Chapter 1

"What are you in for?" the boy asked, throwing a backpack on the empty bed and then throwing himself after it.

Brian shrugged, blew the smoke out the window, and stubbed his cigarette out against the wall. "My dad caught me fucking my best friend Michael in our garage." Brian ignored the twinge of regret and guilt and subterranean emotions the image still caused him. "It wasn't even a good fuck. Should have known."

"What, that your dad would find you, or that it wouldn't be a good fuck?"

"Both." Silence reigned for a minute until finally Brian sighed and said, "What about you?"

"What, it isn't obvious?" The boy looked at him upside down from arched across the bed, but the incredulous expression was still easily interpreted.

"How do I know you aren't in for drugs?"

"Oh, please," he said. "I wouldn't even know where to buy them."

"Well, it's not like you walked in singing Cher." Brian grinned at the image.

"But you still know," the boy pointed out. Brian shrugged.

"My gay-dar is a sharply honed weapon."

"So's mine. I got caught fucking the quarterback in the boy's locker room." He snorted. "Such a cliché. My dad flipped the fuck out."

"Was he hot?"

"I wouldn't have been fucking him if he wasn't."

Brian approved of this answer so much, he felt the sudden urge to introduce himself. "I'm Brian."

"Justin." He rolled to a sitting position and glanced at the door. "If we're both here for the same thing, what was the wisdom of putting us in the same room?"

"You're assuming there was wisdom," said Brian. "Or maybe it's so we won't contaminate all the non-gay boys."

"Half of them are already gay," Justin said, waving a dismissive hand. "Some guy named Jake all but crawled into my pants at morning assembly."

"Curly hair? Bad taste in jeans?"

"Yeah," said Justin. "You've met?"

"Had him." Brian paused. "We fucked in the closet before the "welcome" bell rang."

"Was he any good?"

"He didn't cover his teeth, but I give him an overall nine for enthusiasm and a hot ass."

"Good to know."

And the silence fell again. Not awkward, really, because Brian was never awkward, and he got the feeling that this Justin guy wasn't, either. After a minute, Justin bounced up from the bed and strode towards the window. Brian followed him with his eyes and took the opportunity to check out the goods and christ was that ass legal?

"Do you think this de-gayification works?"

"I think it's a load of bullshit," said Brian. "And even if the rest of the queers want to force themselves to pretend for their parent's sake, I'm not going to. I like to fuck guys."

"So what do you think they'll make us do?"

Brian shrugged. "Bible readings, whole milk, hour long prayer sessions harping on our wrongness, a full day of school curriculum, and then lights out and let the fucking begin."

"That's it?"

"This isn't China," said Brian. "They can't try and beat the gayness out of us." He uttered a low laugh. "Probably be afraid we'd enjoy it."

"Probably would," Justin muttered, and Brian felt a slight stirring of interest when he matched the pictures of Justin, hand cuffs, and Brian's leather belt. But later for that, and anyway, fucking his roommate right off the bat wasn't the best of ideas. They did have to live together without killing each other for the three and a half months until Christmas.

Justin turned away from the window and leveled him with blue, blue eyes, and a little inviting smile. "Want to go explore?"

Brian considered. He was comfortable here. But then, it was best to know where to hide from teachers and where to bring fucks and the best route to avoid the principal's office. He stood up. "You lead." And then if the surroundings got boring, he'd have something else to watch.

They mapped the lower floor where all the classrooms were, and the second floor where all the dorm rooms were. They managed to get into the teacher offices on the third through a stroke of luck--the door at the top of the stairs hadn't quite shut all the way, although it had been just a breath from latching shut.

It turned out, the teachers spent their office time in relative luxury, and their bathrooms and offices were clean and new like model homes. Except it was an old building, and the offices had obviously just been renovated, which left an odd discrepancy in the spacing. At the end of the long floor, there was a misshapen space not big enough to be a real office, but bigger than a closet had any right to be, with odd turns and bits of the two offices on each side jutting into it. Inside of it was--to both Brian and Justin's delight--a room full of contraband. Cigarettes, weed, gay porn magazines, water guns, make-up, everything. Brian immediately unziplocked the bag of weed and gave it a sniff--still fresh, so he pocketed it--and he watched Justin lazily flip through one of the magazines, something with oiled men in leather on the cover. Justin’s eyelashes fluttered and he licked his lips. The second he tossed the magazine, Brian found himself moving in, ducking down, connecting himself to those lips.

Brian thoroughly approved of Justin's mouth. So few guys had a mouth as kissable as his, and it wasn't like he was just standing there being kissed, either. He was kissing back, lick for lick. And he was fucking good at it.

A door slammed at the end of the hall and Justin jerked back just as Brian turned his head toward the sound. Luckily, they hadn't turned the light on. Brian eased the door all the way shut.

"Here," Justin whispered. "The light from the hall doesn't hit this corner." They crammed together in the odd little corner and breathed shallowly, and Brian briefly wondered how stupid this was--hiding in a school closet in Mission: Impossible mode. Still, Justin's breath tickling his collarbone was all right and as they listened, the footsteps slowly receded away from them until there was the loud bang of the door at the end of the hall, slamming automatically shut.

"Come on," said Justin, moving away. "I want to see the roof."

There hadn't been anything else as good as the contraband closet, but the roof had been fairly entertaining, with Justin leaning fearlessly over the edge and estimating the number of kids who had committed suicide off of it, while Brian estimated how many people had fucked on the giant stone slab that might in fact, have been somebody's high ceilinged office.

They'd snuck back downstairs, through the office level, and once back in their dorm room, Brian vowed to snatch some Janitor's keys and get copies made so that access would not be a thing of luck, besides which, there was still the basement to explore, and the attached building where the kitchens and the laundry were.

Lights were out at ten--ten!--and he read himself to sleep. Justin passed out the minute he hit the pillow.


They woke up in the same room and nearly killed each other, knocking together in an effort to shut the alarm clock up and then, finding that they were both in underwear, had frozen, staring at each other for a timeless moment that would probably have led to half-awake sex once Brian had gotten his mind back, before some authoritative fucker had knocked rudely on their door and yelled "Ten minutes."

The first class, Brian knew everything was going to go smoothly by the way his snivelly home room teacher Mr. Heddan shrank away from his proclamation about what he'd been sent here for. Closet queer there, all the way. In fact, Mr. Heddan tried to have three desks between them the whole hour, as if Brian's sexual preference were an airborne virus and was liable to jump to him at any time. Mr. Heddan wanted to fuck him like everybody else, but it was nothing but repress, repress, repress. There were some Norman Bates issues there, for sure.

Breakfast was after first period and Justin was already there, ensconced at a table of budding fag hags. He raised an eyebrow at Brian from across the room and gave him an inviting smile, but didn't do anything so crass as stand up and wave Brian in like a landing airplane, as he'd been half afraid would happen. So Brian made his way over, catching the occasional eye, slid in next to Justin, and stole an orange slice.

Justin introduced him to his table mates, but Brian was only paying partial attention and forgot all names as soon as he heard them. At this hour of the morning, he was only capable of thinking clearly about two things, and those were the most basic: food and sex. And food barely beat sex, at least for the moment, so he stopped staring at tall, dark, and so very queer, at the table across from them and instead stalked away to get some crappy oatmeal and fresh fruit. He hoped they could do better for lunch.

When he came back, Justin, avoiding eyes and blushing a little, was clearly being harassed by his new friends, and Brian felt obliged to defend him, as his roommate and fellow very hot queer. He slid down into his seat and slid his arm over Justin's shoulders at the same time.

"What the fuck is going on?"

At this point, one of the girls broke into uncontrollable giggles and the rest grinned back at him, as if he were a particularly adorable species of puppy. He knew he was hot, but this was just weird. He glared all around on principle

"Justin's got a booooyfriend," said one.

"Shut up." It was Justin's turn to glare.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G," said another.

"Oh, please," said Brian. "What are we, in third grade?" But he removed his arm from around Justin. Wouldn't want any potential fucks to get the wrong idea. It was going to be difficult enough overturning social conditioning, one wannabe closet-case at a time, without people thinking he had a boyfriend. And did these girls not realize what school they were at? Jesus, the thought police would be on them at any second, wielding bibles.

Justin ignored everyone and kept eating. Brian glared again, shrugged, and did the same. Except after he'd taken the edge off of the hunger, he carefully moved his hand underneath the table, inside Justin's shirt and stroked the soft, warm skin below Justin's bellybutton. He slanted a glance at Justin, and Justin, not looking at him, gave back a secret smile.

Second period was history, and Brian had always found that easy. He merely had to sit there and absorb in order to ace tests, and he wasn't worried about the iron-haired little teacher, with the old-lady sweater. Third period was English. Brian dozed.

Fourth was Math. The class was taught by a teacher so elderly, Brian found himself watching him for signs of imminent death. At least that would be fairly entertaining. When Justin dropped into the seat beside him, seconds before the bell rang, he suddenly knew this was going to be a very good class. Teacher obliviousness + Hot boy / an hour = fun.

They were in the back, where the doddering teacher probably couldn't even see them. Brian sprawled back in his chair and prepared to tune out the introductory lecture, like he'd been doing all morning. Justin, playing the good little student, dragged out his notebook and attempted to take notes on the grading scale and the percentage of homework and tests and all the other boring stuff that math teachers across the world delighted in. Instead, Brian found himself taking Justin-notes. Mental, of course. He catalogued the nice ass, the straight spine, the fine hairs growing at the nape of Justin's neck, the firm line of jaw, plush bottom lip, flat chest, taut stomach, surprisingly large feet, and his memory provided him with a snapshot of Justin in tighty-whities from this morning, as Justin had bumped into him, groggy, warm, and sporting morning wood. Justin's cock in those ridiculous underwear was a perv's wet dream. And Brian guessed this made him a perv, because he planned to catch him that way as often as possible, and perhaps sometimes with even less on.

