"Want your sunglasses?" Justin asked, busy to make sure Brian's coat was fully buttoned, his scarf secured around his neck, gloves on both hands. Brian only nodded, amazed at how methodical and anal Justin proved to be as a care-giver. Well, he corrected himself with a wicked smirk, he shouldn't be surprised; from day one he'd known about Justin's anal preferences . . .

As he slipped on the designer glasses, Justin inspected him with obvious glee. "You look just like one of the guys from 'Men in Black.' Ready to launch our next mission?" Giving an affectionate squeeze to Brian's shoulder, he set the wheelchair in motion heading toward the diner.

Needless to say, the visit to Liberty Diner was not Brian's brainchild. Neither were the trips they'd taken during the week to the park, the grocery store, or the assorted other neighborhood spots. Damn, not much he'd done since his return home was his choice, Brian thought. Justin turned out to be a force of nature to be reckoned with, prying Brian out of his shell and forcing him to deal with the real world. He must've aced the class on "How to Rehabilitate Your Stroke-Victim Lover --101." Brian, for his part though, was hell-bent not to audition for the part of 'victim.' But no amount of resistance, argument, teasing or gnashing of teeth helped when dealing with a determined, mission-driven Justin; behind the fresh-faced, sweet facade hid the unbending steel of a drill sergeant, and Brian's more delicate feelings be damned.

Pushing the door open with both hands, Justin angled the wheelchair through, greeting Debbie with a grin and a cheerful 'Hello,' and turning toward an empty booth at the end of the diner. "Wanna sit by the window?" he asked in a transparent attempt to humor Brian, as he secured the brakes on the wheelchair.

"Yeah, my own window at home. Why do I have to have breakfast in public and turn myself into a spectator sport?" He was grumbling, but wasn't quite up to taking on Justin. Even as he frowned, he began the slow and laborious process of extricating himself from the metal contraption and standing up. Justin stood behind him, hand supporting his waist while Brian found his balance, slowly pivoted on his good leg, and slid behind the table. The cheep, shiny vinyl cover of the seat proved to be an ally, as he scooted in to the window with relative ease.

Debbie, all decked in smiles, buttons and vintage Dolly Parton couture, was already beside them. "Brian, Sunshine --fancy to see you here! I knew you just couldn't stay away from the world-class cuisine and the friendliest service to be had in this town." Her tone was light, but her heart was clearly showing on her face as she looked at Brian. She wasn't sure there, for a while, if she would ever see him again in the diner. "So, what'll it be? The regular--eggs over easy, buttered toast and lots of black coffee?"

Justin scowled. "No, it will be a balanced, healthy breakfast. One poached egg, Wheaties with skim milk and fruit, and decaf." Out of solidarity, he added, "For both of us."

Brian only lifted his shoulder, with a dry "How the mighty have fallen--at least, with this kind of diet, I won't have to spend hours in the gym to maintain my youthful body." He began to peel off his scarf and coat.

Justin slid in next to him and playfully nuzzled Brian's neck. "You have me to help and maintain your youthful body, remember?"

"And they say today's young have no volunteering spirit," Debbie laughed as she headed off with their order.

Leaning back, tension ebbing from his stiff body, Brian allowed himself to look around, searching for familiar faces. Justin at least was considerate enough to drag him into this adventure late into the morning, after the stampede of the working classes usually jamming the diner for their caffeine fix was over. There were only a few customers seated at the tables, and at first glance, Brian didn't recognize any of them. Great, he thought; in his present condition he often felt he would happily settle for bag-on-your-head anonymity--certainly not something he'd preferred in his more center-stage, narcissistic days. See, Mom, what a cleansing, spiritual experience this godfucking stroke has been? It'll make me a good Christian soul yet.

His coffee arrived and Debbie poured him the first cup. Still awkward, he lifted the cup with his left hand and took a large gulp of the hot, fragrant drink. With a satisfied grunt he leaned back and waited for their food, slightly apprehensive at the thought of the new challenges it might present to his compromised, one-handed table manners. No, he definitely wasn't cut out to be a cheerful cripple...

