Disclaimer: The story herein is fiction. Fiction is defined as being the following: A lie. A literary work whose content is produced by the imagination and is not necessarily based on fact. Please don't take these stories as truth. No harm or disrespect is intended by any of the fiction contained here.

A Way Back To Nothing

*~*~*~*~* Prologue*~*~*~*~*

"Oh, fuck, babe... that's it. Right there, now harder!"

"You like that? Yeah, oh fuck yeah, you're so tight..."

"Come for me, James. Please, baby... I want to feel you... Mmmm, fuck that's good!"

"Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! I'm there! Oh, fuck! BRET!!!"

And then there was silence.

Some crickets chirped.

James' cheeks went red.

And then all hell broke loose.

Tossing wildly, Kirk struggled his way out from under James, fuming mad and yelling the whole time. "Bret? BRET? Are you kidding me? Fuck, James, that's the third time this week! Muthafuck! Of all the–"

"Babe, babe, relax, hold on... you're gonna hurt yourself... ok, could you just calm down for one–"

"No, this is utter bullshit, and you know it!" Kirk began throwing the stuff on the night-stand at James. Thankfully, Kirk threw like a girl and had shitty aim. He did manage to hit James in the shoulder with a half full cup of coffee though. The mug bruised James' arm– just catching the edge of ‘Carpe Diem' – and stale, cold liquid stained the 400 count Ralph Lauren sheets. Not that James gave a fuck, but once Kirk calmed down, he sure as hell would care.

"WHAT THE FUCK, Hetfield?"

James went silent. He had no real excuse. Standing before him, with cum sliding down his ass and thigh, was the man he cherished more than anything. And he was fucking it up.

*~*~*~*~* Kirk *~*~*~*~*

I've felt like a slut in the past, but I've never been made to feel that way by someone I love. Someone I trust. Fuck, I'm an idiot. A total fucking brain-dead moron. How could I fool myself into thinking that I'd be able to keep James' attention? I mean, he's wild– he's built for passion. I'm... well, I'm not sure what I am. I've never been sure. But it's become pretty damn apparent I'm not worth much. Ok, I have to calm down. The water's getting icy cold and I still haven't thought of what I want to say to him. Something's gotta change though– that much I know. Standing there, in *our* room, with *our* mixed scents staining my body– inside and out– I can't go through this anymore! Running off to the shower with some randomly tossed curse words probably wasn't the best way to deal with the moment, but fuck me! How many times am I supposed to shrug it off?

Something pricks at me, making me feel like a total hypocrite. I wouldn't mind this half as much if not for my jealousy. James may not be completely honest, but he's being a lot more open than I am, and yeah, I'm jealous. It's not like I don't think of other people in bed. I mean, I'm a guy, right? Yes, I'm still a guy! Hell, James is the first person I've ever been with who has respected me as a man and a person. I'm not just his bitch. I know it. Maybe I only feel so shitty because I'm screaming at him for doing the very thing I want to do.

Not that James and I haven't role played. But I've never asked him to be someone I've already been with. I couldn't. What if he started to think I wanted to be with that person? I love *James* James is who I want to be with. So why am I getting so worried that he wants to be with someone else?

Because it's been three times! And that's just THIS week!

Right. But how many times have I looked up at that wavy blonde hair, stuck by sweat to his broad shoulders, and let my mind wander?

Ok, enough mind wandering! When I turned on the water, James was talking to me. I was trying to ignore him, but that's about as easy as convincing Lars that he made a mistake. So James is probably already dressed and downstairs. In our cozy little kitchen, with the appliances and towels and all kinds of fucking homey-stuff that we picked out together. He's waiting for me.

And I'm hiding in this icy water.

*~*~*~*~* James *~*~*~*~*

Kirk finally comes down. It takes all the strength I have left not to hop up and hug him. He's shivering. Cold shower. Ouch. Great, let's add that to my guilt. Not only did I scream out another man's name, but I'm the only one who got off.

Hey, it could be worse. I could have screamed out a woman's name. Ok, that's not funny. This is not the time to joke. Kirk has resolve face on and he's looking at me like I'm a moron because I'm clearly trying to suppress giggles.

Even in this tense moment, it's comforting for me to realize how well we know each other. "Jame, we need to talk."

I nod. "I know."

He doesn't sit down. I push a mug of tea across the table, and he acknowledges it with a little smile. But he doesn't take it. He sighs. Then he meets my eyes. Fuck, what am I doing to him? I can't even read him– he must be so jumbled inside.

"Look, I get how we work. I mean, men– our species or whatever. It's totally natural for you to picture other guys, check out other guys, whatever. It's just a little... well... it hurts when those other guys have names. I mean, it's like I'm not enough–"

"Kirk, that's not it at all!"

He puts his hand up and closes his eyes. Ok, he has some idea cooked up that he wants to lay out. Fine. NOT a discussion. I didn't get that memo, but then I'm the one who fucked up tonight. So I can wait my turn.

Kirk sits down. Right across from me. This is good, I think.

"James,..." He trails off and collects himself.

Ok, maybe not so good. Fuck. Kirk, please don't leave me.

"I think we need a little break."

I swear, every one of my senses just shut off. I can't hear him, I can't touch him, and I can't see anything. My mouth is dry.

"Jame?"

I have no voice.

"Babe?" Kirk's slender hands cover mine, and I begin to come back from the shock. Oh. No. He *really* can't mean this. Ok, don't jump to conclusions. Don't make assumptions. Let him have his say.

