It had been Gardner Vance's suggestion. On a holiday social call to the Kinney loft, he had offered Brian--and guest, or guests--the use of his lakeside estate in the mountains. No mere cabin, the tucked-away vacation home was elaborately appointed with every amenity imaginable--heated indoor pool, game room, billiard table, Jacuzzi, fireplace, and a fully stocked bar.

Brian's first instinct was to decline--he wasn't sure he was ready for any out-of-town escapades; being only three months into recovery, making it in his own sandbox was all the challenge he could handle. But he knew that Justin, his faithful shadow, could probably use the break from the grueling routine of their Pittsburgh existence. Besides, all work and no play made Justin a dull boy. And snowbound sex sounded like a damn good elixir for both of them. He called back Vance and accepted.

The next hurdle, not unexpectedly, had been their overprotective "family." Michael had gone into overdrive as he'd begun to obsess over details, fuss over the various dangers and contingencies they could face, and hadn't hesitated to express his general mistrust in Justin's abilities to look after Brian and return him, intact, to Michael's loving care.

As their departure approached, everyone seemed to regard the simple trip on a par with a major expedition to the arctic pole. Supplies were volunteered--from snow goggles to life vests for the pool. Debbie arrived with two shopping bags full of munchies and a thermos of hot chocolate for the couple-hours long drive, and Lindsay took it upon herself to organize, double-check, and repack everything they were taking. Justin made a pithy comment about feeling like Gus going off to nursery school.

But finally they were packed into the Jeep, Brian's wheelchair tucked into the back along with the bags and gear, care for Rufus arranged. They were already well on the road when they heard on the radio that they would be heading into fresh snowfall in the mountains.

Dusk was fast settling around them, the headlights of the Jeep cutting a path in the swirling snow. Justin slowed down as he weaved his way in the blinding whiteness. The car tires slipped a few times on the freshly fallen powdery substance, Justin correcting for it with jerky motions and quick brakes. Beyond praying, Brian was now wondering whether he should simply remove Justin from the driver's seat and take over for both their sakes. He was certain he could do a better job with one arm and one foot. Besides, he was hedging his bets; if Justin's driving didn't land them in a ditch, taking a few more of his limbs out of commission, just the worry itself would give him a heart attack or another stroke. Goddamn vacation, right? Just what the doctor ordered....

After what seemed an eternity, they finally pulled into the designated driveway, miraculously all in one piece.

"Are you sure this is it?" Justin asked dubiously, awestruck. "Vance must be loaded!"

Indeed, the place was impressive. It was a massive two-story brick structure with a white stone portico at the front and a wrought-iron balcony on the upper level. Situated on a lake, Brian knew the estate contained not only the water facilities but a tennis court and landscaped gardens for warm-weather enjoyment. Last summer, Vance had hosted a firm retreat up here, so Brian was no stranger to the premises.

"Yeah," he muttered now to Justin. "This is it. And yes, Vance is loaded--at least he was, until he made me partner." He began to contemplate getting himself into the house across the snow-covered ground.

Justin was just getting out of his side when the double doors to the house opened. The light spilling out silhouetted a stocky, middle-aged man dressed in a wool jacket and accompanied by a large-boned, heavy-coated dog. The two advanced in practiced tandem toward the Jeep, the man reaching the passenger-side door, the dog sitting silently, watching, by his side.

"Mr. Kinney, sir? My name is Gunther and this is Max, my Sergeant-at-Arms. I live just down the road. Mr. Vance called me about your visit. At your service, sir, with whatever you might need."

Justin, coming around from the driver's side, reached out to shake the man's hand as he introduced himself. A low grumbling greeted him, halted as Gunther gave a clipped order to calm the dog. "He's a German Shepherd, trained to protect," he added in way of explanation. "But once he checks you out, he should be okay." Turning his attention to the task at hand, he asked, "How can I help?" It was clear that he must have been informed about Brian; it was equally clear that he was not about to presume and impose his services unless specifically asked.

Hesitating for a moment as his gaze surveyed their generously packed baggage, Justin pointed vaguely at the back of the Jeep. "Help unload all this stuff?" Unloading Brian was his affair.

Uncertain how to proceed on that point, Justin hesitated again, gauging the distance to the front door. The wheelchair wasn't a practical option, not on the snow. Big, flat white flakes were clinging to his hair and jacket as he stood there, deciding what to do, while Brian awkwardly unfastened his seat belt and leaned forward.

"Can you navigate, with my help?" Justin asked, worried.

Brian shrugged with one shoulder as he twisted himself on the seat to move out. "Fuck if I know. I haven't done snow. Well... at least not this kind." He gave a derisive laugh at his own joke.

Justin smiled and attempted to look efficient as he passed Brian's crutch to him from the back seat. "Well, let's try it." He slipped an arm around Brian's waist and supported his right side as the bigger man gingerly climbed out and balanced on his left foot. "Easy..." he cautioned, as Brian distributed his weight, wincing at the stiffness of his cramped muscles.

Using Justin and the crutch, Brian took a few little steps forward, shuffling his right foot ahead, building a little pile of snow in front of him with each shuffle. The still-falling powder coated them both as they made their way across the driveway to the entrance. Fortunately, there was only one small step up to the threshold, easily managed by the method they had been taught.

Brian was breathing hard and beginning to tremble as they stepped inside. Justin noticed peripherally that the dog had followed behind him with an almost herding motion, and as they paused it moved in front of them and trotted excitedly over to an armchair in the foyer, dancing in circles around it as if giving directions. Understanding and grateful, Justin guided Brian to the indicated seat and helped him down into it.

"Aaaahh...." Brian expelled a deep sigh of exhausted triumph as he relaxed.