The door opened, letting in a blast of cold air and a familiar figure. The Hotlanta t-shirt must have been retired for the winter, replaced by a tricolor windbreaker, but the warm, friendly smile was the same both he and Justin remembered. The Jambalaya King. He noticed them and ambled up to their booth, giving Brian a thorough once-over. "Heard you've been sick. Sorry about it." His friendly, languid Southern drawl was molasses and his eyes brightened as he focused back on Brian's face. "Tell you though, you still look positively delicious--if you would ever be interested, I wouldn't be half opposed to another Dixie surrender to your Yankee gun."

Justin, whose eyes were on Atlanta's best, turned to Brian just in time to catch the spread of a faint blush across the pale skin. Instinctively he moved closer, one hand embracing Brian's shoulders, pulling him in, his other covering Brian's affected hand resting on the table. His body language was universal and unmistakable. Mine. You can't have him. No trespassing on this territory.

The guy in front of them stood for a moment, silently taking in the scene. With a slow smile he spoke to Brian. "Well, seems you're in good hands. Great to run into you." He already turned to go and find another table when he looked back at Justin, adding in a dead-serious tone, "I guess we aren't gonna share kitchen secrets any time soon."

Brian started to laugh, and letting go, leaned fully into Justin's embrace. His lips sought out Justin's for a full, open-mouthed, passionate kiss. And a long one.

"Hey, kids. When you come up for air, you might want to take a break and eat. It's getting cold." Debbie plopped their plates in front of them, a silly grin on her face.

"Who needs food?" Brian smiled back at her with a real, clear-eyed smile. "Justin knows how much I like sex in public places."

A penny for your thoughts, the sing-song phrase ran through Justin's mind, my right hand for knowing what you feel, my life in barter for your pain . . .

With a lump in his throat he stepped into the room. Brian's gaze shifted lazily in tandem with the younger man, but he did not move his head, did not smile his recognition at the other.

A light cashmere throw lay over his legs, left leg crooked at the knee, the right resting numb and unmoving under the cover. Two tiny grey ears emerged from the bent of his arm, followed by a pair of inquisitive green eyes. Rufus. The cat stopped the deep-throated rhythmic purring as he checked out the intruder, then absently licked Brian's arm for reassurance. His or the human's, it wasn't clear which.

Joining the silence, Justin walked over to the sofa and knelt before Brian. Alert hazel orbs followed his every move. Justin reached out a tentative hand, touched Brian's bare torso, fingered his ribs. Skinny--way too skinny. A memory assailed him, of cold, dripping sweetness, the strong odor of vanilla, and his own hands kneading Brian's sides. Ice-cream kisses. He wanted to weep.

Both his hands snaked around the slim waist, brushing the protruding ribs, hand meeting hand in a full-circle embrace. The old, ingrained sexual response Brian's body has always elicited from him was not there. In its stead, there was only tenderness. So overwhelming, it took his breath away.

And then it hit him. He loved Brian. Needed him. Knew that he would give anything, for the rest of his days, to have Brian to come home to. Broken, compromised, incomplete, Brian was and would still remain for always the center of his existence. The love of his life. His life.

So, at the end, this is what it comes down to, he thought. This is not sex, nor romance. This is love. Needing someone--Brian--so desperately that the thought of losing him can short-circuit your mind. He suddenly felt old with a wisdom his strange little life managed to offer him in three short years. Knowing Brian had not only made him 'the best homosexual he could be.' It made him a man. A giver. A lover. And fuck romance, he smiled to himself. Brian has been right all along; it was for lesbians and hets.

The other's body lay fragile and unresisting in his arms. Fear of what had almost been lost, profound gratitude for Brian's life overwhelmed him. Hot tears stung his eyes but he held them back for fear of upsetting the other.

