fair," he laughed, almost giggling, as he finally stopped his assault.

Brian then startled me by slowly wrapping his long legs to link them around my waist, my heart feeling like it was going to burst from my chest. "Batter up, Sunshine," he growled seductively. "Pitch me a fast one, baby, we're going for a fucking GRAND SLAM," he urged. As I looked around for a condom, he reached out to still my hand. Looking at me intently like he could devour me any second, he whispered, "This is all you'll need, Sport," as he leaned over slightly and handed me a small bottle of lubricant. I was sure my heart would definitely explode from excitement, as I asked him in a breathless, shaky voice, "Are you sure, Brian?"

"I'm sure, Justin," he assured me softly. "Time to hit one out of the park." As I looked at the face of the man I loved so deeply, he nodded, smiling at me in encouragement. "Do it," he simply said. Biting my lip, I nodded at him in return, before reaching down to kiss him soundly.

Despite my vow that I would fuck Brian senseless into the mattress as soon as I had him alone, Brian's decision to do it bareback put a whole different spin on it; I wanted to take it slow, to make LOVE to him, so we could experience every delightful second of this mind blowing experience. And it was more incredible than I ever could have imagined in my wildest dreams: more intense, more free, more satisfying, more sensual. More EVERYTHING. As my body pushed into his, and he wrapped himself even more tightly against me in unspoken encouragement, I thought, _this is how it must feel to fly, because my heart is soaring._

As we both came down minutes later from our climaxes, sweaty and breathless, I lay on top of Brian, feeling both of our hearts beating rapidly in unison. He pulled his head back to stare at me with those captivating hazel eyes, as he tenderly brushed back some hair that was plastered to my brow. "That was unbelievable," he simply whispered, as I noticed with some surprise that his eyes were shining with unshed tears. "You can be my pitcher anytime, Sunshine," he added sincerely. My eyes, too, filled with tears of happiness as he then softly murmured the words he is only rarely able to express. "I love you so much, Justin."

"Oh," I exclaimed softly, my mouth spreading into a wide smile of joy. "I love you, too, Brian," I whispered. Then I smirked a little as I asked, "Can I have my sundae now?"


End file.