Gunther came through with another load of luggage and Justin, feeling guilty, headed out to help with the unpacking. He saw Brian extend his left fingers toward the black and tan dog.

"Hey, Max... hey, boy..."

Justin paused, turning back, uncertain whether or not to trust the animal. But the big dog merely sniffed at the proffered hand before bestowing an approving lick.

Leaving Brian to rest, Justin quickly called his mother and Michael about their arrival, then followed Gunther for a grand tour of the premises. He found their luggage in the first floor guest room. The large, king-size bed was already turned down and a wood fire burned in the terracotta-tiled fireplace to break the winter chill of the mountains. Rows of candles, unlit, were arranged on various surfaces, and a bowl of yellow roses decorated the nightstand. The far side of the room opened to a spacious marble-lined bathroom, with double sinks, shower stall, and a sunken Jacuzzi in its center. The Jacuzzi was circled with candles and potted plants. Nothing in the guest quarters was handicap-accessible, but Justin expected no such modifications. He was confident they would manage.

The kitchen was fully stocked, and so was the adjoining wet-bar--temptation Justin noted to himself they both would have to resist. Brian was not allowed to drink for medical reasons, and he could not afford to get drunk and fail in his duties as Brian's guardian. There was always Perrier and guava juice.

The bar served as a divider between the kitchen and the game room. One wall of the game room was all glass, and beyond it lay the indoor pool. Gunther, in preparing for the guests, must have turned on the pool's heating unit, for Justin noticed steam rising from the water. He opened the sliding door and stepped into the pool area, letting the humid air and water vapor envelope him. Still chilled from his repeated treks to the car, he closed his eyes for a moment and allowed the warmth to seep into his pores. He could almost feel the silky water wash over his skin, the faint smell of chlorine triggering memories from his childhood and youth. He tried to conjure a picture of Brian in the water, the sleek, smooth-muscled body floating pliant between his arms, but no responding image came to mind. He and Brian had never gone swimming together, never gone to much of any place together--it was the loft, the diner, the bars, a life contained within the four squares of their Liberty Avenue turf and gang. And then he'd left, too soon, forfeiting the chance to build more memories. To diversify their life, to share. He hoped it wasn't too late for second chances.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he decided to return to the source of his ruminations and his constant preoccupation. He found Brian still in the foyer, slumped in the comfortable chair and slightly dozing. Max was lying in front, as if protecting the sleeping man, and turned once in a while to place an affectionate lick on Brian's hand.

Justin came up to the side of the chair and gently hugged the other's shoulders. "Brian? Brian... Don't you want to get up, drink something, explore the place?"

"Ah-hum," Brian mumbled, sluggishly returning to consciousness. He responded to the hug by leaning his forehead against Justin's, a gesture that invariably melted the younger man's heart, then opened his eyes. "Let's." Pushing against the arm of the chair, he struggled to his feet, leaning on Justin for support. Only then did he notice Gunther standing by the door, an undecipherable expression on his face. "Thanks for the hospitable welcome," he smiled at the man, "and for the guard services of this special guy." He pointed at Max. "That'll be all we need for tonight, I think. If it's okay with you, we'll call tomorrow if we need anything."

Gunther nodded, zipping up his heavy coat. "Very well, then, sir. Enjoy your evening." With a hand signal, he summoned his dog and was gone.

Warm and refreshed, Brian was beginning to believe this little getaway had been a good idea after all. It was pleasant to sit in the large country kitchen with a mug of hot cider and watch the snow falling outside through the French doors. Everything looked clean and new, bright white against the dark of night, not like back in Pittsburgh where snow was dirty and messy and smog and city lights dimmed the pristine purity of freshly-fallen snow. Snug inside the lavish home, he didn't have to worry about the impositions inflicted by his handicaps, and he realized he was actually grateful for the excuse not to have to be active, welcomed the opportunity to simply take life slow and easy. It was a surprising revelation.

"Come take a look at the bedroom," Justin insisted, like a frisky young puppy eager to be active. He scampered around the table to Brian's chair, retrieved the crutch and held it out, coaxing. Mellow, Brian sighed and took it, struggled to his feet.

"Lead on, McDuff," he teased. The bedroom. Naturally. Show time. Get off your ass, Kinney, and go for it.

In the master suite, Brian mentally extended compliments to Vance's decorators. The furnishings were expensive and tasteful, the overall effect comfortable and masculine. He began to consider the staid British Vance in a new light; the man wasn't as stodgy as he'd thought.

Justin was flitting around, flicking his Bic, setting flame to the myriad candles resting on all available surfaces. God, if the kid got any more excited he was going to explode! Amused, Brian limped over to glance into the bathroom.

"Hey, check out the whirlpool," Justin called over his shoulder, still busy with his pyrotechnical displays.

"Nice," Brian admired. Gazing around the unadjusted bathroom, he was mentally ticking off the perils he might encounter when he was startled by a hand slipping around his ribs, followed by warm breath against the side of his neck.

"Be even nicer if it was filled."

Brian grinned, tickled by both Justin's enthusiastic lust and the prospect of soaking his aching body in the warm, bubbly water. "I'm game."

Justin pressed a kiss against his neck, then moved around to stand in front of him. He began to remove Brian's clothes, unbuttoning the flannel shirt and slipping it off his shoulders. His hands caressed the bared chest with tender strokes.

Brian was grateful for the crutch as he felt the tremors of desire weaken his precarious stance. His cock began to swell as Justin unfastened his belt and unzipped his suddenly too-tight fly.

He cupped the back of Justin's head with his left hand and pulled him in close for a deep kiss, his tongue darting into the welcoming mouth with practiced certainty, enjoying the familiar response he received from his willing partner. As he concentrated on the mutual pleasure of the contact, he was dimly aware of his jeans and briefs being slid down to pool at his ankles, then of being guided to sit on the vanity bench.