"Thank you for staying with me," Justin's lips buried the words into the softness of Brian's belly as his mind echoed, "thank you for living." Aloud, he added, "I love you, Bri."

Brian's distant hazels focused on him, assessing. Then a strange half-smile lit his pale face --one of knowing--and he moved his head closer to Justin, graciously surrendering his lips to receive the other's kiss.

Justin's arms moved up, never relinquishing the embrace but adding support as they encircled Brian's thin shoulders, gently lifting him to a sitting position. The cat rose with an indignant rumble and jumped off. "Time to get up, Sleeping Beauty, we promised to have dinner with the Boys."

"You promised." The 'I got too fucking tired to argue' was left unsaid. "Not hungry."

"I know. But they are."

"Then you go and feed them."

"I like you more."

"How much more?"

At that, encouraged by the lighter tone overlaying what he knew to be a scary proposition for Brian, Justin shifted his hands under the other's armpits and pulled him up. Too weak to resist, Brian rose to a standing position, supporting himself on his good leg and leaning on Justin's shoulders. "Now what, Einstein?" The challenging look on Brian's face was compromised as he swayed.

"Now we get ready and dressed for a date," Justin steadied him as he joked.

"And who is your date, fair maiden"?

"You. Always." Justin's voice turned hoarse with feeling. "As long as you'll have me."

For a moment, Brian lowered his head to rest on the shorter man's shoulder--whether as a response or out of weakness, Justin didn't know. Either way, permission granted, he kissed the full lips and began to steer the other's pliant body toward the bathroom. The adventure of getting Brian Kinney ready for his first official dinner outing was about to unfold.

He woke with a start, heart pounding, sweat accumulating on his brow. He was completely disoriented as to the where, what and why--was it morning, had he missed the alarm, was he late for a meeting at work, had he fallen asleep on the 'trick du nuit'? Following the ingrained moves of his daybreak routine, he rose to swing his legs out of bed--and couldn't.

Reality crashed down on him. It was dark--the clock on his night stand showed 1:45; instead of his own bed he lay in some godawful contraption equipped with side bars, strange knobs and a pull-up triangle bar; there was no sex-sated trick sleeping beside him. And he wasn't late for any meeting--he was late for his entire fucked-up life.

He remembered going out in the evening for dinner with 'the Boys,' and having not half as bad a time as he'd anticipated. Exhausted from the outing, he'd gone to bed early, barely able to stay awake long enough to change out of his clothes. Sleep, deep and dreamless, had whisked him away only to deposit him back unceremoniously on the doorsteps of the present.

He scanned the dimly lit loft, aware that he wasn't alone, and through the half-opened panels of the sleeping alcove detected Justin's shadowy figure. The younger man was sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes intent on some object in front of him. He seemed entranced, oblivious to the world around him, body swaying back and forth and a barely audible hum, akin to purring, emanating from his throat.

Enchanted with the sight, Brian rose on one elbow for a better look. Only then did he notice that Justin was stark naked, his pale body bathed in blue neon mist, with a hand on his groin, stroking his organ.

Slightly embarrassed and feeling like an intruder, Brian blushed with a surge of desire. It was different, more, than base lust; the primary reds of sexual arousal were transfused with the cooler shades of an aesthetic appreciation, the warm hues of emotional frisson. He found the urge to touch the blue-lit spectral figure too overwhelming to be subdued.

Trying not to spook him, he whispered, "Justin . . . Justin. Come here." His voice sounded grainy, alien to his own ears. He hoped the other would see the invitation in the gesture of his extended arm.

The blond head snapped up, eyes wide open as Justin jumped, his hands falling suddenly idle by his sides. "I . . . I didn't know you were awake." He was clearly real and tangible.

"Come over here and show me what you're doing." Brian's arm was still reaching out. With hesitant steps Justin walked over to stand before him, their fingers locking. "What are you ashamed of?" Brian asked gently, noticing the other's flushed face and throat. He freed his hand and moved it over to Justin's fully erect cock, molding with a perfect fit into the greeting palm, instinctively knowing its place.