He didn't know he was grinning wolfishly until Justin glanced at him and then stuck, staring, with a slow smile spreading across his mouth and it sent something electric down Brian’s spine. The teacher raised his voice in emphasis, crackling over some point of imagined importance, and Justin turned back to the front. Brian let his eyes wander over the rest of his classmates. Boring, boring, nice ass, boring, worth fucking, girl, girl, so very very gay, girl, boring.

One kid was looking back at him and Brian gave him a slow once-over, so there would be no mistaking his intent. Something snapped to attention in the boy's gaze, a look of interest that Brian could recognize from across a crowded dance floor, in near total darkness. But then the kid scowled, his face crumpling in disgust, and he mouthed, "fucking fag!" and Brian wrote him off. The closet homophobes were sometimes fun to fuck just because of all that self-loathing and need for punishment, but they were ultimately a fucking pain in the ass.

By the end of the hour, Justin had two pages of notes, and Brian had an expanded list of fuckables and unfuckables. They went to lunch.

"Let's eat outside," said Brian. "Maybe your fan club won't find us there."

"They were completely normal until you showed up," said Justin, getting in line. Brian leaned in and said softly in his ear, "The thought of us fucking was too much for them." And then he watched Justin's neck flush pink, even though his face was impassive. Brian was surprised to find he was enjoying this so much. Most guys he'd already have shoved into a closet somewhere and fucked them blind. Maybe it was because watching Justin react was really, disturbingly fun. Every move Justin made was entertaining. Brian found himself thinking of ways to get more out of him. For instance, how would he react if Brian made him angry? Or horny? Or both at once? All were intriguing possibilities.

When they were sitting side-by-side under a tree, eating sandwiches, Justin said, "I wish I had my sketchbook."

"You draw?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Not really. I'm okay at it. I like photography better." Brian had forced himself to learn to draw because it fit in with his career goals, but he knew it was just a tool, not something he was good at, not something he wanted to do. But photography was different. Finding the odd angles, the best way to capture the feeling of a place or a person--that was interesting.

"I heard this school has a darkroom," said Justin. "Off of the art room. You want to go find it?"

"Yeah," said Brian, throwing down the last bite of his sandwich in front of a particularly fearless squirrel.

---

The art room was deserted, luckily. Then they didn't have to answer to any of the teachers or offer explanations, or submit to being supervised as if they were three and going to break things.

The first door let into the kiln, and Brian shut it and moved on. The second door was storage, which left the last door. Inside was a curtain, and Brian shut the door after them before opening the curtain and entering the orangish, subterranean glow of the darkroom. It reminded him of dark corners in clubs, and of rooms filled with sex and hazy eyes watching him appreciatively. He felt right at home.

They peered into the trays set around the table. All were empty, but there were two pictures pinned up to finish developing. Brian squinted at them. One was of a building of some kind--it wasn't finished developing. The other was a little further along and it--well, it showed two men fucking. Brian nudged Justin with an elbow.

"Look."

"Oh my God," said Justin, after he’d squinted at it and recognized it for what it was. "Who would be stupid enough to leave that here?"

"I wonder who it is?"

"I don't know. They're both kind of old. Maybe some of the teachers?" Justin stuck out his tongue a little in disgust.

Brian bent until his head was level with Justin's. He came in close, so that he could feel Justin breathing. "I don't know--it's kind of hot. Maybe they're here to subvert the system."

"Maybe," said Justin, still skeptical, but sounding distracted.

"Maybe they fucked in here," said Brian, almost in a whisper, right into Justin's ear. Justin turned to face him, licked his lips and connected their mouths. Brian found his hands reaching for him--practically of their on volition. One for Justin's hip, one for Justin's neck. Justin reached a hand up to cup Brian's head and pressed his mouth more demandingly into Brian's. The other slithered halfway down Brian's jeans.

They fitted well, their mouths seemed to interlock in exactly the most satisfying way, and when Brian slid his tongue in, to taste him, Justin's met his, entwined, darted away. Brian moved one knee up between Justin's legs and brought their hips together, both of them pretty fucking hard already, after one kiss, and Brian progressed to mentally flipping through positions and the available surfaces. Such as they were.

Then Justin abruptly ripped his mouth away, breathing hard, but looking behind Brian. "I heard someone come into the art room. Lunch is almost over."

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you black out, right up against this wall," said Brian. "And I don't care who watches." He could feel and see the satisfying way Justin's body reacted to that news, but Justin held himself apart, face serious.

"Getting caught 'participating in homosexual activities' means kitchen duty and three hours of prayer," said Justin. "It's in the rule book."

Well, that explained why that hot, very gay boy had been behind the kitchen serving-line today. He didn't really care about the three hours of prayer, which would just allow him time to think without being bothered, and normally, the thrill of fucking where he could get caught just added to the sex, but he was not going to serve in the kitchen.

"Fuck," said Brian, extracting his leg and making Justin twitch and hiss. He stood still, not looking at Justin, while he willed his erection down.

"If we wait for the rest of the students, the teacher probably won't notice us," said Justin. "But then we'll be late to fifth period."

"Let's just go. It's not like we're doing something wrong in just being in the darkroom."

"Yeah, aside from having seen that picture."

"FUCK."

"Don't worry," said Justin. He grinned, suddenly. "I'm good at this." Justin brushed past him, slanting him a flirtatious look, and then pushed past the curtain. "C'mon."

The art teacher was there, sure enough. She was pulling down reams of paper with her back to them and Brian was all prepared to just slip quietly out, but Justin had other plans, and it was just as well, since the teacher heard them and jumped violently.

"Hi!" said Justin, his smile suddenly friendly and innocent. "Let me help you."

"Oh, goodness! You scared me!" said the teacher. She juggled a ream precariously. Justin moved swiftly over and caught it, unloading it onto the countertop.

"Sorry," said Justin, his voice thick with contrition. "We were just looking in the darkroom. Brian is a photographer."

"Really?" she squinted nearsightedly at Brian. Brian mustered up a charming smile and nodded.

"That's wonderful! We don't have very many photographers here. That room has been unused for a quite a while."

"So Brian could use it?"

"Of course! Any time. I know how the muse likes to strike at odd hours." She gave them what she imagined was a conspiratorial smile. And Justin nodded and agreed with her, and Brian radiated trustworthiness. "What about you, young man--are you a photographer, too?"

"Justin likes to draw," said Brian.

"And paint." Justin flashed her another blinding smile. "I noticed that big canvas on the wall over there--it's magnificent!"

"Do you think so?" said the teacher, laying a hand to her chest. "It's one of mine."

"Really?" said Justin, and now Brian couldn't tell if he was being sincere or not. "The use of color is amazing. And your brushstrokes are so well-blended I can't even tell what brush you used."

"Thank you, Justin. What a kind thing to say." The end-of-lunch bell sounded.

"We'd better go," said Brian. "Mustn't be late for gym." He grabbed Justin's arm and towed him away to the sounds of the art teacher's "Of course not!" and, "Thank you, boys."

"You're an amazing suck-up," said Brian, smiling to take out the sting.

Justin swept his eyes down Brian's body and back up. "You have no idea."

"I will," said Brian.

Chapter 2

That afternoon, while Brian was laying on his bed, smoking his rescued weed, and quietly reflecting about how exactly to steal the janitor's keys, Justin burst into the room. They'd lost track of each other after gym, since sixth period was an elective. Brian had advanced business and Justin had advanced drawing. Opposite ends of the building for opposite classes.

Advanced business was something Brian paid attention in. This was because, even though he could probably ace it like he did the rest of his classes--with barely any effort--he wanted to actually retain the information in this class, instead of just getting a paper saying he showed up. It was part of The Plan, and he saw no reason to alter that plan, even in light of his father finding out about his preference for fucking guys. In fact, that just made it more imperative that he get a scholarship. Even if Jack hadn't been drinking away all the money, it wasn't like he would pay for any thing of Brian's now that he knew his son was a fucking fairy, fuck the old drunk very much.

"Hi!" said Justin. He was smiling widely as he dropped his backpack and kicked off his shoes. He got out a book--it looked like one of those novels that English teachers liked to assign--and then collapsed onto the bed.

“Why are you so happy?” Brian offered him the joint.

“I drew something really cool,” said Justin, all glowy. He bounced into a sitting position and abandoned the book for the joint. They said nothing more, just smoked and shivered a little in the open window. When the joint was down so far it was hard to hold it, Brian stubbed it out and threw it far out the window.

"Get up," he said. "You can do your homework after dinner."

"Why?" asked Justin.

Brian grinned evilly at him. "We have an appointment with the janitor's keys."
____

Sure enough, the janitor's office was unlocked, and it was on the same floor as the classrooms, which were conveniently deserted. The day janitor was off and the night janitor didn't come in until after dinner--Brian had asked around--and that was a good hour and a half away. The good students were off frantically studying before dinner and the bad ones were doing other things in private and were not likely to come out into the main hall where teachers could witness said private things.

Brian opened the door, ushered Justin inside with a lift of his eyebrows, and followed after him, shutting the door quietly.

"If I were a janitor, where would I put the keys?" said Justin, advancing on the desk.

"If you were a janitor, I would have to seriously reevaluate my world view and my belief that youth and beauty are tools of advancement." Brian turned a slow circle. It wasn't a large room. They had to be here somewhere.

"You're right, I'm way too hot to be a janitor," Justin said, bending over to search a bottom drawer. Brian only allowed himself to be distracted for a second, before continuing his search up high. "Unless I was like Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting."

"Right." Brian spotted the keys on the top of the bookshelf and hooked them with one finger. "Here they are. Let's get the fuck out of here."

They exited the office casually, into a still-empty hallway, and Brian steered them toward the side doors.

"Why does this feel like a jail break?"

"Because it is. Temporarily, anyway."

He wasn't too worried about getting caught. Justin's flawless performance of innocence and distraction and Brian's ability to get most people on his side with the right application of charm and half-truths, would see them past all but the most bloody-minded of teachers.

"Now what?"

"We meet someone who is going to make copies by the end of this hour."

"How did you find out about this person so fast?"

"I asked the senior I was fucking after gym where I could go if I lost my room key." Typically, the school charged people for replacement keys--not money, but time, prayer, and kitchen and cleaning duty. So there was a long-standing system to circumvent this unpleasantness, just as Brian had suspected there would be when he had first enquired, balls deep in a soon-to-be-satisfied senior.