Oh. No. If I shut down so completely from the idea of losing him, and if the thing that brings me back is his touch, what will I do if he–

"Babe, I need you to hear me out. I put a lot of thought into this. I love you, but I just can't live this way. It makes me feel terrible about myself. You loving me but wanting some else is making me hate myself."

"Kirk," I croak out. "I'm so sorry. What... there has to be something I can do to make this ok?"

He takes a deep breath and averts his eyes. "I think there is something. I think we need time apart."

*~*~*~*~* Kirk *~*~*~*~*

Before I can say another syllable, James jumps up and starts pacing around the kitchen like a caged lion. He's really not taking this well.

Then I figure out why. The ass just keeps assuming he knows what I mean. He hasn't let me finish a single sentence without freaking. He doesn't even know what it is that he isn't taking well yet! Is it ever my turn to talk?

"James! I need you to listen to me!"

Forget it. This isn't working. He's frantic, babbling about things that have nothing to do with anything. I can't watch this. I turn and storm up the stairs. If he doesn't want to go through with my plan, well, fuck him then. I'm still doing it. I'm still my own man. I am! I don't care if every time I look at him I feel in my heart and soul and other not so poetic areas that I belong to him. I can and will and AM making up my own mind. Following through. Yes, I am.

I pull out my suitcase and tear it open just as he appears in the doorway. His eyes are still wild, but he's obviously struggling to hold himself together.

James says very quietly, "Talk to me, Kirk."

"James, you're over reacting." He opens his mouth as if he's going to protest, but I look at him sternly and he shuts it. "Why are you spazzing out?"

"Because the man I love won't give me a second chance."

"Oh, baby. No. C'mere." I pat the bed, and he sits down– next to my open suitcase. I kneel on the floor, looking up at him. "You wouldn't listen, James. You never listen. Jumping to conclusions... it only hurts, well... everyone. Ok, now isn't for lectures. Will you hear me out?"

He nods. I think he believes he doesn't have any other choice.

"Ok, I tried to ask you in the kitchen. This ‘Bret'? He's...?"

"Bret Hart."

"I figured. Baby, you know that if anyone would understand having a crush on a wrestler, it's me."

He winces a little, but nods.

"We have a weekend apart. Just a weekend. You go up to Calgary. Meet Bret, hang out with Bret, fuck Bret. I don't care. Just be safe and... I don't want to know anything, ok?"

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I love you. I trust you. I feel fucked up sometimes, but I can't help it. So... I'm giving you the chance to get him out of your system, ok? It might work, it might not. I mean, he might not be interested. But... you can try. The only stipulation is whatever happens this weekend, you and I don't question each other. We let it go. Ok?"

The nod comes slower this time. I would ask him what's wrong, but I already know. So I just wait for him to form the words.

"Kirk?"

"Yeah, lover?"

"Wh- where will you go?"

"Arizona."

*~*~*~*~* James *~*~*~*~*

We packed our bags in silence. All I could keep fantasizing about was how whenever Kirk and I packed together, we were so playful. He'd organize my stuff, I'd unroll his socks. Then when he would go to fix it, I'd put a wad of toilet paper in his toothbrush case. Come to think of it, I was probably really annoying. But he would always try to look stern and then laugh. And laugh.

And then kiss me.

Not much packing got done after that.

*~*~*~*~* Kirk *~*~*~*~*

I can't believe I came up with this idea. I can't believe I said to James ‘He might be interested, he might not.' Who the fuck do I think I'm kidding? James oozes sex appeal. The man's all long legs and lusty ideas. He's going up to Calgary– my bright idea– to meet the object of his standing desire, and I'm hoping– what? That he fails? Right, great chance of that happening... That he gets laid then comes back to me? I don't think I want to face the chances of that right now.

It's easier to loathe yourself when you hate your surroundings. I'm sure this is a nice hotel, but I think my very presence is making it seedy. I hate it even more because it's yet another reminder of what a great guy I have. I wouldn't even be here if James' hadn't slipped the confirmation and directions into my coat pocket– taped to my CD walkman so he knew I'd see it.

Walls, windows, bed, phone, honor bar. Anywhere, anytown, anytime. My life for the last 20 plus years. Only one heart testing difference– no big, gorgeous, blonde roughneck.

Not yet.

I hope James landed safely. Maybe I should call him? What the fuck am I thinking anyway? I of all people should know that it stays with you. Once you get a taste of something you've always craved, you're not sated. It gets worse, more intense. But that's part of why this needs to happen. I guess I accuse him of things that I'm doing myself. It's easier to see certain flaws in someone else if you are trying to hide those very flaws.

So the only things James and I have in common are negative?

No, no! Not letting my mind go there. I'm trying to paint the whole thing black so that I don't have to deal with the dirty parts. But there's so much beauty between James and I. I hope we don't lose that.

That fear alone makes me hesitant about being here, in Arizona. I already had my trist. Maybe I should just hide out here and let James have his fun (or hopefully not) and then we go home together. After all, we're not asking each other anything, right? I could do the stand up thing. I could keep the cobra in the basket for one weekend, sort of a penance for all the times I let the snake out to wander.

When have I ever had the balls to do the hard thing? Especially when the low road includes getting laid.

With a heavy sigh at my honesty– even if I only admit these things to myself, and never out loud– I reach for the phone. I dial a too familiar number and don't have to wait for it to ring more than twice.

"Nash. Speak."