With a shaky breath, Justin withdrew. "Wait here," he instructed.

Slowly, Brian finished undressing himself as Justin lit the candles in the bathroom and started the water running in the Jacuzzi. Quickly shedding his own apparel, Justin turned back to him. "Ready?"

The descent to the tub was carefully choreographed and less than graceful; once they were both safely in place, Justin reached over and started the jets pulsating. The water began to bubble and froth as it vibrated around them.

Leaning against one porcelain side, Brian expelled a deep sigh of contentment and laid his head back. The bliss was exquisite, perfect. Seated across from him, Justin gently lifted his right foot onto his lap and began rubbing, starting at the ankle and working his way up the lax muscles of his calf. Brian felt only a slight tingling but the massage by fingers and water was oddly pleasing. He relaxed; this was almost as good as an orgasm.

"Don't fall asleep," Justin warned, leaning forward. His fingers moved upward and now Brian could feel them on his balls, the touch soft and rhythmic.

Opening his eyes halfway, gazing at his tormentor, he grinned. "That would be unlikely," he proclaimed acerbically as he shifted, squirming under the persuasive hand. He caught Justin's head with his left hand and pulled him close, working his tongue between the parted lips.

The heat of the water combined with the heat of his blood and his pulse quickened as sweat beaded on his face. Justin scooted up on his knees until he was straddling his pelvis, their cocks bumping against each other as they continued to kiss and fondle each other. Brian managed to snag the bar of soap and begin to lather his partner all over; it occurred to him that this was the first time since his release that he'd been able to participate this actively. The bathtub was more conducive to motion than the shower stall seat, and he felt freed from constrictions.

Justin seemed to be enjoying himself, too, partly being the aggressor, partly letting Brian take the lead. He quivered as Brian caressed him intimately with the soap, his fair skin flushed a deep pink and peppered with goosebumps. It was a decadently delightful experience, and Brian would have come right then and there without his iron control. He took a deep, shaky breath and managed to raise himself into a sitting position.

"Not yet..." he insisted, indicating that Justin pull back, too.

Justin smiled his bright, sunshine-grin. "You stay here and relax. I'll be right back to help you out," he promised. With the agility of his youth and health, he hopped out of the Jacuzzi and grabbed a towel before heading for the bedroom. He returned, carrying two heavy white terrycloth robes. Carefully and with little difficulty, he managed to get Brian out and swaddled in the robe.  

Justin was in pain, his erection hard as rock. Reluctantly, he released Brian's slowly relaxing organ and lay over the long, lanky body, supporting himself with both arms. He slipped his cock into the narrow passageway between Brian's smooth, warm thighs and began to thrust. His breathing grew rushed and harsh, his pulse escalating to a staccato of drums in his ears and he came, almost on impact. He collapsed onto his lover, their sweat and semen mingling as they held each other, trying to catch their breath. Nested between Brian's legs, Justin felt his cock stir again.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Brian asked. His voice was an alien sound breaking the silence between them laden with sex and spent passion.

Justin lost his budding erection. He'd fucked Brian once--and only once--on a night not that long ago that now seemed eons away. Much--everything--had changed since then.

"No," his voice was flat as he answered. "I'm whipped--you must be too. Let's go to sleep."

They woke to the sound of clattering dishes and the unmistakable smell of bacon and pancakes. The sun was angled high on the horizon; they must have slept into late morning, bodies tangled in warm repose under the heavy down comforter. Brian gave a grunt of protest as Justin stirred beside him. Soothing him with a kiss, the other scooted out of bed and, slipping on the robe discarded last night, headed for the door. "I'm going to investigate that noise. If we're lucky, it's the breakfast fairy . . ."

Brian, still groggy with sleep, made it to the bathroom and back by the time Justin returned with a wide grin on his face and with Gunther in tow.

"Good morning, Mr. Kinney, care for some breakfast, Pennsylvania Dutch style?" He was carrying an oversized bed tray loaded with piles of steaming food.

Brian's eyes opened fully as he took in the tray of plenty. "Looks great Gunther--it must be our rations for the rest of the week. Can we donate part of it to the local needy?" He pulled himself to a sitting position and looked on as the man opened the tray stands and arranged it in front of him. "By the way, call me Brian."

"Yes sir, I will. Mr. Brian, sir."

Justin skidded up on the bed to survey the generous offerings, only then realizing that he was starving. Mouth already full with eggs and bacon, he turned to Gunther. "Looks like the snow stopped. Do you have anything like a toboggan or sled we could use?"

"Yeah, with a few extras from the Reindeer Rockettes to pull me around," Brian chimed in.

"Yes, sir, on both counts. Mr. Vance loves winter sports, so he keeps several snow vehicles around. Unfortunately, the reindeer are otherwise engaged--Santa hasn't returned them to the stables yet. But you're in luck--in deference to his city friends, Mr. Vance also has a motorized sled. I'll get it ready right away."

The man was a fucking marvel, deadpan delivery and all, Justin thought appreciatively. Too bad they didn't make them like that down in the Pitts.

Garbed in snowsuits and boots, armed with sunglasses, gloves and blankets, they met Gunther at the back entrance to the house. The estate backed into rolling hills, somnolent under the pristine snow cover broken only by clutches of pines, their evergreen branches powdered white and sparkling like crystal ornaments in the bright mountain sun.

The short walkway to the back gate was cleared, and Brian had little trouble making it to the sled, motor already running. Justin bundled him up and secured him in the back seat, then turned his full attention to Gunther as he mapped out for them the surrounding slopes. Fully aware of their greenhorn status, he also offered to lead them up the best hill for Intro to Sledding 101 and, agreeing with his assessment, they wisely accepted his offer.

