A/N: This story makes more sense if you read "Going, Going, Gone," and its sequel, "Secret Admirer" first, but you can read it without the other two. Let's just say this man is not a very nice man...LOL!

Blackbird Lofts - Lawrenceville, PA

"Justin?" Brian peeked his head into the foyer of their loft as he called his husband's name out. He had stolen a glance into the large picture windows of the blond's adjacent studio space to make sure he wasn't there painting before he had quietly opened the main door.

Hoping Justin was really gone somewhere, he was fairly confident he was when he called out the man's name again and did not receive any response; he tugged the heavy packages he held down the hallway and trudged slowly up the steps with them. What he was about to do was something he wouldn't have been caught dead doing a few years ago. Of course, at the time he never thought he'd be caught dead being married, either, but a certain determined, blonde-haired twink-turned-man had eventually wore him down and made him change his mind.

Right, Kinney…You just go on believing that, you liar, he couldn't help thinking. No one had forced him to marry Justin – in fact, when he had asked his partner last year if he wanted to take a vacation with him to try and get rid of the awful image of that asshole Prescott who had been stalking him, he was the one who had suggested a little stop in Vermont on the way to Mykonos. Naturally, Justin hadn't argued with him, at least not after Brian had convinced him that he really did want to marry him.

Now, here it was a year later, and he couldn't believe that not only was he happier than he ever thought he could be, but he was actually about to celebrate his one-year wedding anniversary with Justin by decorating the top floor of their building with a dinner fitting a hopeless, consummate romantic.

He shook his head in wonder, trying to figure out how in the world he had ever let himself get to this point – he hadn't quite become the "dreamy-eyed schoolboy" he had accused Justin of having a dalliance with – hell, he wasn't that over-the-top and he never would be – but he had to admit, he had definitely softened over the years. Maybe it was born of the tumultuous time they had spent together after Lane Prescott had developed that almost deadly fixation on his then partner; it had taken Justin several months after that awful time of being kidnapped and having to testify against the other man before he didn't wake both of them up with a nightmare as he relived that horrific time over and over again.

Brian had lost count of all the times he had had to rock his husband back to sleep, holding him in his arms and soothing his nerves with quiet expressions of love and protection until the blond's breathing slowly returned to normal and he finally fell asleep in his embrace.

He sighed a little in pain over that recollection before he forced himself instead to turn his attention to the present. Justin thankfully hadn't had one of those vivid nightmares for some time now; Prescott was firmly ensconced in jail along with his twin brother after plotting to kill both him and Greg Matthews but being apprehended in time to prevent any harm being done. Finally secure, then, in the knowledge that the two brothers weren't going anywhere except in a pine box eventually, he and Justin had finally been able to replace all those terrible nightmares with much more happier memories and move on with their lives.

He smiled at the thought of how happy Justin was going to be when he saw what he was doing to commemorate their one-year anniversary; this would definitely be one of those happier memories that overshadowed the horrible ones.

Hoisting the large, plastic bags up the attic steps to the outside doorway, he pushed it open with his body and walked up onto the top landing. Unbeknownst to Justin, Brian had recently arranged to have a brick wall installed around the entire circumference of the roof while Justin was in New York for a showing to give them the ultimate in privacy for their one-on-one "encounters" he was planning.

Although they were married now and were monogamous by mutual consent and desire, Brian had been pleased to note that their sex life was as exciting and passionate as ever; in fact, Brian was somewhat surprised to find that once the pressure to uphold his "image" as the great stud of Liberty Avenue had been removed, his and Justin's relationship had taken on a sweeter, even deeper type of nuance. By now, they knew every inch of each other's body and what to do to each other for the ultimate in sensual pleasure. He actually didn't miss having to constantly be on the prowl for the latest, greatest fuck; he had Justin – he didn't need anything else. They each knew other so well that whether it was a passionate, almost violent fuck one night or a slow, patient round of lovemaking the next, it didn't matter because there was another part of the mix that they could never have with anyone else – love.

Boy, have you changed, Old Man, he chided himself, as he walked over to a small, rectangular glass dinner table, but he didn't care – he was happy. And with their anniversary tomorrow, he wanted to make sure he made Justin happy. This plan would be a large step in making that a reality as he began to reach into one of the bags and pull out some items he would need: several boxes of strands of small, white twinkling lights, squat, thick, three-wicked pillar candles scented in vanilla, and a crystal bud vase that would eventually hold a single, perfect, long-stemmed red rose signifying their first year of marriage together.