I laugh softly. Who answers the phone like that anymore? Never under estimate a wrestler's arrogance. They're worse than rock stars.

"Heya, Big Man. Guess who's in town for the weekend?"

*~*~*~*~* James *~*~*~*~*

I had the taxi leave me off a few blocks away from Hart's house. I more or less know where I'm headed, but I've never had a chance to see ... well, much of any place. For having gone everywhere in the world– multiple times– I haven't seen much. Not a very cultured world traveler.

I chuckled to myself, thinking back to the ‘A Yeah and a Half in the Live of' filming. There was one scene where the cameras caught Kirk and I in the shower and I used that line about us being world travelers. Kirk's goofy grin caught for all eternity by the magic of film.

We had covered up just in time. The flush on Kirk's cheeks is all too evident. I love watching that part of the film. Less than a minute before we heard work boots pattering on the locker room tile, I was giving Kirk a blow job intended to make him lose his mind. His cock felt so right against my tongue, sliding between my lips. I had his hips pinned to the wall so that I could slowly bob along his shaft.

As it was, he couldn't barely form a sentence. Only laugh and smile and enjoy himself. And it was because of me. Then we had to make up some grandiose story about dozens of girls washing us down...

I'm getting quite a reaction out of myself at the moment just thinking about it. Better calm down. This cool air is helping, but not much against the heat of my memories. Quite different from my last memory of him.

We parted at SFO, and he just seemed so distracted. Kirk had a shorter flight, but it left later. I managed to avoid any pointless lay-overs in Seatle and it's still daylight and I'm already in Calgary. He was wandering around and being Mr. Fan Man, not all that characteristic of him. I guess he wanted to forget what he's doing, but how can he forget how well I know him? He's not acting like himself, and there's no one that would know that better. I didn't call him on it. Instead, I set up a hotel room for him in Phoenix, close enough to Chandler. Didn't want to tell him, but I made sure Kirk got the message. When we were hugging goodbye at my gate just didn't seem the time to try to take care of him.

I'm not sure why– I mean, we take care of each other. It's what we do. How fucked up is this? I'm walking along a snow covered street in Canada when I should be holding Kirk in my arms. I couldn't even kiss him good bye– stupid world with it's stupid rules and stupid prejudices.

Way to be mature, Hetfield. Why don't you just call the nation a ‘poopy-head'?

I laugh out loud at myself. I wonder if that's any more or less acceptable up here than in San Fran– looking crazy in public, I mean?

No more time to wonder because I'm not walking along the streets anymore. I'm wandering up to the door.

*~*~*~*~* Kevin *~*~*~*~*

If there wasn't a lump in my throat earlier, there sure is one now. I'm imagining things. That has to be it. The strain is finally getting to me and I'm--"Hello? Did I get the wrong number?"

No, that simpering little voice is definately Kirk. "Nah, you didn't get the wrong number. Hell, Kwirk, how many numbers you have where someone answers the phone ‘Nash'?"

He lets out a nervous laugh. "Good point."

"What do you want?" Hmm. Maybe that was too rude. Oh well. I didn't ask him to call me. He's not answering.

"Speak, guy, or stop wasting my time."

"K-Kev?"

Oh crap. Why's he gotta do that slight whimper thing? Swear to god, only Kirk and the Kid can pull that off in a way that goes right to my heart.

And about two and a half feet lower. Yeesh.

I wipe my hand over my brow and try to regulate my voice. "Yeah, Kirk– I'm here. Sorry, man. Been a stressful... uh... well, things have been hectic, ok?"

"I'm sorry to hear that. Must be the moon."

"Trouble in paradise?" When did my voice get that bitter edge to it? I mean, I like James.

"You could say that."

I really do like James. He's a good guy. "Wait a minute– when you said in town... you don't have a show scheduled, do you?"

"Why, you got some time off?"

"Don't play with me, kiddo. You know how I hate being answered with a question." He sighs. He seems defeated. But James is a good– ah, screw it.

"Kirk, where are you?"

"Holiday by the airport."

My hand goes back over my eyes. You can't block out memories by covering your vision. I wonder if he went there on purpose– lure me back. The nights we had there... well, they were amazing, to say the least. And good gawd I'm needing to blow off steam in a big way. Half of me can picture myself five minutes into the future... in the car, zipping down the highway towards the blissfully private rooms.

The other half of me can look a few hours past that and see Scott coming home to an empty house. Beyond that, it's dark. I'm not sure what might happen, but I know it would be bad.

"Kirk, I can't." I'm mumbling. I'm sure he didn't hear me.

"Kevin... you're still there, right?" He sounds so hopeless. Gawd, I want to reach out and ask what the hell's the matter. But I know exactly where that path ends up. It starts as ‘concern,' makes a pit stop by ‘comforting' for gas, and then we're at the end of the line, sweaty and tangled together.

"Kirk, I can't see you, ok?"

"O-ok." The line's quiet for a moment. "You're being very blunt. What's... I mean... is everything... uhm, Hey!" Abrupt tone changes: a Kirk exclusive. But that was a little too bright. "How's Scott?"

Subtle he sure ain't. I wonder what happened– Kirk used to be a sneaky little fucker. Guess he's been spending too much time with James. Have I mentioned what a good guy he is, that James? "Scott's... not in. But Kirk, look, I'm finally working things out with him. I can't risk that. I just can't. You know our past. And... it's just complicated, ok?"

"Which ‘our'?"

"Huh?"

"You said ‘our past'– did you mean... did you... uhm, me and you or you and... uhm..."