They strolled around the building, and Brian walked a little easier once they were out of sight of the office windows. They walked into the trees that bordered the school property and followed a foot-worn trail fairly easily, even in the light of the low sun. It had obviously been used by many generations of enterprising young people such as themselves.

At the other end of the trees was a narrow street, shining gold with the angle of the sun. It was empty. Brian pulled out his cigarettes and found he was down to his last one. Well, that wouldn't be a problem. When it was lit, he handed it over to Justin.

"You are so addicted," said Justin, but he accepted the cigarette anyway.

"What's your point?"

"So you'll get a sexy, husky voice eventually, but you'll get some matching lung cancer to go with it."

"Probably. But I'll be unbearably old by then, so my untimely demise will only be a blessing. And what about you? You inhaled."

"I'm not addicted," said Justin, primly. "Sex is my anti-drug."

Brian laughed, smoke pouring out of his mouth. "I'm sure that would go over well with the anti-drug nazis."

When a loud car pulled to a slow stop at the side of the road, he came to attention, fingering the keys inside his pocket.

A girl stepped out of the car, spotted them, and crunched up the short hill.

"Hi!" she said, cheerfully. "Got the keys?"

"Right here," said Brian. "How much?"

"Oh, this time I need a date for Homecoming. I don't care which one of you. You're both pretty cute." Their expressions must have been of matching horror, because she took one look and laughed. "What, no one told you about payment? My dad's a locksmith. It doesn't cost me any money to make keys. I want other things."

"Pick something else, then," said Brian.

"Don't want anything else right now," she said. Then, at his stubborn expression, she sighed. "Fine. It doesn't have to be one of you. But it has to be someone. And not someone gross either. Promise to get me a cute date, and I'll have these back for you in an hour."

“Why can’t you get your own date?” asked Justin.

“Because,” she sighed. “There are one hundred people in my class. Three hundred in the whole school. Girls outnumber the boys three to one. And I could get a date. I just don’t want to go with any of them. Plus, I get cool points for going with one of the bad boys from Divine Love High School.” She brushed back some hair impatiently. “Yes or no?”

There was no way Brian was going to a hideous school dance, let alone with a girl. But there were plenty of straight boys that would go. Brian was willing to bet they even got a free pass out of the school for it. He'd just have to convince some lucky guy to go out with this girl. She wasn't bad looking, if you liked pussy. Okay then. Easy. "Deal," he said, and handed her the keys.

"Awesome. Bye!" she scrambled back down the hill, into the old car, and roared away.

"Well," said Justin into the sudden silence in the absence of the car. "We've got an hour to wait, and I forgot my book. What are we going to do for entertainment?"

Brian flicked the cigarette into the mud and turned toward Justin, feeling a slow grin slide across his face. "I'm sure we can think of something."

Brian wasn't one to waste time. He reached out and hauled Justin up against him. Justin was smiling like he knew the best secret in the world, and he slid his hands inside Brian's leather jacket and up his chest. Brian took a firm hold on the back of his neck and kissed him, hard and thorough and Justin kissed back with equal parts skill and enthusiasm, his mouth molding to Brian's, at first pliant and then undergoing a seamless shift into demanding.

He didn't even notice Justin pop open the buttons of his jeans until his hand slid inside his underwear, down and around his cock, which was half-hard and getting harder by the second. He broke the kiss to look down at Justin's intent face lips parted and eyes heavy-lidded, while his hand moved, a slow tease up and down the length of Brian's cock.

He ducked back down and drew Justin's mouth into another kiss, coaxing his teeth apart and pushing inside. Justin stroked his thumb up over the head of his cock and back down and Brian's hips jerked involuntarily as his blood spiked suddenly in his veins, like he'd just been hit by a drug. He gripped Justin's ass and pulled him in for better contact, enjoying the way this caused Justin's breath to huff out of his own mouth and into Brian's.

"I've never fucked in the woods before," Justin murmured before meeting Brian's tongue with his own, and moving into another kiss.

Then a dog barked, very near, and Brian nearly bit both of their tongues off. Justin looked languidly off to the left and said, "It's getting closer," and removed his hand. It was all Brian could do not to snarl in frustration. Instead, he buttoned himself back up, grabbed Justin's hand and marched them both--quietly--the opposite way.

"Must have perimeter checks or something," Justin said, his voice husky.

"I hate this school more with every passing moment," said Brian. "Here, let's sit in a tree and see if anybody passes by." So they climbed up a tree that offered enough cover and sat on two nearby branches, legs dangling, backs against the trunk.

"We have a jinx," said Justin, amusement in his voice. "Every time we start kissing, someone comes along and interrupts."

"Our room has a lock. Refrain from falling asleep again at lights-out and I'll do a lot more than kiss you, and all conveniently in the comfort of your own bed."

"Why my bed?"

"Because I don't want come stains on mine."

"Bastard," said Justin, kicking him in the ankle.

"So everyone says. I prefer 'Master'," said Brian, but then he refrained from speaking more because there was rustling down below, which eventually resolved into foot falls, human and presumably canine. He and Justin were silent, and Brian at least didn't breathe for a few seconds, expecting a sharp bark to ring out underneath their tree. But eventually the footsteps passed and faded away and Brian began to suspect that it was just some neighbor out for a walk...through school grounds, at night. Who the fuck cared? He was horny and was wrapped around a tree instead of Justin. On the brightside, in less than twenty minutes, he'd have keys to the whole school. And there was always the hope that dinner would be better than either of the other two meals.

Justin stood up on a lower branch and inched over to Brian's. He swung a leg over Brian's branch and it wobbled. "If you break the tree branch and make us fall, I'm landing on you,” Brian warned him.

"It won't break. Stop worrying about it and kiss me some more." And Justin scooted closer, one hand clutching the branch above them, until he had Brian pressed between he and the trunk. Brian looked at him in the dim light, brushed Justin's hair back, and then kissed him very softly. This tree branch was not made for the sort of enthusiastic kissing they'd been doing before, but just because it was a soft kiss didn't mean it couldn't be good. He moved is tongue sinuously between Justin's lips, until he touched the tip of Justin's tongue, and felt Justin move against him, a noise vibrating up from his chest. Brian gripped his jaw and slowly plundered, until he could feel Justin's whole body cross a line, become, for that moment, his. The tree branch creaked ominously. Brian pulled away.

"There," said Brian. "Now get down." At first he thought Justin was going to refuse, but he just gave Brian an unfathomable look and climbed easily down. Brian followed him.

There was very little light left, even at the edge of the trees. They stood, watching their breath steam out, shoulders brushing as they stared up the road. The roar of the car started far away and slowly became deafening--seemingly louder than it had been before. It rumbled to a halt, the girl pulled over, leapt from the seat, and once again came sprinting up the short embankment, twigs rolling away in her path.

"Here is your original key set," she said, handing janitor's key ring over. "And here is your copy." She handed Brian one key.

"What the hell?" said Brian. "There are more than five keys on here." He jiggled the key ring in front of her for emphasis.

"And that, genius, is a skeleton key." She batted the key ring away. "Specially made to fit all the doors that those other keys go in."

"If it doesn't--"

"If it doesn't work, you don't find me a date. I'm Daphne, by the way. And homecoming is in three weeks. So start looking, unless one of you has decided to be my date." She eyed them critically. "You'd both fill out a suit pretty well. But you'd probably go off with all the hot, yet loserish boys in my class before I’d even gotten to dance." She smiled and shrugged. "Why do all the pretty ones have to be gay?"

Brian shrugged and was about to point out that he never fucked losers, when Justin said, "I'm Justin." Brian turned to see him grinning his largest grin back at Daphne. "This is Brian." He paused. "We'll find you someone non-gross."

"Good!" She turned to head back down the hill. "Nice doing business with you." She said it with an edge of sarcasm, but even in the dark, Brian could hear the smile in her voice. And the 'you' was cut off by the slamming of the door.

"I'm starving," said Justin. "Let's go back before we can't find our way out."

"It's not that far," said Brian. "Here, you put this in your pocket." He handed Justin the skeleton key and put the janitor's keys back in his pocket. No sense in carrying them both, just in case. They stumbled along, back through the trees, both of them breathing out puffs of white air, while they speculated on who they could talk into being Daphne's date.

As they rounded the corner of the gym building, Brian nearly ran head-on into a man. He was standing with his arms solidly crossed over a large chest. His partially bald head gleamed in the moonlight and his face was strict and humorless.

"I know what you've been doing," said the man in a voice as tight as his lips. "It's the same every year."

He felt more than saw Justin freeze beside him. "We weren't--" started Justin.

"Shut up."

Brian looked the man up and down. He was going to say something about the extremely elderly perhaps memory loss, but he managed to refrain when he heard Justin mutter "hair nets," and simply continued to stare, expressionless. Most teachers could be stared down.

The man came closer and said, "Open your mouth, boy." Brian raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. The man leaned in and sniffed anyway. He moved on to Justin, and sniffed there, too. "Cigarettes," he hissed. "Bad for body and soul. Hand them over, and your detentions are only two hours. Make me drag you to the nurse so she can search you, and you get Saturday detention--all day."

Brian pulled his empty cigarette pack out of one jacket pocket and handed it over, contenting himself with an insincere smile instead of the things he wanted to say, such as 'your breath smells like shit and your mother fucks goats'. At least he'd smoked the last cigarette.

The door to the building opened and another man came out--Mr. Heddan, Brian's homeroom teacher.

"Principal Edgers," he said. "I just found Eric Beauchamp exiting the girl's bathroom. It seems he and a female student were engaging in some inappropriate behavior."

"Thank you, Mr. Heddan," said the principal. He turned back to Brian and Justin. "You two--detention, Friday, three o'clock, my office." He turned his back on them and followed Mr. Heddan back in doors and toward Eric Beauchamp, whoever that poor, stupid bastard was.

"I suppose I shouldn't have expected the principal of this school to be any less than a complete asshole," said Justin, a couple seconds after the door had clanged shut. "He even beats my dad."