The weather tomorrow night also promised to cooperate; according to the weather reports, Mother Nature was even going to oblige with a full moon. Thinking how all the soft light would compliment his partner's fair skin, blond hair and those incredible blue eyes, his body thrummed in anticipation of Justin's reaction when he saw their special anniversary dinner he was having catered by one of the most exclusive Greek restaurants in town. He thought after their incredible honeymoon in Mykonos, it was only fitting that they feast on the same kind of food one year later to commemorate their union.

He glanced around the spacious, square space at the progress the work crews had made so far; Brian had hired them on the basis that they would be paid handsomely for working around Justin's schedule; fortunately, due to Justin's great success lately with the pieces he was producing out of his studio next door, he had been extremely busy of late either driving or flying to various art shows to accomodate gallery owners clamoring for one of his works to display. Each time he left, Brian missed him terribly – phone sex was so mild compared to the real thing of bare skin on skin now – but he was glad in a way that Justin had been busier than normal lately, because the work that needed to be done on the top roof floor was almost complete.

He noted to his satisfaction that the work crew had also succeeded in installing the 12 X 12' vinyl canopy over the right corner of the roof; it would allow him and Justin to relax under the retractable covering even when it rained. He knew how much Justin loved hearing the sound of rain pattering on the metal roof inside their loft, so he made sure to include that sort of design feature in their new rooftop hideaway. The soft, calfskin leather outdoor furniture had been delivered and placed underneath, too, he noticed, imagining all sorts of sensual escapades he and his husband would soon be enjoying there while they listened to some jazz music coming from their hidden stereo system nearby and relished several rounds of Jim Beam from their built-in wet bar.

Justin had one more delivery to make tomorrow morning, and then he would be done for the rest of the week. It would be perfect to finish up the last-minute remodeling work needed for Brian's surprise, but he would be glad when Justin could stay home for a few days. He was at least thankful that Justin had been able to come home most nights while he had been away; he had found that just trying to sleep even one night without his husband by his side was torture and made him a grousing madman at work. He chuckled to himself, realizing that he wouldn't be the only one that would be glad when Justin stayed home for a while.

Glancing down at his Rolex, he noticed it was almost 6:00; if he didn't hurry downstairs, he might be caught dead to rights on the roof when Justin got home – he was due any minute now. His heart beating in anticipation like it always did when Justin was imminently due, he placed the remainder of his supplies on the table located under the canopy and hurried downstairs to eagerly wait for his husband to return.

He had just managed to rush downstairs a few seconds before he heard the door being unlocked; hurrying over to the open living area, he plopped down nonchalantly on the couch just before the door opened and a blond blur came scurrying in.

"Oh, my God! Shit! Brian! You won't fucking believe it!" Justin hurried into the kitchen, excitedly searching for his husband. "Brian! I know you're here – I saw the 'Vette outside! Where are you? I have to tell you something!"

Brian curled his lips under in amusement; some things never changed. Once a whirlwind, always a whirlwind….

Lying lengthwise on the couch, he raised his eyes to peer over the side of the leather sofa's arm as Justin came rushing in to find him. He heard a loud, exasperated sigh as his husband said, "Have you gone deaf now? Didn't you hear me calling you?" He placed his hands on his hips as he walked over to stand in front of the couch and glare down at the brunet, who merely stared back at him innocently.

"I heard you," he acknowledged readily. "I was just waiting for you to take a breath and come up for air…..sometime next year."

He smiled as Justin glared at him; his eyes widened, however, at the playful, almost dangerous look in the other man's eyes as he walked to the front of the couch to face him.

"Oh, you were, were you?" Justin countered. "Well, don't hold YOUR breath, Mr. Kinney," he warned the other man as he promptly sat down on Brian's legs to hold them firmly in place. He took both of Brian's hands and linked them with his before leaning down to give the other man a passionate, tongue-curling kiss. "I have ways of saying a lot – even without opening my mouth."

Brian smirked. "Well, I actually prefer you with your mouth open, at least in certain circumstances."

Justin grinned before he unexpectedly let go of Brian's hands and began to tickle the other man mercilessly in his sides where he knew he was the touchiest. "Oh, I don't know. I actually prefer THIS type of communication."

"Justin!" Brian protested in between fits of laughter as he writhed under the unrelenting torment. "Stop that, you asshole!" He couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up from him, however, as Justin paid him no heed and merely continued to torture him with his skillful fingers.

Well, two can play that game, Taylor. Brian reached up to stop his husband's wandering hands and deftly flipped them over to pin Justin firmly to the couch cushions. There was no way, however, that he could pretend to be angry with the face that was currently staring back at him with so much love and adoration, the blue eyes shining with happiness. He shook his head and grinned ruefully, knowing he was lost, before he leaned down to return the blond's previous "favor" and give Justin a slow, deep kiss.