"Me and Scott. I meant me and Scott." But yeah, I remember my past with Kirk-- not nearly as agonizingly complex, although we had our moments, and hotter than a whore in hell. But that was the past. Past. Do I need to spell it out? "I just– look, I need to focus on now and that's hard enough with all the hoops McMahon has us jumping through, but when you add you into the mix–"

"I'm sorry! I'm not here to add to any mixes! I'm just... I'm here because... well..."

"It's complicated?" I sigh, empathizing.

He sighs in response. "Isn't it always?" His voice sounds so much smaller now.

I'm reminded of his actually physical size. Slight little man, but hot as hell. With the flames to prove it. I think my breath must have hitched, and of course he reads it in a heartbeat.

And his voice gets a little stronger. "Kevin, you ok?"

"Fine."

"You want to tell me what you're thinking of?"

"No, I really don't."

He laughs a little, but it's more of a teasing sound. The way a lover laughs when you're tied to the bed and they let you pretend that you might have a modicum of control. You know you don't, and you're being taunted. That's how Kirk laughs. "Ok, well, how about I guess what you're thinking about?"

I swallow hard. His idea actually doesn't sound so bad.

"You're thinking about... how being tall and wide and strong sure does have it's advantages. You're remembering how easily you could lift me up to face you then pin me to the wall. How you could physically dominate me, and slide my body down until you were fully inside me."

My breath catches again. I would squeak out his name if I dared to make a sound right now. I wasn't thinking of that before, but I sure as hell am thinking about that now. Before, I was thinking– oops, he's still talking.

"I loved being manhandled like that, Kevin. I still fantasize about it."

"And..." My voice just choked on itself. How sexy am I? "And taken care of, Kirk. I took care of you."

"You took very, very good care of me, Kev." He's practically purring. "I think all of the time about how you used to touch me... " Tease.

I might as well join in– I can give as well as take. "I loved holding you against me and watching your face, all contorted in pleasure. God, what I wouldn't give to see you like that again... "

There's a brief silence on the other end of the line. I notice it only because I catch myself from what I was saying and stop dead. Ok, maybe I'm imagining that he was getting hopeful or something– after all he does recover quickly.

"Where are you right now?"

"In the den. Y-you?" In the den, holding a drink, waiting for my live-in lover, my world for the past *ahem* years to come home from an AA meeting. Gee, aren't I a stand-up guy?

"I'm lying on the bed, no shirt, no underwear, belt undone.... Wishing you were here with me."

Oh, Lord help me, I can picture that.

Even more of a wake up call is what I can hear: keys in the lock.

"Kirk? I have to go."

I slam the receiver down before he can protest and swallow the rest of my drink. Then I pose myself as comfortably as a man that is seven feet tall can fold himself into an arm chair and I wait. Sure enough, a few moments later, Scott walks in greeting me with smiles and kisses and news.

I feel Scott's lips, I hear his voice, but I'm preoccupied with what I'm trying not to picture. That's a lonely man in a hotel room, half naked on a twin bed, thinking of me.

Pretty picture though it is, I'm wracked with quilt just thinking of it.

*~*~*~*~* James *~*~*~*~*

I strut right up and pound three times on the door before I can think about this and take off. I'm not only not friends with this guy, but I don't know him... don't know anyone who knows him... there's no connection.

Oh, fuck. I'm a fool. Ok, for all my swagger and nonsense, I'm an idi– "Hi!"

The door opens before I can take any smarter action (like running) and my first word is the most annoyingly chipper greeting. Ever.

And just what would you do if one Friday afternoon Bret Hart opened his front door in jeans, no shoes, and a half unbuttoned flannel?

His rugged nature makes me look like a housewife.

I'm not drooling, am I?

He's looking at me kinda funny. I bet I am drooling.

I wipe my lower lip as nonchalantly as I can, and start to talk. Someone has to, and maybe talking will make me checking for leaky body fluids seem more natural. Hey, no one ever questions Lars picking his nose– because they can't get a word in. So, I'm trying that strategy!

"Uhm, hi, Bret.... Mr. Hart. Mr. Bret Hart. Sorry, I'm... uhm, James, and I..."

"I know who you are, Mr. Hetfield. What do you want?"

"Huh?" My, he's direct. Oh, and he asked me a question. Well, ok, I can't answer that question, because, you know, who does that? Who just shows up on a doorstep and says 'hello, I want you.' Ok, well, I guess I do that... but damn, maybe I could have a little more tact. Maybe not. I better say something... he's looking at me oddly again. "Want... to... I guess, crash here? See, it's a long story, and I could tell it to you if you wanted. You might not care too much, but since I'm here already..."

"And why are you here?"

This man even looks hot when he's all suspicious. Kinda has a dark Fox Mulder thing going for him at this moment. Except Fox seemed to have a sense of humor. Which Bret... well, let's just say if he does have one he's using it sparingly-- at the moment.

The only way I'm getting in that door is if I let the rock star James Hetfield do the talking. I need a confidence boost.

It's as if he reads my body language, sees me prepping to be ultra-cool-man. He takes a deep breath, and I think I catch him roll his eyes, as he prepares to shut me down.

"Listen, Mr. Hetfield, I'm sorry, I don't know what kind of rock n' roll lifestyle you think I..."

"Oh, come off it." Oops. Not the best pick up line. And he looks like someone just smacked him. I drop the sarcasm from my voice and replace it with an earnest note. But I keep the confident physical stance. "All I mean is, the life of a wrestler isn't all that different than the life of a musician. We might have more in common than you think."