"Not mine," said Brian. He stalked toward the doors. "Let's put the keys back and get something to eat."

______

The phone trilled once, twice, three-and-a-half times before it abruptly cut off and a voice said, "Hello?"

"Hey Mikey," said Brian.

"Brian! Hold on." And then Brian got a muffled, but very loud, "MA! Brian's on the phone!" There was more shuffling.

"Mikey? Michael, damn it! I've only got ten minutes."

"Sorry," said Michael, immediately. "Ma wants to know if they've given you shock therapy, and she says that if they have, she's calling the police."

"Christ," Brian muttered, ignoring the small bloom of warmth when he thought of Deb riding to the rescue with a pack of policemen. "I'm fine, Mikey. Everything is fine. It's practically the same as Allegheny, except there aren't any parents around at night, and the food is, if possible, worse. Tell Deb to take a Zanax."

"Listen, Brian." Michael's voice dropped into a near-whisper. "I'm sorry about what happened with your dad--"

"It's okay. Leave it alone."

"Yeah, but--"

"Michael."

"Okay." He paused and then continued in an overly-cheerful voice, "Fucked any hot guys?"

"Loads," said Brian. "My classes are easy." It was his turn to pause. He wasn't one for over-sharing, but he added, almost against his will, "And my roommate is pretty cool."

"Oh," said Michael, still full of over-the-top-enthusiasum. "Is he gay?"

"As they come," he said.

"Well, that's good," said Michael. Brian knew he didn't really think so. Michael was as transparent as glass. But the faster he realized that they were never going to fuck again, the better off he'd be. There was no real way to show him when Michael was there and Brian was here. So he'd have to tell him. Subtly. If he came right out with it, Michael would just brush it off, pretending that having sex had meant nothing to him, too. Really, for the first time since he'd been little, Brian thought he might actually have a reason to feel guilty. It was harder to shut out than the other guilt his parents had tried to lay on him--his mother, for rejecting her religion, and his father for being born in the first place. Fucking Michael had been a mistake he'd made all on his own.

"Yeah," Brian said softly. "It is good." He glanced over at the bored teacher who’d gotten stuck monitoring the phone-calls tonight. "I've got to go. It's going to cut off any second. I can't believe they still use pay phones here, like we're fucking inmates or something."

"Okay, Brian. If you need anything, call me. Ma and I will help."

Brian was silent, hit once again with an uncomfortable mix of gratitude and guilt. "Thanks, Mikey," he said softly.

"You'd do the same for me," said Michael.

"Yeah. Good night."

"Good night, Brian."

Brian replaced the receiver and stood up. With a conscious effort, he put Michael out of his mind, and then it drifted easily back to Justin, who was, with any luck, studying in their room like a good little boy until lights out at ten. Brian intended to have him naked and panting by ten thirty.

Chapter 3

Justin was not in the room when Brian walked in, so he changed his immediate plans to his business reading. Brian was very patient when he wanted to be.

It was about five seconds to ten when Justin slipped inside the room, rumpled and grinning, his hair a complete mess and his lips flushed red.

"Lock it," said Brian. Justin complied. He stepped out of his shoes, stripped down to his underwear, and collapsed backwards onto his bed. Brian caught the scent of something not-quite-Justin. Something foreign. Ah, he thought. Industrious.

"How was he?" Brian asked, eyebrows raised.

Justin turned his head, still smiling that ridiculously huge smile. "Really fucking good." Justin accepted the joint, took a slow drag, and handed it back.

"Who was he?"

Here Justin's smile faded slowly away. "He's--I told him I wouldn't tell any one. I think he's kind of a private person. I didn't even know he was gay until he caught me after art. And he wasn't even really trying to fuck me--I had to make the first move."

So, a queer in the art class. Who would have ever suspected? "Whatever. I'll probably fuck him eventually and not even know he's the same guy."

"You'll know," said Justin. "He's really, really good." The smile flooded back onto Justin's face and Brian suddenly felt something tighten in the vicinity of his ribs. Not jealousy over someone else fucking Justin--jealousy had never been his style--but annoyance that there was somebody who could provoke that reaction from Justin. He wanted to strip Justin out of his silly little-boy underwear and make that smile be because of Brian. But not now.

A teacher knocked on the door and shouted, "Lights out!" Brian put his reading aside and reached for the light. Justin crawled under the covers and Brian's last clear shot of him was his body outlined by the comforter, his uncovered arm juxtaposed against the white of the sheet. Brian nearly reached for his camera, but he cut the light instead.

"Good night," said Justin.

"Night," said Brian. He heard Justin's breath even out almost immediately, but Brian lay awake a little while longer. Seducing Justin, who was obviously fairly experienced--maybe as experienced as Brian--was going to be a little bit more of a challenge than usual. He had no doubt that he could fuck Justin--they'd practically done it in the dark room already. He wanted it to be mind-blowing enough that Justin wouldn't even remember any body else's name afterward.

_____

The next day nearly knocked sex clean out of his mind, which was saying something, since sex was pretty much Brian's only hobby aside from the sporadic photography. Homeroom had been a fucking snooze, but second period had started right in on the cold war and Brian found himself actually having to write down dates, which was just obnoxious.

Third--English--saw him stuffing a novel into his bag, much like the one Justin already had, only twice as thick. Worse yet, they had to pick groups for a class project and it was inevitable that there was no one brilliant enough to be trusted to handle his grade. He got the token quiet girl, another girl who looked like the love child of Marilyn Manson and Alice in Chains, complete with dark drugged-out circles under her eyes, and the boy who hadn't hit puberty yet. It occurred to him to wonder how they ended up here at a school like this, except wait, he didn't care.

It was a relief to get to math where he could coast safely in the back and away from the notice of the teacher. And find new and interesting ways to distract Justin. Sadly, the relief was short-lived. A boy he eventually recognized as the closet case fag-hater from the day before was ensconsed next to Justin. Brian briefly considered crowding him out, staring him down, maybe frenching Justin across him to scare him away, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble and sat behind Justin instead. He wondered if it had been a conscious decision on the guy's part to sit next to Justin, who was practically a walking straight-man converter, with all that soft skin and blond tufts of shiny hair and his pink mouth...and there was all that innocent charisma and the weirdly clean-feeling sexuality that poured off of him in waves. He was willing to bet Justin could seduce whoever he wanted.

The teacher started on his lecture, and Brian, having looked at the chapter and ascertained that he'd already done this at his old high school, zoned out. Halfway through class, when Brian had finished his assignment and failed to find amusement in observing the rest of his classmates, he started formulating dirty suggestions he could murmur to Justin when Closet-Fag knocked Justin's pencil astray, causing him to scrawl a large black mark across the drawing he'd been working on ever since he finished his own class work.

"What the fuck?" Justin hissed.

"Sorry."

"Whatever." Jusitn went back to his drawing. Next, as Brian observed, Closet-Fag knocked into Justin's shoulder accidentally-on-purpose and Jesus, Brian had never been that lacking in social abilities, had he? And the rest of the boys had grown out of the I'll-punch-you-to-show-that-I-like-you mentality by seventh grade. What was next--hair pulling? Cooties? Passing love notes?

"Stop it, asshole," said Justin, scooting his chair away and scowling. The guy mumbled an apology. Justin didn't even look up. After those two failed attempts, Closet-Fag resorted to staring at Justin and then looking quickly away whenever Justin looked up. Brian had no sympathy with this level of ineptitude, but he stayed out of it--it was Justin's call how to handle it. It took five more minutes for Justin to snap.

"Look," said Justin quietly, but with a sharp edge to his voice. He put down his pencil. "I know I'm hot, but if you want to fuck me, you should just come right out and say it."

"What?" the kid half yelled. "I don't want to fuck you, you fucking fag!" And of course, every head in the class turned to stare at him, even the teacher's, although Brian was fairly sure the teacher was too deaf to make out the actual words--people had stopped attempting to ask him questions after the first fifteen minutes.

"Fine," said Justin, calmly. "Then keep your eyes and your hands to your goddamned self."

"And," Brian felt compelled to add, low enough that the rest of the class wasn't in on it, "Before you go calling people 'fag' like it's a dirty word, figure out what the hell your problem is. You like fags a little too much."

"Shut the fuck up!" he yelled, half standing. The teacher clearly did not know what to do, and the rest of the students were following the drama with interest, but no actual action.

"He's not the one yelling," said Justin. "Why don't you sit down and chill the fuck out?"

Nostrils flared, the guy grabbed his bag and evacuated to an empty chair beside a girl, who proceded to studiously ignore him.

When the bell rang, Brian followed Justin out, dodging annoying Freshmen, and into the cafeteria.

"Where do little fucks like that get off?" Justin snarled.

"Obviously, they don't get off, and that's the problem," said Brian. He noticed that his traitorous arm had thrown itself over Justin's shoulders without his consent again, so he removed it.

"I wonder why he's even here!" Justin said. "I mean, if it's for this lame degayification shit, he obviously doesn't need it--he's repressing just fine on his own."

"No he's not," said Brian. "He wanted to fuck you."

"Well, fuck him," said Justin.

"Exactly."

Justin glared and stomped ahead of Brian to the lunch line. Brian laughed. He'd been right. Justin was entertaining when he was angry. Brian caught up to him at the table, where Justin had once again managed to assemble his fanclub. They were trying to coax Justin into telling them what was wrong, but his mouth was still angry, and he was keeping it shut. When Brian sat down, one said, "Did your boyfriend do something mean?"

He'd have to squash this one. "First of all," he said, holding up a finger and making sure he had all the attention at the table, "We are not boyfriends or any other fucked-up breeder social roles. Second of all, if he doesn't want to talk about it, leave him the fuck alone."

He heard mutterings of "Jerk," and "poor Justin," but no one came right out with open defiance, though the tattooed girl glared at him and the one that was probably pregnant looked a little crestfallen. He didn't care. It was true. No hetero social institutions for him, thanks. And if he could spare Justin at the same time, he would. Justin ignored everybody equally.