"I'm s...sorry," Justin stuttered, misunderstanding. "I didn't mean to . . . You don't have to." Then, struck by another thought, he added, "Unless . . . Would you like to watch me jerk off?"

For a split second, Brian tried to wrap his mind around the question. Was the offer the equivalent of a mercy fuck, or was it born of their long-established physical intimacy too deeply rooted to allow for any body-boundaries of 'you' and 'I' between them? Feeling the warm, hard, living flesh under his fingers though made all questions and hesitation moot.

"No, don't beat off." While talking, Brian pulled himself to a sitting position and adjusted the pillows behind his back. "Come up here and straddle me."

Moving carefully, Justin climbed on the bed, his legs spread to kneel over Brian and gingerly embrace the thin waist and hips. With some effort Brian moved his right arm to hold and pull Justin in, his left hand exploring the round, firm mounds of the other's ass. The nimble fingers shifted from back to front, playing in the younger man's golden pubic hair, curly and sprite to the touch, then sliding to the pink, rock-hard cock. His index finger slowly mapped out the throbbing organ, weighed the heavy balls, traveled down the arching, swaying column to outline the crowned head with its oozing pre-cum.

With a gentle hand he nudged Justin to rise on his knees and bent his head to capture the fully erect cock in his mouth. The surprise of the move, the pressure of teeth sinking slightly into sensitive skin made Justin cry out and pull back for a moment. But the moment passed, and he thrust back his pulsing penis into the dark, welcoming warmth. It was like coming home. He wanted it to last, to slowly build from small building blocks of pleasure, fed by tissues and vessels swelling with blood and nerve-endings vibrating in sweet agony--but it was too late for that, he was already there. Every fiber of his body captive to the other's manipulation, he cried out again, the sound this time an echo of his urgent need, and came in the inviting mouth. He shattered into myriads of floating particles, connected only by an almost-blinding pleasure, and slowly put back together by Brian's mouth kissing him, sucking him dry. The last time he cried out was a loud, shuddering wail of grief and greed, for it was over and he wanted more.

Slowly pulling out he bent to kiss Brian's parted lips. "It's been a long time," he whispered into them. The perfect lips curved into an enigmatic half-smile as Brian retorted dryly, "Yeah, since you left."

Justin was stung by the words, but decided to ignore them. He rolled off Brian and lay down beside him on the narrow bed, listening for a while to his own slowing heartbeat and savoring the feel of the other's body pressed against his. Testing, he tried to rub up against Brian's groin only to be refused by a polite but determined brush of hand--clearly, for whatever reason, the other was not ready yet. On a whim, Justin reached for Brian's affected hand instead and placed it on his own chest. Lightly pushing the bent fingers, he flattened Brian's palm with his own, the large hand warm on his bare skin, covering him from the hollow of his throat to his breastbone. "Touch me," he held the inert fingers against his pulsing hollow, "feel me."

He eased off and let go with a sigh, staring into silence. A slight movement, barely enough to register, called him back. Brian pressed the heel of his palm into Justin's skin, middle finger brushing at a small, hardening nipple, catching on the gold nipple ring. "I do."

Awash with joy, Justin began to laugh. He lifted Brian's hand in both his, kissed the tip of each finger and deposited it again on his pierced nipple. "My 'Lord of the Ring'," he murmured with a smile in his voice, drifting into sleep.

Disentangling himself from the jumble of possessive arms and legs, Brian half turned to look at the sleeping figure. It all looked so right, felt so good. Justin was back with him--well, almost--the same way he had been on and off, for the past two years. Smart, funny, responsible beyond his years, with his twinkie-blond good looks and the explosive sexual chemistry between them. It was so easy . . . too easy. And therein lay the danger. For the past was not okay and none of their sick, self-mauling non-relationship, none of it, had been resolved. And, for his own sake as well as Justin's, Brian had to be cautious. Only fools repeated mistakes of the past--and he was nobody's fool.