"Maybe. But I don't even know you." He crosses his arms over his chest. This is kinda familiar. I can work this. Maybe isn't no.

"So let's get to know one another." There it is! That's the charm I need. Now if only my knees weren't doing a damn good impression of jello, I might be able to pull off 'cool'. He half smirks, and I pull a bottle of California Merlot out of my carry all.

He smiles. "You did your homework." I don't respond. Actually, I just brought my favorite. Red wine's good for your health in moderation, and I've been sober long enough that I can allow myself to have a glass or two every once in awhile. Special occasions, you know.

I'm pleasantly surprised when Bret steps aside and opens the door wider.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"These mountains are beautiful. I bet you got some amazing wildlife up here."

"Sure do. And lenient hunting seasons. People are pretty respectful of nature on this side of the boarder."

"Do you hunt?"

He nods. "Sometimes. I'm more of a fisherman. You hunt?"

"Yeah, I love it. When I can find a partner, that is."

"I thought you had a partner?" Bret looks at me thoughtfully, swirling his glass.

"Kirk? Yeah, but he hates hunting. He's a vegetarian actually."

"Hmm."

"Hmm?" No way was he getting away with not elaborating. Even if I did show up on his doorstep unannounced and all that. He might be insulting Kirk, and I won't let that slide.

"Well, it's nice that he respects your individuality."

"Yeah, that's not a problem Kirk and I have ever had." I guess I hadn't ever really thought about it, but we were *really* different. Oh well, I'll just file that one away for later.

"So, what is the problem, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Uhm, there's no problem."

Bret sets his glass down and leans forward. Even though I'm across the room near the window, I can still feel the intensity of those chocolate eyes. "Then what are you doing here?"

I'm man enough to know when my game's up. Stifling a sigh, I come over to meet him at the table. He leans back in his chair. I get the feeling he has a similar view on personal space as I do. I like it... need it. Especially when I'm about to force out words that don't even want to be formed. Kirk never really got that either. Every time we had any kind of serious discussion, he always wanted to be close to me. Often we'd hold one another, which made it so much harder to say what I actually wanted to. Most times I just didn't. I don't know if it's because I couldn't read his face, or because I could feel his heart beat quicken and his body tense, or because I was being smothered and could barely breathe let alone talk....

Bret's still staring at me.

God, he's gorgeous. I better say something, and it better be good.

*~*~*~*~* Kirk *~*~*~*~*

Naked, in bed, alone.

To say I'm not used to this would be an understatement. Maybe it's some sort of karma.

I wonder what Kev is doing right now. I don't blame him for slamming down the phone, although rejection is rejection anyway you look at it.

Clearly Scott came in. Clearly he had to be with his lover. Clearly he was repulsed by the idea of phone sex.

On cue in an eerie way, the phone rings.

How long have I been wallowing?

"H-hello?"

"Kirk? You sound like shit, man."

"Uhm, thanks. What's up, man?" It's Kevin. What the hell? I grabbed the clock by the bed and tilted it. When did the next day come? Holly shit, I must have passed out. Well, that's one way of wasting a whole day of my life. Better than moping around the hotel room, I guess.

"Scott went out."

"You, uh, want me to come over?"

"No, not yet. Come by around midnight, cool?"

"Uhm... sure. Kevin?"

"I gotta go, Kwirk. I'll see you tonight?"

I stall, but not for long. If he doesn't want to be asked things, he won't be. So there's no way of getting around this until I can maybe get him face to face. "Sure, man. See ya tonight."

Kevin hangs up without saying goodbye. Fine, only a few hours to waste. Better than a whole day.

I wonder what James is doing right now.

*~*~*~*~* James *~*~*~*~*

Oh my fucking God, it's finally happening. I don't have butterflies in my stomach– but that's only because the acid swishing around incinerated them. That's gross. I can't believe how fucking nervous I am. Ok, ok, calm down, Hetfield. You're not some prom night virgin. You've been with more people than Bret, men and women– all over the world.

Which would be a great piece of information if (a) this was a contest (b) I wanted to scare him away. He'd immediately pick up on how out of place you feel if you start dropping the f-bomb left and right so just pull it together.

That would be easier to say if he wasn't pulling his shirt off.

Holy hell, he's gorgeous.

In a way, that motion – Bret ridding himself of some clothing – does it to me in a good way. I calm down enough to enjoy the moment, but I'm still too excited for this to drift into surreal. It's just that I've wanted him so long... and here he is, right in front of me.

Smirking at me.

Oh, no. That will not do.

"What's the matter, James? Never seen a real man before?"

His smirk stays in place– he's just messing with me. I don't let him see my smile falter. I can't let this compare to Kirk– or Lars, for that matter. It has nothing to do with them. Except that this was all Kirk's idea. Oh man, he's in for a night long fucking in the Jacuzzi when we get home.

In this moment though, there's no response I can give. Partially because it's not where I want my mind wandering– to the realm of comparison– but partially because my whole mouth just went dry. I move closer to him, and the defensive light goes on behind those eyes. Ignoring it, I slide my hands over his smooth and tawny chest. I suppress my own smirk when his breath catches.

Moving closer, I nuzzle against his strong shoulder. I try not to get too pleased with myself when he tilts his head to give me more access. Closing my eyes, I let my tongue trail along his skin.

Shoulder to collarbone... I follow that line to his throat. I close my mouth over the strong cords along his neck, nipping as gently as I can, working my way up to his ear.