Several seconds later, they finally broke apart breathlessly as Brian lay beside the blond, idly caressing one of the soft cheeks. Thinking he wouldn't mind caressing another sort of soft cheek soon, he finally remembered Justin's excitement from earlier. "Now that I finally managed to shut you up for a few seconds, what were you trying to tell me?" he asked.

Justin's mouth hung open as he realized he hadn't yet told Brian the wonderful news. "Oh – yeah! I meant to tell you! The painting of the elderly couple on the wooden bench I painted last month?"

Brian nodded as he recalled the realistic, wonderfully stark portrayal Justin had painted of the wizened, older man and wife he had encountered one morning near the park as they waited for the bus; he had asked them for permission to do a sketch of them and was delighted when they had agreed. He had subsequently used the sketch to paint a large portrait of them and had decided to deliver that one to the art gallery in Philadelphia for a showing last week.

Yeah, that one was really good," he told the blond, who beamed at the praise. Before, Brian would have deemed his paintings to be "all right." Lately, though, he had elevated his endeavors to one of "really good." He decided he rather liked that promotion as he continued excitedly, "Well, I got a call this morning from William Clayton, the gallery's owner. Guess how much they sold that painting for?"

"Well, by the way you were practically bouncing off the walls when you came in, I would say the equivalent of the national debt?"

"Ha, ha," Justin responded, twisting his face. "Close, but not quite." He took a breath as if he were still trying to believe it himself as he told his husband, "Mr. Clayton said there was a minor bidding war that broke out at the show, and by the time it was all said and done, my painting had been sold for…." He deliberately inserted a pregnant pause before disclosing the dollar amount. "It sold for $27,000! Can you fucking believe it?‼"

Brian smiled broadly at his husband, surprised in a way by the exorbitant sum but in a way not too surprised; he knew how talented Justin was, so it was just a matter of time before everyone else realized it, too. He sighed melodramatically. "Thank God – now maybe you can actually contribute toward the household expenses….."

"Ow!" He pulled his hand back where Justin had pinched it. "At least before you'd bite it instead," he observed, receiving a mock look of disgust from the blond. Before Justin had a chance to retort, he added, "Don't get your little tighty-whities in a knot. You know I was kidding, Sunshine," he said softly, smiling tenderly at the pouting lips. He couldn't help reaching over to grab Justin's neck and pull his lips back to his for yet another round of Tongue-Fucking 101. "I think it's great," he sincerely told the younger man, who grinned back at him proudly. "What do you say we go upstairs and celebrate some more?"

As Justin twisted his body to rise from the couch, he said, "You're on, Old Man. Drinks are on me."

Brian snorted as he rose to join him, reaching over to grab the pale, long-fingered hand. "You're so extravagant, Mr. Taylor, considering the Beam upstairs is a gift from one of my clients."

Justin merely shrugged. "So I'm frugal," he explained as Brian laughed.

"Come on, Mr. Artist Extraordinaire," the brunet said, tugging on Justin's arm to prod him along. "Let's go take care of some business of our own."

Pittsburgh State Correctional Institution – Greensburg, PA - same time

As he sat on the worn, paper-thin mattress in his cell, the man wearing orange and white stripes stared down at the newspaper in his shaking hands. He could barely control his anger as he once again reread the Pittsburgh paper's Art Section, front-page article detailing the recent successes of Justin Taylor, the man who was recently named as New Yorker Magazine's Hot New Emerging Artist of the Decade.

It wasn't the man's success that was causing his own body to heat up in fury and his adrenalin to increase; he knew without a doubt how incredibly talented the man was, as well as beautiful inside and out. No, it wasn't that; it was the photo staring back at him of the elegantly but casually-dressed brunet standing next to him, the taller man's face peering down in pride and affection at the artist as his hand rested possessively around the slim shoulder as if he owned him. A gleaming, platinum-colored wedding band was apparent on the man's tapered, well-manicured hand. The caption underneath the photo proclaimed, "Pittsburgh's Version of Andy Warhol celebrates his prestigious award with his husband, Brian Kinney, at New Yorker Magazine's recent announcement of his achievement."

Slowly he crumbled up the paper in his hands until it was a tight, wrinkled wad, his knuckles white from the enraged grip he had on the material as he silently seethed in rage. He glanced up as he heard his cellmate entering their claustrophobic, tiny space. "Well?"

The other man nodded. "It's all set. Tomorrow morning."

For the first time in a long time, Lane Prescott smiled.