Lunch was subdued after that. In fact, the rest of the day was subdued. They went to gym class, but today was the weekly run, which meant two miles around a track full of straggling students, most of whom were too busy gasping for breath to do anything else. Brian knew from yesterday's warm-up run that Justin liked running. He had sprinted ahead, eyes open and sharp, smiling. Today, he loped along at an easy pace, devoid of exuberance.

Brian himself was a fairly good runner. He'd even briefly joined cross-country and his legs were certainly made for covering ground. But he had philosophical problems with doing anything pointless, and what was more pointless than running around in circles? Even if he won a race what the fuck was he going to do with some plastic trophy? And thus had ended his short career in track. He preferred to go at a nice, even pace and reserve his energy for other activities. Like having lots of sex.

"Hey," said Brian, swerving into Justin's shoulder, to get his attention.

"What?" said Justin, shortly.

"Let's go to the roof after sixth. I still have some weed."

"We can't," he said.

"If you don't want to--" Brian started.

"No, I want to," Justin was gratifyingly quick to correct. "Weren't you paying attention to the morning announcements? We can't, because after sixth period we're supposed to go to the first of our weekly therapy sessions." He paused. "You know, to drive the gayness out."

"Fuck," said Brian.

"Yeah."

They trotted along in silence for a while. Brian now knew it was more than Closet-Fag that had upset Justin. And for good reason. Brian was annoyed, too, but not particularly worried. What was the worst that could happen in therapy? Having to read the ambiguously anti-fag passages from the Bible? He'd practically memorized them, thanks to his mother. It didn't matter what they threw at him. Brian knew who he was, and he was as fucking queer as it was possible to be.

"After that, then," he said, finally. "We'll need it even more, anyway."

Justin appeared to consider this. After a moment, he nodded decisively. Brian had nothing else to say and Justin obviously wasn't in a talkative mood anyway. They ran at a pace that placed them right in the middle--neither up with the overachievers, nor back with the fat kids and asthma sufferers.

In spite of being sure he could handle 'therapy', there were at least a hundred things he could think of off the top of his head that he'd rather do, and he couldn't stop a tiny bit of unease from unfurling in his stomach. The unease was there even through the distraction of gym showers, with soapy, naked boys surrounding him, (and by his private estimation seventy-five percent of them were gay or willing to experiment). It was there through business class, and it were there as he walked through the halls to the classroom that would soon hold the school's gay kids.

Being uneasy annoyed Brian. It was something that he hadn't been able to control and put away. Therefore, he was already irritable when he walked into the room, and was not surprised in the least when he found that Mr. Heddan there, along with another teacher that he'd never seen before.

"Hello," said the teacher-who-was-not-Mr.-Heddan. "And what's your name?" Brian briefly considered not telling, but what would that really accomplish? Best to give the illusion of going along with it, at least for a while.

"Brian."

The teacher made a little check mark on a piece of paper and smiled. "Why don't you sit down, Brian? We're just about to start."

Brian looked around the circle of chairs and met Justin's gaze which was wary with an edge of hostile, but that faded slightly when he saw Brian. There was an empty chair to his right and Brian took it.

"We're waiting for one more and then we'll--Oh! Here he is!" Not-so-closeted-fag from math had walked in, looking pissed.

"I shouldn't be here," he said. "I'm not a faggot."

"Now, Brendan is it? We don't like to use that kind of language here. Nobody is a 'faggot'. Some people just need a little help out of a situation they can't control. Won't you sit down?"

Brendan threw himself into a chair and proceded to look at the ceiling. Mr. Heddan stared around the circle with a generally pinched look on his face, but said and did nothing. The other teacher was apparently the leader.

"I'm Mr. Smithson, and I'm here to tell you that it is all going to be okay. I used to be just like you. Confused and alone and wanting things that God didn't want for me. That were destructive to me. Life doesn't have to be like that." His eyes moved around the circle to give everybody an earnest, trustworthy look.

"I'm living proof of that, and so is Mr. Heddan," he gestured to Mr. Heddan, who made a small effort not to scowl for a second. "We managed to triumph over our destructive feelings and activities and become happier, better people. We are more in touch with ourselves--" Here, Brian exerted super-human self control and did not let out the derisive laugh that rose in his throat. "--and with God. I reconnected with my family and my father. They forgave me for whatever grief they'd felt for my previous choices and welcomed me back with so much love, all the love they hadn't been able to show for me when I was confused. All the love I hadn't been able to accept.

"You've been sent here by parents that care about your spiritual and physical well-being, and we're going to work on that today, and every Wednesday until the end of the school year."

Brian mentally scoffed at the parents-that-care part, a surge of hate and betrayal moving up from inside and surprising him. His parents sure didn't fucking care about his spiritual and physical well-being. They cared about their own, and about how he would make them look. He glanced at Justin, who met his eyes, lips twisted in a bitter smile.

"We'll start, today, with positive thinking, and we'll work through all of your concerns and your confused feelings. I want everybody to remember that they have nothing to be ashamed of. We're all good people and God loves each and every one of us, no matter what traps we fall into, or destructive things we do. There is always a way out. Mr. Heddan and I are here to help you find it." He smiled again.

"The very first step is to find your buddy." There was a general shifting and Mr. Smithson held up his hands. "I know, I know. It sounds a little...strange. But men are meant to have meaningful, close relationships." He laid an easy hand on Mr. Heddan's shoulder. "That's why we get so confused. There is nothing wrong with having a male friend. And friends watch out for each other, make sure their buddies aren't doing things that are bad for them." Friends don't let friends be queer, Brian thought. Then he thought of Michael and smiled inwardly. Sex shouldn't have been part of that, but he didn't regret introducing Michael to Babylon's backroom a few months ago. Friends don't let friends stay horny virgins. "Now find your buddies, and we'll start our first exercise in positive thinking!" Mr. Smithson sounded obscenely cheerful about that.

Brian met Justin's eyes and it was cemented, neither saying a word. They sat, nearly touching shoulders, as the rest of the boys--maybe twenty in all--sorted themselves out into groups. It was the first time Brian had bothered looking at the rest of them. He'd already fucked a quarter of them, and had noticed most of the rest yesterday. He wondered which ones would pretend to be straight after a few of these 'therapy' sessions.

"Okay, okay, boys." Mr Smithson extended his hands in a 'quiet down' gesture. "Now that we have our buddies, we're going to go around the circle and try to pin-point a starting place. Maybe an incident in your past when you started thinking strange things about other young men, or maybe a time when you got hurt and no one helped you. Or maybe another boy helped you. Are you all thinking about it?" There were several wary nods, and Mr. Smithson nodded back in satisfaction.

"It's all right. Nothing to be afraid of, nothing we can't say in front of this group. This is a good group and we're here to help each other out of this thing we've fallen prey to. Now, Thomas, why don't you start? And everybody else, it is your job to listen quietly and be supportive."

And then began a round of some of the most pathetic stories Brian had ever heard. Of skinned knees while learning to ride a bike, or first kisses between best guy friends behind the junior high dumpsters. There were some "my daddy divorced my mommy and he doesn't love me any more" stories and Brian was working very hard not to cut them all to shreds with contemptuous words. But he didn't want to draw attention to himself. It was, perhaps, the only time in his life when he hadn't wanted attention. He didn't need the teachers singling him out for special help, and he didn't need them knowing he wasn't going along with their fucked therapy. Being watched would only hinder his pursual of enjoyment and freedom. So he kept his mouth shut. It was one of the hardest things he'd had to do, especially after years of training himself to take the upper hand, to say what needed to be said at the cost of other's discomfort and dislike. Brian could feel the dangerous pressure from the self-restraint building under his ribs. He held on and sat still.

The kid right next to him went on for fifteen minutes about his dad's love affair with the nanny and it was all Brian could do not to yawn and ask how the hell his dad's heterosexual appetites made him want to fuck guys.

Finally, it was Brian's turn. Brian sat and stared at Mr. Smithson. They waited. Finally Brian said, "If you're expecting some story about how the bad men touched me, you're going to be disappointed."

Mr. Smithson responded with a serene smile. "I'm not expecting anything, Brian. Just talk about what you'd like to talk about. Maybe you can start with your family."

"My mom is a nutcase, my sister is a frigid cunt, and my old man is a half-brained alcoholic who thinks that my being queer is a personal insult to him." Brian paused and offered a short, mirthless smile. "He's wrong. I'm queer because that's the way I am. I like fucking men."

"Okay, Brian. I can see your family hasn't treated you as you'd like to be treated, but try to open your mind to the possibility that they only want what's best for you, and are trying to help you, even in their own misguided way. Your father can't be very present if he's drinking. And you want and should have the presence of other young men, which is what your buddy is for. There's no reason for that to include things that are unhealthy for you."

"You mean sex?" interjected Justin. "I don't think sex is unhealthy."

"Justin, surely you've heard of AIDS and all manner of other diseases you can get from engaging in homosexual activities?"

"Yeah, I've had sex ed. And not that abstinence-only kind. You can get STDs from girls, too, if you're stupid enough not to wear a condom."

"That's why God tells us to wait until we're married, until we're with a pure woman, who we can trust."

"But why a woman?" insisted Justin.

"That is the way the equipment is made," said Mr. Smithson, with a little laugh as if to say, 'of course!'. "It's natural."

"So homosexual sex is unhealthy and unnatural?" asked Brian.

"Yes, exactly," said Mr. Smithson.

"That must be why it's so fucking fun then," said Brian.

"You think it's fun because you haven't felt what it's like to be free of it," said Mr. Smithson, gently. His whole gentle demeanor was meant to piss Brian off even more, but Brian couldn't be taken in so easily. He'd faced off plenty of people more skilled in manipulation than some sad, repressed teacher in a delinquent high school.

"Whatever. I don't have any cute stories to tell about my first gay love." He offered a mocking smile. "I guess you'll just have to skip me."

"All right, Brian," he said. "Maybe at another time you'll feel more comfortable in sharing yourself with the rest of these young men."

"Oh, I don't mind sharing myself," he said. Mr. Smithson chose to ignore the innuendo, turning a smiling face at Justin.