All the while, my hands are slowly exploring his chest. When my tongue darts around the shell of his ear, I hold him steady with one hand on either side of his waist.

Keeping my voice low, I say against his ear, "Touche, Bret. You seem to be reacting yourself."

His head pulls away from mine, a curtain of hair tangled between us for a moment. There's tension and lust painted clearly on his face.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not used to being touched like this, James."

I'm caught by his contradiction– how can one man be so self assured one moment, and the next so insecure? My head falls forward, the curtain of hair back in place. His voice suggests he's going to continue, but I know better than to study a prideful man when he's trying to admit something.

My mouth rests against his bare skin because I can't help myself. He stalls. "But you like it, right, Bret?" I always knew perfecting that growl would pay off. When Bret shudders slightly against me, I get another pay off.

"Yes, of course.... It's just been awhile. And..." He trails off, reaching for my hands. He needs to step back a bit, so he keeps his eyes downcast. Rubbing the palms of our hands together, I can feel how soft the skin is– not what I would expect for an older man who's so well traveled. "The last time I had any contact, the hands were very soft."

I can't figure out if he means he's been pleasuring himself or he's not used to my touch. Ok, my hands are a little rough. But I've never had any complaints before.

Not that Bret is exactly complaining. What is he doing? Confusing me, I'll tell you that much.

I don't think I signed on for this.

I move back towards him, wrapping my arms around him in a simple hug. Ok, time to get myself in check for real. I may not have `signed on for this,' but I learned a long time ago that shutting off emotions doesn't make them less real. Just makes them really angry and they will rise up and bite you in the ass in a wave of frustration later. That doesn't mean I'm an expert at dealing with them... but...

One thing at a time.

"One thing at a time, Bret."

He nods. I don't even think he knows what I'm talking about. I don't know what I'm talking about. I just want to touch him, and here he is– shirtless and in my arms. And what am I doing?

Thinking! Damn it all.

I'll think tomorrow. For now, I want to feel him. And I want him to feel me. Stroking my hands along his back, I continue to let my mouth roam. I don't think I'm expecting him to be submissive, but I am surprised at how rigid he remains. Man, what the hell happened to make him so defensive?

No, never mind. Don't answer that. Pushing him back against the bed, I noticeably let my eyes rake over him. He allows me to guide him, and he sinks down onto the mattress like he was under incredible strain just standing. The arrogant smirk is gone, but there is a soft smile on his lips. Glad to see he approves of letting his body be worshiped because there's a lot more in store.

His nipples turn dark now that they've hardened. It makes me wonder about his nationality, his background. But not enough to ask. I catch his eyes and tear off my own tee shirt. I crawl on to the bed, and he lays back on his elbows. He lets me hover above him.

Then his arms are around my bare back, pulling me closer. Our chests press together and I can feel his heart racing. I can't get enough of his taste, so my mouth is back against his skin. His hands are fumbling with my belt. There's a frustrated grunt, and I'm flipped over on my back.

Bret's on his hands and knees above me, using one hand to undo my belt. A strong arm is next to my head, propping him up, like a pillar. I turn my face to kiss his forearm. Surprised eyes check me quickly before returning to their project. It must have been awhile for him– he's having a hell of a time.

Since both of my hands are free, I reach up and touch cup his face. My hands slide back into his hair, pulling it out of his eyes. It's shorter than I remember ever seeing it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't look damn good on him.

For all of my growling and strutting– trying to be in control-- I'm probably the last person in the world who can take the lead in the bedroom. I've been lucky that my partners know enough to lead me without making me conscious of it. So it's surprising to myself when I bravely bring his face towards mine.

It occurred to me that we hadn't yet kissed. That's one of things I've always wanted from him– as juvenile as that sounds– kissing.

I don't think it occurs to him to be surprised until our lips have already touched. Then the surprise works in my favor because his lips part. Some say you should never have your fantasy because there's no way it can live up to your expectations.

Bret is more than I can describe. There's a current between us; I think I felt a shock when my lips touched his. Warm and soft– like his hands and his chest and god willing not much else– and the way he moves his mouth is pure Bret. Like when he talks, his mouth moves in this little quirk– it's impossible to describe, and now I'm feeling it.

If I was addicted to his taste before, now I'm beyond help. The wine has coated his mouth and tainted the taste a bit, but I can discern what's him. And I'm suddenly very aware of where I'll find the concentration– the fountain. Realizing what's to come shakes me from becoming lost in the moment just in time for Bret's reaction.

He stops fussing with the belt and leans down slowly on his arms, closer to me. Our bare chests are once more pressed together. Bret's hands are already by my shoulders, and he reaches out to drag his hands over my arms. Leaning closer, kissing me more deeply– the whole of our bodies merging.

Damn these jeans. They need to go. Now.

I break the kiss but my mouth isn't far from his skin. I place small kisses at the edge of his mouth, his jawline, and down his neck as I roll him on to his side. Sliding my hand down his body, we're close enough together that I can tell with the back of my hand that my belt is undone and my fly open. Time to return the favor. I graze my nails over his crotch and his head lulls back with a sigh.

"Bret?"

"Mmm?"

His eyes are closed, head tilted back. I can't help myself– I lick at his throat between words. His eyelashes flutter as if he's making an effort to open his eyes and focus. I don't care for that– I want him relaxed. But I want him to know who he's with. "What are you doing?"

"Erm, en- enjoying myself...."

"Good. Anything else?"