Justin drove, Gunther hung on to the back of the sled, and even Max materialized from somewhere to accompany them, breaking into a fast-paced lupine trot as they headed uphill.

The view from the top was breathtaking. Several small lakes, frozen over solid, littered the landscape mostly divided into large estates. Even from the distance they could single out the stately homes, stables, and manicured gardens stripped bare by the harsh winter. Thin white columns of smoke rose from countless chimneys, a telltale sign that the homes were occupied by the permanent tenants and their Yuletide guests. A beautiful, life-size picture puzzle with pieces reminiscent of genteel British countryside and Alpine serenity--yet, Brian thought, when all the pieces fell into place it was still pure Americana. Playground for Pennsylvania's rich, backyard to his own Pittsburgh, woven of the same fabric. Home.

Gunther jumped off the sled, pulled out a pair of cross-country ski shoes, and donning them, began trudging nonchalantly down the hill. He turned, pointing toward the Vance house in the distance. "Just go straight 'as the crow flies.' Don't engage the engine. And be sure to get in before sunset. All those hills look alike in the dark." Hesitating for a moment, his eyes assessed the two men. With quick decision he added, "I'm leaving Max with you. He loves playing in the snow, and being local, knows his way around." Turning to the large German Shepherd he gave a hand signal and a command, "Stay. Guard," and was gone.

Tickled but not offended by Gunther's protectiveness, Justin idled the engine and turned back to his companion. "Ready for Brian and Justin's excellent adventure? This is a good time to bail, or else . . ."

Brian answered him with a grimace and a loud, "Warp speed now, Scotty!" as Justin angled the sled and they began their trek down.

The sled was picking up speed, kicking up clouds of virgin snow to shroud them in a white misty veil. Max, four-legged centurion to their chariot of ice, accelerated into a bouncy lope to keep up with his companions, his large red tongue hanging out from black canine lips pulled into an almost-human smile. Both men were shrieking with exhilaration by the time the sled came to a thudding halt at the bottom of the hill. Brian's arm hugged Justin from behind, his face buried in the warmth of the other's neck. Squirming, Justin half turned in his seat, cupping Brian's face with his gloved hands, and just stared at him for a long moment. He knew every line, every angle of that face, its mercurial beauty engraved on the artist-palette of his mind, the emotions it generated a constant echo in his heart. And yet, Brian's face could always change, hold new surprises--like now, the upturned curve of his mouth, the sunlight dancing in the bright hazel of his eyes, the tilt of his head all spoke of a joy, a heedless abandon Justin had never seen before. Brian looked free. The sudden wave of tenderness that rose in Justin almost knocked the wind out of him, and he leaned in to kiss the slightly parted, wind-chapped lips. "Did you enjoy the slide, 'my precious'?" They were both Tolkien fans. "We can drive up again."

Brian only nodded, smiling, pulling Justin closer for another kiss.

Their second trip down was more eventful, with Justin steering the sled into a crazy-quilt zigzag, the two of them yodeling all the while and prompting Max to join them with a soulful howl of his own. The last turn was too wide and the sled swung out, tipped, and landed on its side, spilling the two giggling riders into a bank of snow. Scrambling to reach Brian, Justin crawled over in his direction on all fours, his fair face flushed with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yup. Drowning in the white stuff. Feeling improbably young."

Justin showed a side of himself Brian had never seen before: he was ruthless. After ten minutes of hostilities, Brian lay half buried in the icy rubble of direct hits to his person, snow sticking to his jacket, melting under his collar, trickling from his eyebrows and hair. Max was running around, barking at them, acting like a self-appointed furry peace negotiator, and having about as much luck as his UN counterparts.

"Had enough? Ready to surrender yet?" Brain's inquisitor, looking sixteen and all sweet innocence, leaned over him with a hand offered in truce.

"Depends. What are your terms?"

The sweet-sixteen look disappeared, shriveling under the hot, lascivious leer in the blue eyes seizing him up. Laughing, Brian raised his hand. "Don't even tell me. Horny little sex maniac. Can I take a nap at least first?"

"Wait a minute--I thought you were doing the surrendering, I was setting the conditions. To the victor the spoils, and all that good stuff. But all right, you drive a hard bargain. Peace, love," and giving Brian the peace sign with spread fingers, Justin collapsed into the snow by Brian's side to kiss his trophy prize.

Numb and stiff from their snowy escapade, Brian leaned heavily on the other as he painfully made his way back to the house. Guilt suffused Justin for indulging himself in play and forgetting how fragile his playmate still was, how limited in what he could do.

Seeing them making their way slowly up the steps, Gunther brought the wheelchair to the entrance and wordlessly helped Brian settle into it. "Seems like you three had a jolly good time," he nodded toward the two men and patted Max on the head. "Why don't you go, get rid of the wet clothes and warm up by the fire. I'll bring you something hot to drink."

Justin was in full blown panic now, remembering the difficulty Brian had post-stroke in regulating his body temperature; most likely not even aware of being chilled to the bone.

The bedroom was warm, brightly lit by the winter sun and scented with pine-cones burning alongside the heavy logs in the hearth. With quick and efficient hands Justin moved Brian to the bed and stripped his now-shaking body, pulling up the comforter and tucking him in tightly. Brian's lips were bluish with cold, his eyelids pale and translucent, seeming too tired and quiet as he lay there, still trembling. Hesitating only for a moment, Justin shed his own clothes and slid in beside him, matching the shivering body to his and spooning him into his embrace. He barely caught Brian's whispered words. "Thanks for not letting me win." He tightened his arms in response, but there was no answer. Brian was already asleep.