"Justin? Why don't you tell us about yourself?"

Justin looked uncomfortable, but steady. He shrugged. "My family is upper-middle-class. We live in suburbia. They were going to buy me a car until now."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"I think a car is a small price to pay for being who I want to be."

"How do you feel about them?"

"They'll come around," he said, voice solid and assured. "Or they'll lose me. This isn't negotiable."

"Everything is negotiable, Justin," Mr. Smithson said, voice coaxing and wise. "Surely you can see it from their point of view."

"Yeah, I can," he returned, his voice getting stronger, righteous. "I can see that they're prejudiced, rich, and I've thrown off their idealized veneer of a happy family. And I'm fucking happy about it."

"You're happy about upsetting your family?" Mr. Smithson asked, as if expecting Justin to recant once he'd heard the words repeated.

"Yes," said Justin, a little savagely. He grinned. "I like big hands and whisker burn and low voices. I like dick. I like it up my ass. I like sucking it. And I'm good at, too." He licked his bottom lip, lascivious, and Brian knew that that entire room of queer boys were now sporting erections hard as rock. He was no exception. "My family," Justin said, "Is just going to have to accept me. Unconditionally, or not at all."

"Well, Justin, I think you have a lot of thinking to do about all of this. Your family can sometimes see you more clearly. You should discuss it with them, hear their point of view, think about where your choices are in conflict with theirs."

"Oh, I have," said Justin. "I've stood there and let my dad yell at me. I've talked to a shrink. And I think I've had enough therapy for now." He jumped to his feet, lithe and athletic and completely free of shame. Then he looked at Brian, an invitation in his eyes. "Are you coming, buddy?"

"Yeah," said Brian, and he allowed a little of his own anger to ebb away at the relief in Justin's face. He followed Justin out the door and they didn't stop until they'd made their way up the outside stairs that led to the roof. He unlocked the roof door with the skeleton key, let Justin through, and turned to stare at Justin, feeling like he'd never really seen him properly before.

"You just set all twenty of those queers way the fuck back in the degayification process," said Brian.

"Good."

"That whole thing was such bullshit."

"I know," said Justin. "What was I going to say? My mommy and daddy love me very much and they buy me most things I want, and I've never been hungry or cold or beaten or molested...or even spanked." Justin slanted him a look and hopped up onto the stone slab. He gazed out over the school towards the town. "But I like dick, so there must be something wrong with me."

"Fuck them. Fuck Mr. Smithson, most of all." Brian jumped up to stand beside him. "Have you ever seen two bigger closet cases than he and Mr. Heddan? Jesus. All they needed were rainbow shirts and someone willing to fuck them."

Justin grinned at him. "They couldn't get someone to fuck them if they tried. They're both old and gross." Brian felt his mouth move upward and crooked an arm around Justin's neck.

"Now, now, I'm sure some other old fags would be happy to help with the re-gayification. Maybe they could be each other's buddies."

Justin wrinkled his nose and Brian kissed it before he could check himself--then he found that he didn't care. Justin didn't comment, and simply slid an arm around his waist. They were silent a long moment and the air tickled them, getting quickly cooler as the sun sank.

When the twilight had taken over, Justin raised an arm and pointed. "Look, the town has a ferris wheel."

"It looks like a whole fair," said Brian. "We should go."

"Yeah! I haven't had cotton candy in forever." Justin's voice held real enthusiasm and Brian felt the last miasma of the afternoon's events slip away.

They jumped off of the slab and headed towards the door, but Justin hung back slightly.

"What?"

"We don't have any money."

"It won't matter," said Brian. "It's the same principle as clubs. You've been to a few clubs--right?" At Justin's nod, he went on. "Have you ever paid for your own drinks?"

"No," said Justin, slowly. "Not usually." He looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure it applies to a fair, though. But it's worth a try."

"It will. The whole world operates on sex."

"Or the lack," said Justin.

"The promise," said Brian, and led the way down.

Chapter 4

It took them much longer to reach the fair than Brian thought it would. Climbing the chain link fence made it seem like a real escape and landing on the opposite side had the satisfying feel of defiance. There was no sign of any one patrolling like there had been the night before.

Justin remarked, "I'm kind of disappointed in the security. My parents paid good money to have me locked up in here."

"You were expecting electrified fences and dobermans?"

"It's the least they could do."

Brian laughed as they hopped over a small ditch and ambled through knee-high weeds until they got to the hard-packed dirt of the fairgrounds.

It was an old-style fair. There was no admission booth at the front—people just wandered in and paid for rides individually. Crossing the threshold felt like entering a separate world, full of light and noise. It may have only been a bunch of the regular portable rides and game booths full of stuffed animals that nobody wanted, but it felt like freedom after the stupid counseling session, the industrial concrete walls of Divine Love High School, and the bars on the window of their dorm room. People walked all around them, crowds of them, families and groups of younger teenagers.

"Let's go on the ferris wheel!" Justin said, a note of excitement in his voice. Brian was about to agree and go charm the vendor when something caught his eye. Or rather, someone. He walked up quickly and slid an arm around Michael's chest and a hand over his eyes.

"Hello, Mikey," he said. Michael jumped a mile, and then shoved Brian's arms off of him, even though he'd obviously recognized Brian's voice. Not normal behavior. Usually Michael smiled and rested there against him for a moment and that predictability was comforting. When Michael was unpredictable, it was usually because something was wrong.

"Brian!" he said, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

"Regardless of the fact that that should have been my line, I imagine I am here to eat cotton candy and make out on the ferris wheel." He paused and then added, "And fuck in the hall of mirrors." He raised his eyebrows at Justin. "Do you have any objection to exhibitionism?"

"No," Justin replied, definitely more cheerful than he'd been since 'therapy', skin visibly flushed, even in the harsh glow of the floodlights. "I enthusiastically endorse it."

"Who's he?"

"Mikey, this is my roommate, Justin. Justin, Mikey." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Now. What are you doing here? Did you come all this way just to see me?"

"No," Michael hedged. "I..."

"Hi," said a girl who appeared at Michael's side and handed him a soda, which he accepted and sipped nervously.

"Who are you?" asked Brian.

"I'm Elizabeth," she said. Justin gave a little wave, well-mannered WASP sticking out all over, but Brian ignored that and looked her up and down. Pretty enough. No fashion sense.

"In what capacity are you here with Michael?" asked Brian.

"Uh, I'm his date." She gave Brian a look that clearly said she'd classified him as weird. Brian didn't care. He felt like someone had hit him in the chest. Michael was just so... gay.

"You're on a date?" he asked Michael, and he knew they both heard the unspoken 'with a girl' at the end of that question.

"Um," said Michael, avoiding Brian's eyes.

"I think that's great, Mikey." Michael looked up in surprise, just as Brian took his arm and said, "Would you excuse us for a second?" And without waiting for an answer, he towed Michael away to a slightly less populated area, leaving Justin and Elizabeth to stare after them.

He let go of Michael's arm so they could face each other. "What the fuck, Michael! You're a fag, in case it slipped your mind."

"Shut up! I know I am. Mom tells me practically every day. It makes me want to scream." He paused and scuffed his foot in the dirt. "I just wanted to see, maybe, what it was like not to be..."

"Gay? You are, Michael."

"I know," said Michael. "I just wanted to—"

"Take a walk on the breeder side?" Brian sneered. "Are you gonna fuck her, too?"

"Fuck you! No!" He shuddered a little bit.

"If you can't even think about fucking a girl, what are you doing faking a date?"

"I'm not faking anything. She's nice. And she likes me! Not everything has to do with sex!"

"Fine," said Brian. "If you want to pretend you're a fan of pussy, you go right ahead. When you regain your sanity, let me know." He stalked away, back to Justin.

"Let's go ride the fucking ferris wheel," he said as he passed Justin, who had been making conversation with Elizabeth.

"Okay," Justin said. Brian didn't look back to see if Justin was following. He moved up the stairs and sidled along to where the ferris wheel operator was sitting. He looked like someone Brian could work with.

****

Justin swung his legs and rocked the car gently. Brian reached for his cigarettes, remembered he still hadn't gotten any more, and mentally cursed. He rested an arm behind Justin and looked out over the lights of the town, fall air cutting through his clothes.

"So," said Justin into the long silence, "that was the Michael you fucked in your garage?"

"He was. Now he's possibly been possessed by aliens."

"What?"

"He's on a date. With a girl."

"I thought he was gay?" He paused. "And she told me she's a minister's daughter."

"No shit?" They both checked out the operator as the ride circled low, and started back upward.

"Yeah." Justin twisted to face him, his expression unsure for the first time in the admittedly short time that Brian had known him. "He could be bi," Justin offered.

Brian gave him a look of skepticism. "You met him, right?"

"Okay, even my weak gaydar blipped over him."

"Exactly. There is not a straight bone in Mikey's body. He likes it up the ass."

"But he could be," Justin persisted. "In theory. I mean, it's just as bad to discriminate against bisexuals as it is to slam us for being gay."

"I have no problem with bisexuals," he said slowly, thinking about that girl he'd almost fucked last summer. "What I have a problem with is Michael being a fucking scared little faggot and hiding from what he is." He scowled down at the ground as they circled up again, imagining Michael down there somewhere, attempting to win a stuffed animal for Elizabeth.

"I get that," said Justin, the uncertainty gone. "I'd have a problem with one of my friends suddenly trying to lie to themselves. I'm glad I don't really know any of the guys at the school yet. Then if any of them go straight, I won't feel betrayed."

"Fuck them if they do," agreed Brian.

"Let's make a pact," said Justin, energy back. He made the car swing again with his enthusiasm.

"What, like blood brothers, Boy Scouts, 'buddy' shit?" Brian gave him a withering look, but Justin was too pleased with the idea to be deflated for more than a second.

"Yes! We swear to each other that we're not going to let them get to us. Swear that we're going to always know we're gay. That way we'll at least have one other person in the school who isn't a pod person by the end of the year."

Brian thought it over. It felt weirdly easier to do stupid shit like this up here above the world with Justin, especially since he was so dorkily delighted with himself, and enamored with Brian, that he came out the other side of dorky into fascinating.