His head comes up. Dark eyes search my face. He looks ready to run– like this is some big trick? Oh come on, he can't really be that delusional. "James?"

I smile and cup his jaw, pulling him to me for another kiss. "That's all I wanted. Just wanted to make sure you were here... with *me*."

The slow sad smile that I'm rewarded with speaks only of empathy. He knows exactly how I feel. He kisses me back and arches into my hand.

His breath is warm against my ear. "I'm with you. And pretty damn happy about it, James." Bret tongues my ear and threatens to make me lose my train of thought.

I slip my hand beneath his waistband. How in the hell did this man get away with wearing tights?

Regrettably I slide away from his mouth and down his body. Bret sighs and rolls on to his back, letting himself enjoy my mouth on his skin. I lick and suck at the skin on his stomach as I work his jeans off. I'm just about to let my tongue run along his thigh when I realize how uncomfortable my own jeans have become. Half on, half off.

I slide off the edge of the bed and finish stripping. When I look up, I find Bret giving me a look of approval.

I chuckle softly, but growl as I crawl back on to the bed.

He inches away.

I crawl towards him.

He inches away.

I laugh out loud. "What the hell are you playing at, Hart?"

That smile could stop the world. It's a shame the world rarely gets to see it. "Turn around."

Fine, I can be playful, too. I obediently turn around and wag my ass at him as enticingly as I can. Let's face it, Kirk I'm not. I look over my shoulder just in time to see his face disappear from view.

Confusion doesn't have much time to set in because I'm caught by a new series of sensations. Shock, pleasure, and near desperation. I look under me, aware that I'm moving my head around like a puppy, and find that Bret scooted down and is laying under me. The shock and pleasure were brought on by his tongue running along my inner thigh.

"Holy Hell, what...." Yeah, that's about as much as I can get out right now.

Bret's lips are sliding over my left hip. His arms are wrapped around the backs of my legs and his hands massage my ass.

I close my eyes and enjoy the unexpected sensation. I was so eager to taste him that I hadn't even considered what he might do to me. Nothing could have prepared me for him. Suddenly I'm aware of a particular scent. I open my eyes and find the fountain of the taste so close to me, straining towards me.

I lean down enough to run my tongue along Bret's stomach to his cock. Been awhile since I've bothered with this position– have to be mindful of my teeth. I tentatively scratch my front teeth over the underside of Bret's dick. He gasps and bucks up. Then he laughs a little self consciously. Ok, maybe I won't have to be quite so careful.

Gently gripping his sac, I guide it to my mouth and juggle his balls on my tongue. I'm torturing myself as well as him by holding off, and he's returning the favor. I feel his tongue grazing over the sensitive patch of skin behind my balls, his finger teasing my entrance.

When his lips close around my cock from the side, I'm temporarily distracted. Moving along my length like it's a harmonica, his tongue probes at me awakening every nerve ending. I lick my lips and push them against his tip. Pre-cum smears against my mouth and I let my tongue dart out to taste him. I can't hold off any longer and I sink my mouth down on him. I feel him moan against my dick, which makes me suck a little. Bret takes the hint and continues to hum quietly. His finger starts to penetrate me and I'm starting to get a little dizzy. I swirl my tongue around his shaft, enjoying every bit of this. He's thick and so hard, but I'm loving the texture of his cock against my tongue. With my face buried in his crotch I lose myself and just enjoy sucking on him.

Bret turns his head and takes my shaft down his throat one moment, the next my cockhead is pushing against the soft lining of his inner cheek. Between his tongue and his hands, I'm too damn close to the edge. I pull my head away from Bret's dick, moaning non-coherently. As much as I don't want to stop sucking on him, I am going to be a *little* mindful of the teeth.

"Oh, fuck, Bret... you're so... fuck, that's damn good!"

He hums in appreciation– of my words, my taste, who knows.... I barely know my own name right now.

Both of his hands are on my asscheeks, pushing me closer to him. My cock's fully in his mouth, and I can barely breath to warn him.

"B-Bret... so close... let go... gonna cum... "

He sucks harder, and I lose my mind. His tongue is all around me and I'm pushed over the edge. Screaming his name, I shoot my load down his throat. He reaches up to grab my waist and rolls us both on our sides. There he continues to lick and suck until I stop pumping against him.

I roll on to my back, and I think I went blind.

Nope, eyes are closed. Ok, now they're open. Hey, that's better.

Almost. I mean, that was incredible... but... oh man, oh wow....

Bret crawls into my view. He smiles down at me, at once proud and affectionate. I can just hear him thinking `Well, look at my handiwork' and I manage to smile back. I don't think I could move if I wanted to, but I'm coming back to awareness and I know I was in the middle of a very enjoyable task.

Placing my hands on his hips, I urge him forward. He crawls further on the bed until his strong thighs straddle my chest. I lift my head and suckle at his cockhead. He moans and tilts his head back, right back in the moment. Before I can continue, he reaches behind himself and grabs a pillow.

After arranging the pillow behind my head, Bret leans towards my face. His dick disappears into my mouth and I close my eyes, enjoying his taste once again. Can I just do this all night? I lick his skin, taste him, let my tongue trail over every pulse point along the sensitive shaft. I think I could do this all night, but his body has other ideas.

Involuntarily, his hips thrust forward. I love the sensation of him fucking my face– it's erotic and more stimulating than a swaggering bastard like me should let on. Bret's moans are low and disconnected, but unmistakable– and beautiful to my ears.

