EIGHTEEN!

"You're losing your shirt!" Brian bent down and swept the garment from Babylon's dance floor almost as deftly as he'd nudged it off Justin's youthful frame moments earlier.

"And you almost lost yours." Justin beamed from ear to ear, happy he'd managed to snuff out the Kip Thomas minefield before it blew up in Brian's face. 'He's always coming on to you, acting like he likes you,' he'd schemed to Kip, conveniently leaving out the part about loving every minute of it and egging Brian on whenever he could. 'All he really cares about is getting laid.' Justin shrugged his bare shoulders and kept dancing with Brian. "It's a mystery," he told him when Brian admitted he didn't have a clue why the lawsuit was dropped.

Brian leaned forward and kissed him. "I guess I'll just have to be more careful who I fuck."

"Lucky for you, I turn eighteen tomorrow."

. . .

The important milestone was marked quietly the following evening at a nice restaurant, Justin, his mom, and his sister laughing frequently and making plans to eat there again soon.

"How about some ice cream, Molly?" Jennifer asked when the waiter came around with dessert menus. "Justin, do you want to share some of that chocolate cake we like so much?"

He wanted it, but he wanted to be with someone else more. "Let's have it next time, okay?"

Waving good-bye when they dropped him off at Debbie's, he stayed just long enough to grab his jacket before he was out the door again, his mom's car having barely turned the corner.

"I'm legal," he announced when Brian slid the door to his loft open fifteen minutes later. (It was normally about a thirty minute walk.)

Brian wondered if legal was half as good as illegal, noting that nice blue dress shirts have a way of making beautiful azure eyes even more outstanding. He latched onto his boy the second he walked inside, inundated with subliminal messages of contentment when they kissed. Who was that nameless, faceless trick he'd unceremoniously shown out an hour earlier? Why did it feel like heaven when Justin was in his arms?

They fell to the sofa and rutted against each other while they necked, Justin giving as good as he got. He sucked on Brian's tongue as their dicks swelled, drawing him inextricably further into his web.

Smack dab in it was the only place Brian wanted to be. He helped Justin out of his jeans and promptly clamped his fist around his boy's shaft, jerking him off with long kneading strokes.

Justin squirmed and moaned, coming in Brian's hand in a matter of minutes. "Fuck me," he whispered while Brian stripped, the need emanating from his body impossible to contain.

Brian smiled. Aggressive Justin. All for him. The concept was overwhelming.

. . .

"I know I left marshmallows in here somewhere," Justin mumbled, groping around in the back of Brian's kitchen cabinet. "Oh, good. Here they are." He was always pulling together a late night snack after a healthy workout.

"I thought you had a big dinner with your parents." Brian still lay on the sofa. All he really wanted was a cigarette.

"It was just my mom and Molly. My dad hasn't talked to me in months." Justin brought tall mugs of hot cocoa from the kitchen, miniature marshmallows swimming in each one. "And it was hours ago. Aren't you famished?"

Sitting cross-legged in their underwear, they faced each other on the couch, sipping the steaming chocolate. Well, Justin did, anyway.

Brian mostly looked at his. "At least your dad has the country club manners to avoid you altogether. Whenever mine talks to me, it's to express his deep regret over my birth or to hit me up for a loan."

"Jesus," Justin sighed. "I don't know what's worse - being rejected because you like dick or knowing your father wishes you'd never been born." He slurped the last of his hot cocoa.

Brian picked his cigarettes up from the coffee table and lit two. He actively rationed alcohol into Justin's teenaged hands on an as-needed basis, yet various smoking materials failed to arouse his inner cop. "I'd say we're tied in the asshole father department," he said, handing one to Justin. "But your mother's prettier than mine. She doesn't drink, does she?"

"Huh?" Justin's lips formed a circle while he exhaled three wispy smoke rings toward the rafters.

Brian glanced at the time. "Shit! You better get back to Deb's. I'll never get her off my ass for keeping you out this late on a school night!"

"I'm eighteen now, Brian, or have you forgotten already? What can she do?"

"You haven't known Debbie very long, have you?" Brian mashed out his cigarette, looking around for his clothes. "Come on. I'll drive you back."

. . .

"You better go in," were the words Brian spoke, his Jeep idling in front of Debbie's. Yet his richly expressive light brown eyes, capable of moving mountains with their power of suggestion, seemed to state quite the opposite.

"I'll come over again tomorrow night."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Brian plunged his tongue down Justin's throat. No matter how many times his conscience warned him to cut the boy loose, there was no denying the cosmic force that kept drawing them back together.

Justin clung to Brian tighter than any barnacle known to man, kissing him the way he liked to be kissed. Hearing 'Happy Birthday, Sunshine' when they finally came up for air, he knew he was making progress.