He woke cocooned in arms, anchored in warmth. He stretched, luxuriating in feeling rested and whole, with only a tinge of soreness in his left arm. He remembered--his battle-fatigued, snowball throwing arm. He felt a moment's total contentment, and the words of an ancient song came unbidden to his mind. If I could place time in a bottle . . .

He must have been humming the tune, for Justin stirred, squeezing his ribs. "Are you purring, Bri?"

"Na-ah. Singing." He replied, but stopped.

"How can you sing at a time like this?"

"At a time like what?"

"I'm hungry. I'm thirsty." Justin sounded petulant. "And worst of all . . ." he paused, sneaking his hand from Brian's waist to his groin, fingers seeking out the other's organ nested dormant amid his pubic hair.

"You have an evil hand, bewitching fingers, and a one-track mind. Still'n'all, I think you're more fond of your digestive system than of your sex organs. So, let's eat first." Two years of knowing Justin taught Brian some of the basics about the care and feeding of his youthful ward.

Rolling out of bed and pulling his pants on his bare bottom, Justin left in search of food. Gunther was long gone, but he'd left an assortment of edible treats on the kitchen counter and in the fridge. Piling some fruit, cheeses and juice on a tray, Justin carried the spoils back to the bedroom--their bedroom, as he'd already come to think of it.

He found Brian on the recliner in front of the fireplace, wrapped only in his black silk robe. Depositing the tray on a serving table, Justin dropped on his knees by Brian's side and handed him a glass of orange juice. "Sorry, no trace of guava anywhere. That's all I could find." He picked a slice of cheese and hand-fed it to Brian while his gaze strayed to the red, perfectly shaped lips. His free hand dropped to the smooth expanse of skin exposed by the casually open robe. Running his fingers down Brian's neck and chest, savoring the warmth, he forgot all about eating. He untied the constraining belt and watched as the light silk fabric parted, revealing more bare skin. He bent to dip his tongue in Brian's belly button, followed the path of dark hair across the concave plain of the well-muscled stomach, blending into the rich brown curly pubies. The great penis, heavy with blood and hard to the touch, was ready and waiting for him.

With a shuddering sigh, Justin bowed his head and captured the other in his mouth, whispering "You have the most amazing cock on the planet," as he began to suck.

"Don't talk with you mouth full . . . aaahhh," Brian guffawed, his words cut mid-sentence by the first pulse of intense sensation, somewhere between pleasure and pain.

It was a short and basic exercise in carnal gratification, leaving Brian sated and spent. He leaned back in the recliner, eyes closed, savoring the feel of the warm and wet tongue on his belly as Justin lapped up his cum, planting rows of kisses and tiny love-bites along the way. Something in it reminded Brian of Rufus, often grooming him with his sharp, thorny tongue following some obscure feline directive. A guttural laughter bubbled up in his throat as he pulled up Justin's head to him, scratched behind his ear and murmured, "Good pussy, fastidious pussy, horny pussy." He reached down for the other's still achingly erect organ, offering to reciprocate, but Justin stepped back, shaking his head. "No, not yet."

He elaborated, to answer the questioning eyebrow. "Sometimes I enjoy being on the edge. 'Blue balls' can add an element of excitement to life. Like a tightly pulled cord waiting to be strummed. Later." He shrugged, thinking of the months he bedded Ethan, dreamed of Brian. He knew a lot about blue balls, but not anything he wanted to share.

Not pressing the point, Brian caressed the curve of Justin's hip, adding affectionately. "My young master of the artful blow job. Makes my heart . . . I mean cock . . . swell." He let his hand drop into his lap and sat for a while, silently watching as Justin began to sample the food. His question, when he asked it, came out of nowhere and caught Justin unawares.

"Tell me the truth. Do you not mind?"

Confused, Justin knew that he happened upon a continuing private monologue the topic of which he wasn't privy to. "Not mind what?"

"Me. Being the way I am. Being . . . this way." With an eloquent gesture Brian swept the length of his body. "Can you still be attracted to . . . this?" Self-loathing mingled with despair as he spoke.

Justin's first instinct was to tell Brian about that night on Liberty Avenue when he'd met the most stunningly beautiful, sexual man he'd ever seen. Tell him that for Justin, that night has never ended. His heart was still in his throat every time he laid eyes on Brian or even just thought of him. His first instinct was to tell Brian the truth. But this was uncharted territory, and he didn't know where to start.

"Brian, have you looked in the mirror lately?" It was a rhetorical question. "You haven't changed. You're still gorgeous. Besides, as witnessed by our daily extracurricular activities, it's obvious I'm still madly attracted to you." With an openly lewd gesture he stroke his own hard penis. "But that's not what this is about--looks, physical pull, sex. Not for me, not any more." He waited for his words to sink in.

"And this is the part where you tell me some bullshit about beauty being skin deep, and it's what's inside a person that really counts? Oprah-speak? Don't fucking bother!"

"To an artist's eye, beauty is always a package. But I'd lie if I said I wasn't aware of, or attracted to, the outside wrapping. Tell me though, how do you think you changed?"

Brian gave him a look implying he'd surely lost his mind. "What part of the past three months have you missed?"

Ignoring the sarcastic comment, Justin continued pushing. "Brian, answer me--how do you see yourself?" Brian was quiet for a long time, withdrawing into some dark, private place. His voice, coming in a low key, took Justin by surprise. "Compromised. I feel compromised. Sitting on a fucking carousel that's spinning out of control, with the painted wooden horse trying to buck me and throw me off."

"Brian, you're in control of your own life more than anyone I've ever known. You're recovering; cut yourself some slack. Allow yourself to lean on others. You were the one who told me once, 'a man needs to know when to accept help.' Accept it gracefully, and trust yourself. I do." He stepped back to the recliner and sat, gathering Brian's legs into his lap. "Besides, did it ever occur to you that I just might enjoy helping you, being needed by you?"