"Fine," said Brian in his best long-suffering voice. "I swear on my dick that I won't turn straight."

"On your dick?" Justin laughed.

"What, do you want to swear on the Bible?" Brian raised both eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure I can trust my dick to make sure I never turn straight. But the people trying to turn me straight seem fairly sure that God is on their side."

"Good point. Well, I mean, I'm pretty sure if there is a God, he's not on their side. But your dick is a little more...concrete." Justin smiled hugely, laughing all over again. "Okay, I swear on my dick that I won't let them make me straight--or pretend I'm straight."

"Right. And may our dicks shrivel up and fall off if we break the pact." He looked over the fair again. "Too bad Mikey didn't make that pact. He'll be sorry when he can't get it up for a naughty, little preacher's daughter."

"Oh, he doesn't have to worry about that." Justin's voice was smug.

"What? How come?"

"When you were talking to Michael she showed me her promise ring. She told me how she's supposed to wear it to remind herself to save her virginity for marriage."

"Precious," Brian said. "It looks like Michael isn't as insane as I thought. She probably just thinks he's a gentleman. What did you say when she told you that?" Brian twisted in the seat a little to look at Justin, who grinned up at him.

"I told her she was missing out." His grin got a little wider. "And that God wouldn't have made sex so great if he didn't want us to have it. But you came back before I could tell her about the holy joys of cock."

"Amen," Brian said, and kissed him, a slide of warm, dry lips together until Justin's lips parted against his and his tongue met Brian's in the middle. He slid a slightly cold hand up Brian's shirt, and Brian's skin twitched at the contact, but he allowed it to stay. He tilted Justin's head back, ran his thumbs slowly along the line of Justin's jaw. He slid his tongue past Justin's, a rhythmic stroke of exploration through Justin's hot mouth, and Justin leaned enthusiastically into the kiss.

"God, Brian, you kiss like--" Justin cut himself off and swept his eyes down Brian's body, slowly. "I want your dick in my mouth. Right now." He jerked open Brian's button-fly Levi’s and snaked his lithe body over, between Brian and the bar, so that he was hovering above Brian's lap.

They were making another sweep downward and Brian slipped one hand inside the back of Justin's jeans, only allowing himself a brief exploration of what was obviously an ass that lived up to its visual, before he curled his fingers around Justin's hip bone, anchoring him in to their cart. His other hand found itself on Justin's head, fingers already tangled in blond hair.

He was acutely aware of Justin's breath through his briefs and Justin's tongue on the skin just above. His heart kicked in to high gear and he felt each puff of air like a slide of tongue. Justin peeled back the underwear and found his cock, and when that mouth closed over him he could not think anything at all for a solid eternity. He snapped his eyes open and pulled himself back, started counting the stars in an effort not to come, but with Justin's mouth was so wet and so, so warm and murmuring in delight every time Brian thrust involuntarily up toward him...

Brian met the operator's wide eyes as they passed and smiled in satisfaction just before his mouth dropped open and his neck muscles gave out because he'd suddenly been swallowed whole. He couldn't stop his hips from twitching whenever Justin moved his tongue. Their car was going up again and the sensation in his stomach combined with the heat and pressure of Justin's mouth created a weird chemical explosion behind his eyes. It was like being high. Justin hummed softly on his next down stroke and it shattered Brian. His head hit the cold metal so hard it should have hurt, but his body was too busy curling in on itself in blank-white pleasure.

He felt dizzy. He couldn't tell if he was high up or low down and his whole body floated, empty and pleasant. He felt Justin button him up and lean back.

"I've been trying to do that for three days," said Justin. "We kept getting interrupted." Brian surprised himself with the sudden laughter that rose out of his chest. He drew Justin in for a slow, open-mouthed kiss that reflected exactly how languorous he felt. They were moving down now, as evidenced by the loss of the floating feeling. When the ride jerked to a stop, their cart swinging slightly, and he finally pulled away from Justin and opened his eyes. The operator snapped the bar up and Brian gave him a sultry look before he grabbed Justin's wrist and yanked him down the stairs.

"Where are we going?" asked Justin.

"The house of mirrors. It's your turn."


It looked kind of stupid from the outside, but the price was right--it was free. Brian had Justin tucked under one arm, still snickering over the look of jealousy the ferris wheel operator had given him, still flushed from blowing Brian. It was difficult for Brian to even look at his mouth now, knowing what sort of wonders it could do, and seeing his lips still red from stretching over him. He guided them straight ahead instead, following the signs.

No one seemed interested in the rickety old place besides them and that suited Brian very well. It was not much more than a bunch of boards thrown together, with thin mirrors attached to most of them. They paused for a moment at the entrance to look at themselves in the stretch-mirror. Brian's legs looked even more freakishly long, and even Justin looked like he was on stilts. They moved inside to the next one, where both of them became short. Justin stomped his feet just to see them moving, and Brian said, "You look like a toddler having a tantrum."

"Whatever, Dopey," he grinned, and pulled Brian to the next mirror.

This one made them very wide—Brian around the waist and Justin around his shoulders. "It's a good thing I'm never getting fat," said Brian.

"No danger," said Justin. "Your body fat is probably zero." When Justin raised a finger to poke him, Brian caught it and trapped his hands, tickling Justin as he squirmed away, shouting.

The next mirror squiggled them so their body parts looked half-melted together.

"We're a Brian-Justin monster," said Justin, and he bared his teeth and growled at their reflection. Brian's cock started to stand to attention, recognizing the noise as something that led to pleasure. Brian put his mouth to Justin's neck and bit him, softly, his tongue then moving out for a long lick, tasting the saltiness of his skin. Justin leaned eagerly into him, mouth open, but Brian shoved them along, shuffling Justin backwards to the next mirror. He turned them to face it, arranging Justin in front of him, Justin's back against his chest. More importantly, Justin's ass against his cock.

This mirror bulged in random places. Justin's ear, Brian's forehead, their knees—though Justin's reflection blocked most of his. Justin met his eyes in the mirror and then watched as Brian trailed a hand down his chest slowly, and even slower when he stroked his fingertips down Justin's denim-covered erection.

Justin's hair rasped softly against Brian's coat as his head pressed back and his eyes half-closed. He looked hazily out at Brian from under his eyelashes and licked his lips in a deliberate, exaggerated movement. On a lot of other people it would have looked stupid, but on Justin it was just hot. When Brian moved his hips against him, Justin's mouth quirked up into a little arrogant smile. So Brian smiled back, then wrapped an arm around Justin's waist and jerked open the front of his jeans.

Justin's heartbeat pulsed through his back—or maybe it was Brian's. It didn't matter because they were both concentrating on Brian's hand, inching down, fingertips just barely inside Justin's underwear. Brian used his hips to shift Justin just slightly to the left, biting his lip at how good it felt to move against all that soft-firmness. He positioned Justin where the widening flaw in the mirror intersected with the clear outline of Justin's cock inside his underwear, and he found himself glancing down involuntarily at the real thing, yanking down his underwear to make sure that what he was seeing was real.

"Eight inches," said Justin, startling Brian into looking up to meet his eyes. "Now please, please do something about it before we get interrupted again because I don't think I can walk like this."

"I'm enjoying the view," said Brian, staring at the way Justin's cock curved long and hard and flushed against his stomach.

Justin made an inarticulate noise of impatience and made a move to touch himself. Brian caught his arms and threaded his own arm through them, trapping them behind Justin's back. He scrapped his teeth over the top of Justin's spine and reached around to close his hand over Justin's cock. When skin made contact with skin, Justin's breath left him with an audible sigh and his hips surged forward, but Brian's backwards hold on his arms kept him from moving too far. Brian stroked him softly, his hand surrounding Justin but barely touching.

Justin moved with him, frustrated, hungry, hot little noises flowing from his throat, his eyes closed. Brian kissed his neck again and reveled in the just-beginning-to-be-damp skin and the soft invisible hairs covering it. When Justin started to shake, Brian tightened his grip, released Justin's arms and hauled him back against him. The sudden renewed friction nearly made him start shaking too. Justin was twisting in his arms and moaning half-words. One of Justin's hands had scrubbed through his hair and then clutched at the arm Brian had barred across his chest.

"Open your eyes," Brian demanded, "I want to see you watching when you come." And he took the opportunity to bite Justin's earlobe and stroked faster, carrying Justin's pre-come down his cock to lessen the roughness.

Justin's eyes snapped open, almost black they were so dilated and they both watched as Justin arched and then tensed, eyes wide open, but his face completely blank with the force of his orgasm. Brian stroked softly until the biggest of the aftershocks were over. Then turned Justin around, carefully zipped him back in, and pulled him in for a quick kiss. He was hard again. He'd had enough of the fair and wanted Justin naked, spread out on their white dorm sheets where he could take his time on the next round.

"Let's get out of here," he said. Justin, apparently speechless but in agreement, led the way.

Chapter 5

They'd fucked most of the night; on the bed, over the bed, against the wall. And just when Brian thought Justin was done, when they were lying there panting and sweaty after another unbelievable orgasm, he'd feel Justin slide a leg over him and crawl up, brushing open-mouthed kisses and a slowly hardening dick up the length of Brian's body, which understandably coaxed his own dick back to attention.

He'd never been with anyone like that before. Someone who was as insatiable as he was and who knew what to do about it. Brian could make people want him--he barely had to try. But it was rare that someone else could make him want them--past the first passable blowjob or forgettable orgasm, anyway. Justin was so far above passable, he'd crossed into the stratosphere.

And, God, Justin was everywhere, smiling, moaning, panting, swearing, his fingers and his mouth and his limbs, all that perfect skin. Brian wanted to roll him over and fuck him just for breathing. His dick had been getting tender and all Justin had to do was slither up his side and breath something dirty against his neck and Brian was ready again. If Brian thought about the intensity of his own reaction it might have given him pause, but policy dictated nothing would ruin the pursuit of his next orgasm.