Extricating himself from the bed, he rose and slowly made his way to the bathroom. He stopped at the bed, curious to find the object that had earlier held Justin's undivided attention and ignited his desire to masturbate. Spread out on the dark blue cover was a set of pictures, all in artsy black-and-white. All were of the two of them. Hugging, kissing, mugging for the camera. Patently happy. Except they hadn't been.

"Hey Justin, can I get some service in this joint?" Brian pulled himself to a sitting position in the bed as his eyes scanned the loft for his live-in. "I stink. Help me take a shower."

Justin paddled over from the kitchen. "You don't," he commented, his nose wrinkled as he sniffed in Brian's direction. "But if there's a chance it will improve your disposition . . ."

He helped lower Brian's right leg from the bed to the floor; hesitated. "Do you need the chair?"

Brian only shook his head in disdain as his gaze brushed over the wheelchair parked by his bed. "No, I'd rather walk, however haltingly."

Wordlessly Justin handed him his crutch, threaded the taller man's right arm over his shoulder, and gently lifted him to a standing position. For a moment his eyes softened with a smile. Some things never changed. Broken but not defeated, Brian Kinney still slept buck naked.

Leaning on the crutch with his good hand and supported by Justin on the other side as he dragged his affected leg, Brian slowly made his way to the bathroom.

Once he safely installed Brian on the shower bench, Justin began to strip. The other stopped him with a look. "I can shower all by my little self," he said with a crooked grin.

"That's not my recollection of your preference--you sure as hell used to like company," Justin retorted.

"Things change, Sunshine." There was a sudden brittleness to Brian's tone. "Now, if you don't mind?"

Justin reluctantly withdrew from the stall but lingered nearby, to keep watch over Brian in case he was needed. His gaze was drawn, as so many times before, to the other's lean form. The hot shower tinted his pale skin to a blush, plastered his dark tresses to his forehead, caught on his long eyelashes. Glistening with tiny bubbles of soapsuds and shampoo, clouded in collecting mist, Brian looked like some pagan god emerging from the elements.

Justin was awestruck. Even compromised and awkward as he was, Brian was still the most beautiful man Justin has ever seen. Always will be. His own Greek god, born of water, ruler of hearts. At least, for sure, Justin's heart. If only he could convince Brian of that . . .

His eyes followed the rivulets of water streaming down the other's body, coming together in Brian's lap to pool in the indentation between belly, thighs and hips. And from the hollow, emerging like a separate living being, rose the stem of his penis, fully erect, engorged with blood and ready for action.

Mesmerized, Justin stepped into the shower and descended on his knees. He did not feel the water pelting him, soaking through his clothes, did not heed Brian's surprised "Justin!" He had to touch the other's column of flesh, lick it, taste it, take it into his mouth--to appease his own urgent need and that of the other. Pay homage to sexual healing. And find one more way to affirm his love to his doubting lover.

First he kissed and licked the crown, sharp tongue lapping at it like a long-starved cat; traced the familiar ridge on the underside of the slightly swaying arch. Then, tentatively, he encased the entire head in his mouth, for a moment just savoring the familiar sensation of warmth and fullness, before he began to suck. He could feel the organ throbbing in his mouth, the taste of soap-and-water quickly giving way to the unique flavor of Brian's faintly salty pre-cum. Through the blood-haze blanketing his mind Justin vaguely felt Brian's left hand gripping his shoulder, exerting pressure as if to try and push him away. He decided to ignore it. Increased the speed of the sucking motions, with straining muscles pulling the gloriously full cock deeper into his mouth, down his throat. The strong, expressive hand on his shoulder paused, fingers dug into his flesh then pulled him back, toward the flat and glistening chest and inside the circle of Brian's body space.