Brian grilled him with a long, hard look darkened by a mix of emotions Justin couldn't decipher. Then, with a smirk, he asked. "Am I still the top?"

"You're the top. You'll always be my top. But Brian, baby, "and Justin's eyes twinkled with glee at his choice of endearment, "it isn't about control." He wanted to say, it's about love, but didn't.

It took Brian the better half of the day to recover from their morning activities; it forced Justin to swear to higher vigilance in guarding Brian from overexerting himself. He was also worried about a possible bout of the flu or the common cold--Brian could ill-afford it with his system still compromised by the pneumonia and stroke that had almost killed him. Fuck me, Justin thought, I'm becoming as bad as Mom or Debbie with this mother hen act. Except, he knew, he would have little luck keeping this particular chick in the coop.

By afternoon the skies were overrun with heavy clouds glowing with a steely grey hue, a sure harbinger of new snow. Well rested, slightly bored and knowing they would have to stay in, they made some obligatory phone calls and then decided to try the pool. Off the game room, it lay inviting beyond the glass divider, steam hovering over the still surface of the water and a light mist hanging onto the leaves of the plants lining the periphery.

They had never been to swim while they lived together, and since the stroke Brian's water excursions were strictly therapeutic, with trained rehab staff doing the work and Justin providing the pool-side cheers.

"Naked, right?" Brian confirmed with an expectant grin as he shed his robe and stood, comfortable with his nudity. "My dick plans to conduct its own underwater experiments--d'you think my balls are buoyant enough to float?"

Laughing, Justin reached for the above-referenced balls. "Speaking as an expert, I think they're too big and heavy to keep above water. I'll just have to volunteer and hold them for you."

They proceeded with a short spat about water safety--namely, Justin insisted that Brian wear a life-vest and Brian flatly refused. Being bigger, louder and just plain meaner--Justin's words--Brian won that round.

"I don't mind if you drown, you'll have to deal with the consequences yourself." Justin was a sore loser.

"If I drown, I won't have to deal with anything," Brian pointed out logically. "You, on the other hand, will probably have to face a jury of your peers and explain how you could let a helpless cripple in the water without the proper precautions. And you'll so go to jail . . ."

Deciding not to dignify him with an answer, Justin only threw an evil glare in his direction and began to strip.

"C'mon, Sunshine, show me a smile," Brian extended his arm and folded Justin into a hug. "So, what was all that talk about learning to lean on others? I'm all yours."

"I wish." The words were out of Justin's mouth before he could stifle them. He looked at Brian, breath held for a moment, but there was no visible sign that the comment registered with the other, or stirred opposition to the sentiment it expressed. Grateful, he lifted Brian's paralyzed arm to rest on his shoulders, snaked his own arm around the narrow waist, and rose on his toes to plant a kiss on the taller man's neck. Slowly and with care, he supported Brian's weight as they slid the glass door open and stepped from the winter world of frosted windows and fireplaces into the humid, steamy warmth of the pool.

They sat on the edge, dangling their feet in the warm water, then Justin dived in and extended his arms toward the other. "Jump in--I'll catch you." Seeing the hesitation on Brian's face, he added, "Yes, I'm strong enough to hold you, at least in the water. It's your one and only chance to be carried by me."

Gingerly sliding into the inviting arms Brian leaned into their embrace, whispering in a breathless falsetto, "My Prince, I'm at your mercy, whisk me away!"

He leaned back, Justin's hands supporting the nape of his neck and the small of his back, and he was floating--floating without weight and worry, unafraid and free. Earth, water, wind and fire . . . Was it the four elements or a damn rock group of the Summer of Love fame? No matter. Water was his friend. He felt soothed, appeased by the silky liquid surrounding him, molding to his form, accepting his broken body and buying him the illusion--however elusive and fleeting--of being whole again.

Respecting his silence, Justin remained quiet himself for what must have been a personal record for him. Finally, tilting Brian's body upright he asked, "Want to swim?"

Brian was able to swim after a fashion, but it was a joyless exercise with his agility and physical grace compromised. "If I do, will it count toward my physiotherapy credits for the day?" Nodding, Justin held him while he found his balance then began a version of the breaststroke he'd learned, but was far from perfecting, during rehab. Justin anxiously hovered by his side, just in case.

Brian made it to the other end of the pool and back, emerging with a satisfied huff as rivulets of water dripped from his hair, caught in shiny droplets on his long eyelashes. Turning his good side to the edge of the pool he stood, holding onto the rim. "Why don't you do a few lapses while I catch my breath?" He encouraged Justin and watched as the younger man's sleek body ducked underwater, heading for the deep end. He hadn't realized Justin was a good swimmer, and now enjoyed the sight of him frolicking in his element and acting his age. Old doubts about their compatibility across the age-divide surfaced to taunt him, but he shrugged them off. What the fuck did compatibility have to do with the two of them all of a sudden, anyway?

Justin butted him underwater, emerged for a lungful of air and submerged again, his mouth seeking out Brian's cock lightly bobbing in the water. Capturing the semisoft organ, he began to tease it with his lips and teeth until he had to come up again for a deep breath. Repeating the maneuver several times yielded a flushed and panting Justin and a rapidly aroused Brian.

"Flipper, you're going to drown while trying to suck me off," he grabbed Justin's shoulders, trying to keep him above water.

"You're worth it," Justin joked, but instead of diving again he pulled Brian over, holding him in his arms. He matched his body against the other's taller frame, rubbing up against him, seeking friction between their weightless, hardening shafts. Brian was moaning with quick-escalating pleasure, head thrown back and eyes closed as Justin's tongue followed the pattern of muscles on his long neck, licking his way up from hollow to Adam's apple, kissing the spot under his chin and testing with hungry lips the strong pulse of the carotid arteries under the warm, smooth skin.