Unfortunately, fucking all night meant that on Thursday morning Brian awoke feeling hungover. Which was completely unfair, because he hadn't had one drop of libation. Though upon reflection it occurred to him that in this school Justin counted as an illegal sustance. He cracked his eyelids to look over at the illegal substance in the next bed, currently snoring indelicately into his pillow, one arm flung off the bed.

The fact that the alarm clock had said 4:45 when they finally retired to their separate beds, exhausted and fucked-out, was probably not unrelated to how shitty he felt now, at 6:59. Then the numbers flipped and a horrible screeching filled the air. Justin jerked and flailed blindly until he hit the alarm and didn't stop until he'd slapped it into submission.

"What's that noise?" Justin grumbled.

"The alarm clock," said Brian.

"No, that other noise. Outside."

Brian looked incredulously at him, but it was wasted because Justin's eyes were closed again. "It's this thing where water falls from the sky. We here on Earth call it rain."

"Maybe they'll cancel gym!" Justin said, sounding a little more awake.

"Or we'll have to play softball in the mud because all gym teachers are sadists."

"Shit." Justin buried his head back under his pillow. And then, muffled, "It's a good thing I did my math homework yesterday."

"Yes, wouldn't want to neglect our school work," said Brian primly. But Brian was glad he'd done his, too. Nothing was getting in the way of that scholarship, not even sex.

Justin crawled out of bed first and Brian heard him taking a piss which reminded Brian that he also had to piss pretty badly. There was no time to make it to the showers down the hall--he could already hear them being occupied. He usually took a shower in gym anyway. And at least he knew whose come he had on his right hip.

"I'm covered in your come," Brian accused as he stuck his toothbrush in his mouth.

"Fuck you--you got some of yours in my hair when I was blowing you for the fourth time." Justin reached across him for his own toothbrush. Brian touched Justin's hair, spiked in odd places.

"People will just think it's gel." Brian rinsed his toothbrush.

"No they won't," said Justin. He rinsed his own toothbrush, washed out the sink and then stuck his head under the faucet. Then he straightened and shook it, spraying Brian.

"Fucker," said Brian shoving him a little. Justin shoved him back, smiling and so Brian was forced to grab his forearms and shove him back a little more and was just contemplating shoving him all the way back onto his bed for a quick, hard morning fuck, when the morning hall monitor gave his daily imperious knock and "get up!" shout. Brian swore at him and released Justin to go find his clothes. They were racing out the door five minutes later.

"See you in math," Justin said as he veered off to his homeroom.

The rest of the day was kind of hazy, even counting the parts Brian wasn't dozing through. Breakfast had included such highlights as lukewarm toast and orange juice from concentrate, plus Justin's fanclub, who were entirely too awake--and apparently cheerful about it. He made a mental note not to go anywhere near them the next time he really did have a hangover.

Torturing Justin in math had been briefly diverting--Brian got him to the point where he was breathing through his mouth with a slow flush crept up his neck, and then walked abruptly out when the lunch bell rang--but lunch had been clausterphobic, with everyone in doors, avoiding the rain. He'd eaten lunch with Justin and the fanclub, but also a few straight guys who actually seemed to like Justin's fag hags. Brian took the opportunity--between scraping the mayonaise off his sandwich--to divide them into two categories: Seducible, and Daphne Possibilities.

Gym was in-door tennis with constantly switching teams. He saw Justin in passing and for one rotation, was in an excellent position to watch the stretch of his muscles and each ass-exhibiting lung for the ball. He wasn't the only guy looking, either.

He ambushed Justin after and blew him in a gym storage closet. The warm, aroused smell of Justin's skin made the smell of old sweat and rubber basketballs fade. He had to pull off once to put a hand over Justin's mouth in order to shut him up, but after that Justin behaved and contented himself with twisting his hand in Brian's hair and biting his lip. He was fucking incandescent when he came.

The hours before dinner were spent studying, which only served to build the tension back up as they sat at the desks in their dorm room and resolutely did not attack each other. Dinner was spent with Justin having to explain the way he kept randomly choking on food and twitching, since Brian's hand was down his pants under the table for most of it. The fanclub gave them soppy looks when Brian gave Justin his applesauce--he didn't like applesauce and Justin would inhale anything and that was all. They exited as soon as they could and climbed the outside stairs to the roof to have uninhibitedly loud sex and smoke the last of Brian's confiscated pot. They were going to have to check out the contraband closet again soon, Brian decided.

He read his English book until lights out and then--fucking exhausted--fell asleep. He might even have beaten Justin for once.

______

Friday afternoon, Brian aligned himself with a swiftly moving Justin as he caught up to him on his way to last period.

"Hey," he said, nudging his shoulder.

"Hey," said Justin, shooting him a welcoming smile.

"So, do you know what you're doing tonight?"

"Homework?"

"I'm sorry, you've lost the convertible. Care to try again?"

"Does it involve nakedness?"

"If I have anything to say about it, definitely." Brian smiled. "Tonight we will be imbibing alcohol in someone else's parent's house."

"So...a party?"

"Correct! You've won a a night of underage drinking."

"I'd rather have the cash prize." Justin dodged a freshman sprinting in the opposite direction.

"I can convince you otherwise. We leave after detention."

"Shit." Justin winced. "I forgot about that."

"Well, then it's a good thing I'm here to keep you in line, isn't it?"

_______

When Brian walked in to Principal Edger’s office, he knew he’d made a mistake. Mr. Smithson, that fluffy repressed teacher heading the school therapy was not the enemy: Brian was sitting across from the enemy, watching him importantly scratch his pen across papers as they waited for Brian’s fellow victim to show up. Brian was excellent at assessing people, especially in regards to how they related to himself.

Edger's walls were lined with a few diplomas and some sort of army document that Brian couldn't read the fine print of. There was a medal next to it.

“Brian Kinney,” he said. It was a statement. He shuffled his papers aside and then said, “May I call you Brian?”

“It is my name,” said Brian.

“Brian, I’m going to tell you a little something that I want you to remember.”

Brian manfully refrained from saying anything.

“I’m here to help you.” This was accompanied by a stern, paternal look, and Brian hated him a little more.

Whatever manner of 'help' the guy was offering was almost certainly scarier than whatever that circle-jerk therapy had to offer. “Thank you, sir,” he said, and wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or relieved that his sardonic tone had gone unnoticed. And whereas Brian was now slightly involuntarily on a first name basis with the principal, he had no illusions that this was an equal exchange.

Thank God Justin walked in then. A lot of white noise accompanied him--Justin had too much energy, too much life in him to just walk sedately into places. He burst into rooms with the scratch of shoes and pants and backpack hooks, and his own labored breathing that told the story of sprinting through semi-full hallways in order to be here on time.

“Justin Taylor,” said the principal. He pointed to the chair next to Brian with his pipe and then stuck his pen in his mouth while he cleared his desk further. Oral fixation, Brian noted.

“Sorry I’m late,” Justin said, panting. He threw himself heavily into his chair. “I got out of art late.” Brian was willing to bet that it hadn’t been art class that had kept Justin, but instead something tall, dark, and hung.

“Quite alright, Justin. The two hours starts when you get here. It makes no difference to me if it’s five minutes later when you’re done.”

“Okay,” said Justin. He was starting to look wary, which in Brian’s opinion was the only healthy way to feel about this situation. What the fuck were they going to talk about for two hours? For the first time in his school career, he found himself thinking, thank fucking God I brought my English book.. The silence stretched into uncomfortable,

"Cigarettes, boys," said the principal finally, "Are foul and unnatural." He tapped his pen on his desk. "Bad things will happen to you if you continue to smoke them."

Brian knew that they both heard the unspoken, 'I have much worse punishments than my presence in mind."

"Cancer, rotting gums, bad breath, yellow fingers. None of that sounds pleasant, does it?"

Brian chose to maintain his poker face. Justin shook his head, obviously humoring him. Edgers drew a breath to go on, but then someone rapped on the door.

"Enter."

A guy wearing a tool belt ducked in and said, "All finished."

"Great," said Edgers. "Are they up and running or do I have to flip some sort of switch?"

"Up and running. All the cameras are on and motion-activated. Anything larger than a cat will turn them on."

"Perfect. Do you have your bill ready now, or will you send it to us?"

"I'll send it. Pleasure, Mr. Edgers," he said, and walked back out.

Brian and Justin exchanged a wary glance. Principal Edgers caught it and smiled. With edges. "We recently received a grant from a wonderful private company. It made it possible to install security cameras at all the entrances and along side the main building, which we've been looking into for a while."

He leaned back in his chair. "Now, I'm sure you both have homework. Get it out and make the most of these two hours." They did. It wasn't quite the hell that Brian had imagined, mostly because his English novel had improved and he was actually kind of enjoying it now. Still, by ten minutes till, he'd started glancing at the clock.

That was when a second knock sounded at the door.

"Enter," Edgers said again. Brian glanced and was unsurprised to see Mr. Heddan. He looked pinched, but that was absolutely normal from what Brian knew of him.

"I need to talk to you," he said. He took Justin and Brian in with a wary distain. "Alone."

"Fine," Principal Edgers said, and stood from behind his desk. He followed Mr. Heddan out into the hall and half shut the door behind him. Brian didn't give a fuck what they were talking about, and he would have continued not to--until he distinctly heard the words "dark room". He eased himself out of his chair and walked softly to the door.

"I don't know who it is. They're blurry." Mr. Heddan. And then a mumble, mumble, mumble from Edgers. "It was fully developed, but whoever did it developed it wrong. It's underexposed. Or so Mrs. Peterson told me." More low rumbling from Edgers seemed to indicate a take-charge approach to the situation and then Mr. Heddan said, voice doubtful, "I'm not sure the new video cameras would have caught this, even had they been installed. It doesn't look like it was on school grounds."

"We'll just have to be more vigilant. Tell Smithson." Edgers' voice came closer. Brian turned and slid quietly back into his seat. A few seconds later, Principal Edgers strode back through the door--without Mr. Heddan.

"You two are free to go. And if I ever catch either of you in posession of cigarettes or smelling like smoke again, you'll lose a lot more than two hours of free time."

Brian grabbed his bag and followed Justin out.