He heard the low, guttural moan and for a split second froze in fear. Releasing his captive prize and raising his head he asked, "Brian, are you okay?" Brian's neck was arched backward, his eyes closed, and he only nodded imperceptibly, pushing the blonde head back down to his cock. Justin held, admired, the glistening organ for a moment before nesting it again in the welcoming receptacle of his mouth. His hand reached for Brian's balls--hard, tense and waiting--and began to massage them, first gently, then with an increased urgency in tandem with the sucking motions. The salty taste intensified in his mouth as a tremor began to build in Brian's body, escalating into a staccato of spasms as he peaked, spilling cum down Justin's throat. The tremors spread through his legs, thighs and upper body, and Justin reached up with a panicked hand to grab Brian's waist, steadied him before he slipped from the narrow perch of the shower-bench.

He slowly rose on his knees, his lips as red and swollen with spent passion as Brian's semi-hard penis. "I love you, baby," he whispered hoarsely, but even as he uttered the words he knew that after sex, of all times, they stood the least chance to be believed. He locked his gaze with Brian's intense hazels, moving closer to the other's slightly parted lips. He had already claimed a privilege he was not freely granted, making Brian capitulate to his own body's awakening desire. He wanted permission for the privilege of kissing his lover. Brian's eyes bore into his, as if silently taking his measure, then he slanted his head forward in a barely perceptible motion, but enough to make Justin's heart skip a beat. He leaned into the kiss with lips wanting and open, both arms embracing the lean shoulders. A shared taste of Brian's cum invaded their senses as their tongues met.

Exhausted and gasping for air they disengaged, and as Justin's fingers entwined in the smooth brown strands of Brian's hair he began to laugh. "Your hair is still full of shampoo, let me wash it for you." His hands caressed more than washed the other as he massaged out the last soapy remnants and began to towel the silky-clean tresses.

Brian shook the water out of his hair with a motion uniquely his that never failed to turn on the other, then stared at the younger man. "And since when did you begin to take showers fully dressed?" He smiled his satisfaction with the moment.

"Since you were included in the package," Justin responded.

"Returning the favor?" Brian was referring to Justin's midnight visit to his bed couple of nights ago. "Oh well, seems you're aspiring to do the second most-famous shower scene after 'Psycho'," he dead-panned in a reference totally lost on Justin. But Brian remembered. Not the shower with the long-ago gym teacher, but showers with Justin. The first, as horny and passionate as spring fever, as searing as their white-hot colliding on Liberty Avenue. And the last, marked with a somber, violent coming-together only two days before Justin walked out on him. Chose Ethan. Over. Him.

The hazel depths of his eyes turned stormy brown with remembered pain and he tried to rise, pushing Justin away from him. "I can finish here by myself."

Totally taken aback by the quicksilver change of mood Justin obeyed, mechanically handing a towel to Brian before stepping away. Numbly, he began to remove the wet clothes sticking to his body. He trembled as a cold began to build at the core of his being, a fear greater than he had ever felt, even during the worst nightmares after the bashing. What if Brian will never believe, never relent? The end. He could not think beyond Brian. The man was his proverbial paradigm. There was no thinking outside, no living without. Then his eyes fell on his right hand, his artist's hand. The one he had almost lost, yet learned to reclaim. The hand that captured Brian in his many, quizzical moods, that committed to canvas the beauty, the power, the raw sexuality that was Brian. He had never given up on the hand, the free flow of art. How could he ever give up on Brian? It will just take time. And time he had.

He turned around and found Brian's eyes following him. He was still seated--must have given up on trying to get out by himself--his hand cupping his now-flaccid organ. "I should thank you. It was my first time." Clearly, he meant after his brain hemorrhage. "You made my Phoenix rise," when I wasn't certain it ever could, the unspoken fear echoed louder than the spoken words around them.

With mock anger Justin punched Brian lightly on the shoulder, then proceeded to pull him to his feet. Their bodies making full contact, Brian began to laugh. "What's so funny," ready to be indignant Justin asked, "complaints about my bedside manners?"

"No, not at all. But now that we're finally both fully naked--if not necessarily fully functional --you want to go back to bed?"