"Let's get out," Brian's voice was hoarse with passion, "I want to fuck you. Now."

Holding onto each other they scrambled out of the pool and onto dry land, physical urgency choreographing their moves. They didn't dry themselves, didn't go inside--burning for each other, they stumbled over to one of the poolside loungers with their arms intertwined, hands grabbing, mouths devouring each other as they collapsed on the recliner. Justin helped Brian stretch out under him and mounted him, straddling his hips between his thighs. "Are you . . . sure?" He forced one more moment of sanity on himself as he asked. Brian'd only topped him once since the stroke . . . Jesus, since before their breakup a good nine months ago. He had to make sure the other was ready.

"Sure? Great balls of fire--am I ever fuckin sure! I need you, right here... right now..."

Scrambling to reach the condom he'd left out earlier, ever hopeful, Justin rolled it on Brian's cock and let the other guide it into him. There was no time to take care, to go slow, they were both too deep into their own need to touch, feel the other, reach completion. They were not gentle.

Justin cried out with searing pain as the massive cock slid into him, slicing him in half, tearing him open. But a wave of immense pleasure obliterated all memory of the pain, and he raised his hips slightly to impale himself harder, faster on the alien intruder that was miraculously contained within him, growing larger inside him, becoming one with his very being. He began to rock, lending the thrust the other could not. He savored the fullness laced with pain as the great head rammed into him, finding his spot, shooting arrows of pleasure through him intense enough to push his boundaries of consciousness.

His cock was captured between their bodies, rubbed, pulled and fondled by his lover--but he didn't need it. He had all he ever wanted, needed, for fulfillment with Brian inside him. He came first, surprising them both, but his strong contractions and shooting cum pushed his partner over the edge as well. Brian held onto his shoulder, fingers digging in, and with guttural moans rode the waves of orgasm, muscles convulsing as his organ released its load and its thrusts slowly subsided inside the moist, welcoming warmth of the other. Justin collapsed on top of him, hugging his neck, inhaling the distinct scent of sex mingled with the smell of chlorinated pool-water.

They stayed like this for a while. Finally Justin rose, planting a parting kiss on the raspberry-red lips. "You were wonderful."

"Right back at you," Brian's hand lazily caressed Justin's neck and shoulder in response.

"I declare you fully cured."

"Is this a benediction?" Brian's brows gathered in a mock frown.

"No, Brother Brian, but I most certainly count it as a blessing." The soft lines of the impossibly young face curved into a smile, but the look in the blue eyes held sincere. "Stay put, I'll be right back."

Without asking, he knew Brian was exhausted to the bone from swimming and lovemaking. Within minutes he returned with the wheelchair, assorted towels, and their terry bathrobes. Wiping Brian clean he slipped the robe on him and helped him into his chair. He encountered no protest. He was already maneuvering the wheels through the sliding door when Brian turned and looked up at him. "So, you just happened to have a stray condom lying around the pool? Interesting," he added with a wink.

"Perhaps our considerate host had left it there for us?" It was a feeble try, and Justin knew it.

"I think not."

With a sigh he lowered his head to the pillow, his eyelids growing heavy. Funny, he thought as he threw a possessive arm around Brian, this feels like the honeymoon I hoped to have but never will . . . Before his mind could punctuate the thought, he was asleep.

Settling down, he popped a DVD in the player, one he'd tracked down before the trip, trying to surprise Brian. As the first notes of the soundtrack came on, Brian's head shot up and he began to laugh. "Dirty Dancing? Why Justin--didn't know you were into ancient history?"

"I brought it for you. Besides, Patrick Swayze was prime stud in his time--no wonder you guys had wet dreams just thinking about him. Imagine," he came over and tousled Brian's hair affectionately, "you and Mikey, with your teenage lust and permanent woodies."

"Don't you wish you were there?" Brian retorted.

"Well, I'm here now with you and with Swayze and a woodie," Justin grinned, shamelessly guiding Brian's hand to his ever-ready hard-on. "Let's watch."

Propped up on pillows, munching and drinking, they sang and giggled their way through the movie, cheering and booing in turns. All the while they lazily fondled and stroke each other, more into tactile intimacy than raw sex in the aftermath of their earlier encounter.

The movie was over and Justin sat, quiet and thoughtful, with Brian half-leaning against him and playing with his hair.

"Why were you at the hospital?" Justin's question split the tranquility of the moment.

"Justin, baby, play close attention. I. Had. A major. Cerebral. Event. Remember?"

"No, that's not what I mean. Why were you at the hospital after . . . after Chris Hobbs?"

Brian physically recoiled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Why did you do it?" Clearly, Justin knew.

"Do what? Call 911? Accompany your unconscious body as the paramedics rushed you in? I wanted to get the 'Gay Hero of the Year' award--what else?"

"Stop the evasive bullshit, Brian! Why did you hold a nightly vigil outside my room? And . . . why have you never told me? Or anyone?"

Extricating himself from the maze of arms and blankets Brian rose, pulled on his silk robe, and hobbled over to the French windows. Nightfall was early, but the white contours of the surrounding mountains were still visible, and a new accumulation of virgin snow covered their immediate world in an iridescent glow. Everything outside was pure and pristine, in stark contrast to the dark turmoil churning inside him. The prom, the bashing, and all that came after . . . Brian's mind was reeling. Memories of the sickening sound of wood meeting bone, the feel of the cold, hard cement, and above all, the blood--warm, sticky, unstoppable, a red river flowing until it stained the cement, saturated his clothes and scarf, smeared his lips and neck. Marked him forever with fear, and guilt, and shame . . . Memories he'd tried to bury and negate assailed him now, like dogs of war howling at the gates of the fortress he'd erected of suppression and denial.

"How--when--did you find out?" Not that it really mattered. Not any more.

"My Mom. Just before I first came to see you after the stroke. Why, Brian?"

"I don't know, Justin. Don't ask me."

"I have to." When no answer came, Justin walked over to the window, to face Brian. "Was it the guilt?" The bashing was in no way Brian's fault, not in Justin's book, but it would be something he could understand.

"It was. Supposedly, I was the grownup. I should've known better and protected you. I failed." The way Brian said it, though, it was an unfinished sentence. Picking up on it, Justin pursued.

"It was more than that, wasn't it? You cared, but didn't want anyone to know. No explanations, no apologies. You always hated to be the hero."

"Shut up, Justin, just shut the fuck up! I'm no hero, never was!" Brian's temper flared, the explosion taking Justin by surprise. He reached for Brian's arm but the other pulled back, lost his balance and almost fell. Last minute he caught himself, turning away awkwardly from Justin's concerned, puzzled gaze.

Afraid to touch him, Justin tried a return to sanity. "Brian, don't do this. Don't shut me out. We've just made love."

"We fucked."

It was a direct hit, and Justin's face flushed red as he stared for a moment, incredulous. His tone escalated into full blown anger as he shouted, "I made love to you--sorry you didn't feel the same!" His face crumbled, on the verge of tears, as he tried one more time. "Please Brian, please, don't hide behind the mask." The deliberate reference, he knew, would be hurtful to them both. "Don't do this to us."

"And what if there is no 'us'?" Even as he uttered it, Brian knew he'd gone too far. Justin's body jerked backward, the words slamming into him with the force of a fist.

This time it was Brian who reached for him, leaning with his good hand on the shorter man's shoulder. He knew Justin wouldn't move away. "You need to understand, Sunshine, it isn't something I've ever analyzed. But I do know why I haven't told you about my midnight visits. The real reason. You sure you want to hear?"

Astounded by the 180-degree change in tone, Justin nodded. "I'm sure. I think we both need to know."

"Do you remember anything at all from the prom night? Actual, first-hand memories, not what Daphne, or I, or anyone else might have told you?" Voice slipping into a misleadingly calm monotone, Brian almost sounded as if he were retelling a "once upon a time" story to a child.

"No, not really," Justin answered with downcast eyes. He never understood the 'why,' but he'd always felt guilty about it, as if by not remembering he'd somehow let Brian and himself down.

"Something between us had changed that night; by you asking me as your date, by me coming. It wasn't any conscious, well-reasoned decision on my part, but by showing up I'd crossed some self-imposed divider. The dance, the kiss, the entire 'ridiculously romantic' moment in time--it was a watershed for me. Cutting the ties of my own bondage, delivering myself from my own self-imposed, petrified creed . . . no relationships, no commitments. That kiss on the parking deck--another thing you don't remember," his eyes held unfathomable sorrow as he looked at Justin, "that was a new start. For both of us." He paused, silenced by the storm of emotions raging inside him. But he had to continue, this was no place to stop.

"Then, in a split second, it was all gone. Drowned in homophobic hatred and innocent blood spilled, lost with the chunk of time that you'd lost from your life. But that promise of a new start was just as surely a victim of my own cowardice."

Justin stared at him, stunned speechless as the meaning of Brian's confession began to sink in.

Brain continued. "With you not remembering, it was easier to deny it'd ever happened and return to being Brian-Fucking-Kinney, no-heart-no-feelings, fully expected to be, and accepted, as a bastard by everyone. And of the two people who knew otherwise, one could not recall the moment, the other wasn't daring enough to keep it alive. You know the rest." He tried for a flat, emotionless tone and failed miserably. The pain gnawing at him was so palpable that Justin, fully in tune with the other's feelings, extended his fingers and traced the lines of his face.

So where did all this leave them? Justin scrambled to make some sense of his jumbled thoughts. The fact that with the prom Brian had crossed, by his own admission, a previously inviolate demarcation line was a remarkable revelation. Once fully digested, it would become a true source of joy. But equally remarkable was the fact that Brian had chosen to erase, obliterate that step using some convoluted logic that had transformed the bashing into the deus ex machina to reverse time. To undo shared feelings. And the pain of that ripped into Justin's core.

"Brian," the way he said it, cupping the other's chin in the palm of his hand, he might just as well have called him 'Love.' "Was it--was I--that threatening to you that you had to run away, using Fate that night as your ally?"

Brian's somber answer evaded the question. "The 'something' we embarked on at the prom--it might not have worked out."

"Relationship?" Justin finished the sentence with a challenging smile.

"I guess." Brian conceded.

Silence enveloped them as they both examined what had been there all along right before their eyes yet too obvious to see. Whatever had transpired before the bashing, whatever hopes and revelations had been crushed by Hobbs's hateful hands, they had gotten back together. Justin had moved in and they had shared a life. Whether it'd been everything they wanted, needed, whether it qualified as a relationship, partnership, or love, whether it fed the romantic dreams of one and fueled fears of commitment in the other, was irrelevant. A rose by any other name . . .

They knew they had to stop now. At least for a while.

Gently, Justin removed the hand resting on his shoulder and held it between his hands. "I'm sorry, Brian, for all this. And all I wanted was to thank you for being there, pulling for me. Caring. Some part of me must've felt it." A shadow smile crossed his face. "It worked, whatever you did--I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Tomorrow is New Year's Eve," Brian responded with an apparent non sequitur. "Let's call Gunther and find out what the night holds for the 'Wild Things' of the mountains as the year turns."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN will be posted on Sunday, October 19, 2003

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