He moans for me as his body starts to shudder. A second later, his warm seed fills my mouth and he pulls back. Catching as much of it as he can in his hands, his expression is another odd mixture. It's like embarrassment and pleasure dueling for supremacy. In a heartbeat, I grab his shivering body and haul it down against me.

Our mouths meet, tongues rougher than we intend. It's as if we're desperate just to stay connected. Well, I know I am at least. I taste myself on his lips and I know he can taste his own cum.

He's still shuddering against me, and I push some tangled strands of hair off his forehead. "Bret, you're incredible."

It's soft and too simple. But I know he heard me and I know he's smiling. He rolls on to his side, and I roll to face him. I'd love to hold him while he slept, but suddenly the image seems very absurd to me. Me, skinny little dork from Cali, holding this muscular and tough man while he sleeps.

Right, that might happen.

Well, I didn't think *this* would ever happen, right? Ok, so never say never.

But know when not to press your luck.

Instead I accept a brief kiss from Bret as we both snuggle in under the covers. Laying on our sides, facing one another, hands clasped between us.

I rub my thumb over the back of his hand, and he smiles again even as his eyes start to close. Gotta admit, there are a lot worse ways to fall asleep.

Not like I can think of anything except for him right now.

*~*~*~*~* Kevin *~*~*~*~*

Cool moisture spreads over my forehead as my heat leaves a smudge mark on the window. Matilda will whip me with the vacuum cord if I make the windows difficult to clean. Sensibly, I straighten up and lift my drink from the table. Now is not the time to be having second thoughts. Kirk is still my friend– and I'm so grateful for that. Maybe this isn't such a good idea.

Maybe it's a bad idea. Maybe it's great. Maybe it's what we all need.

I have this sinking feeling that it's what we all deserve.

When did I become such a fatalist? Christ, sex used to be fun. It wasn't about power or revenge. It was rarely about love. It was about getting sweaty, getting stories to swap with Shawn, getting off. Love fucks everything up, doesn't it?

I glance into the bedroom. I woke up this morning laying in there, blissfully aware only of the warm, wet mouth trailing down my body. When I opened my eyes and saw a mass of curly dark hair, my heart skipped a beat.

It really ruins a blow job when you're guilt tripping yourself because your mind wants so desperately to pretend that your partner is someone else.

Now that same mouth that was sucking my cock is drooling on my pillows. How many times did Scott promise that his drinking was under control? I believed him, I really did. I'm going to have to remember to ask Kirk what makes a man so stupid, so blind as to believe an addict's lies for nearly twenty years.

Oh yeah. It's `love', right? Love strikes again.

I down my drink wondering what the hell's the point of any of it. Somewhere my mind registers bizarre pride. I'm almost grateful to be in this piss poor mood. It means I'll show as little emotion towards Kirk as possible. Which is a good thing– wouldn't want to give myself away.

As if thinking it willed him into being, there he is– right behind me.

"Who let you in?" Right to the growling! Again, the little voice pipes up with pride, but reminds me that a hello would have been nice.

He looks away tiredly, as if he just get the memo on tonight's game and now he knows what rules to play by. To his credit, he avoids rolling his eyes. "Door was open, Kevin. Wanna offer me a drink?"

"You want a man's drink or something nice and... fruity?"

I watch his face as the slight registers. He reaches for my drink, sniffs it, and puts it on the table behind me. "Maybe we ought to–"

He moved close enough for me to reach him– and therefore grab him, and surprise him enough to shut him up. "I know you're not going to try to tell me what to do."

"Would you rather I was more subtle?"

"Your brand of manipulation hasn't worked on me in a long time, Kwirk."

He nods. Then tries to pry his arm free. Ok, new game– and this time he doesn't get the memo. I adopt the most imposing sneer I can, mocking him with the lack of all things good and fuzzy and warm and fluffy. Oh joy. At least Vince would be proud– I'm becoming a better actor everyday. "Look, Kwirk, I'm a wrestler."

His eyes go all wide, but not in fear: it's clear he's trying not to laugh. "Ooooh, is _that_ what you're doing? Because you know, rolling around on the ground with other guys in pleather underwear– I thought that was just a warm-up. You know, like going to a club and bumping and gri–"

"Kirk!"

"Right, right– it's only Trips that wears the pleather undies. Well, and Scott. So tell me, can a man who doesn't wear any under–"

"KIRK!"

Any other time, I'd want him to get hard at that growl. But I'm actually trying to sound kind of threatening here! So I added a little shake. I think that got the point across.

Any other time, I'd want him to love being backed up against a hard surface, pinned there by the wall of my chest. But at the moment, I can read in his eyes that he's getting a little worried. Good. I finally have an audience.

"As I was fucking saying, I'm a wrestler. I like things rough. And you, my boy...." I take a self indulgent dramatic pause for effect... and let my eyes travel over his body. I'm sure he can read plain as day the anger I'm letting shine through. I wonder if he can see the lust; it might give him the edge I'm denying him. "You're just not man enough to give me what I need."

Laughing is exactly the wrong thing to do at this moment, so of course that's Kirk's reaction. And he isn't showing any signs of stopping. I release him with a sigh and turn back to finish my drink.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but Kev– you gotta be kidding me. This is it? You're going to intimidate me using the act I've seen you use – for what, a dozen years?– in the ring? C'mon!" What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? So I growl again.

And he laughed more! Uhm, I'm seven feet tall and weigh twice what this stick does. He's in a strange town– and he just really doesn't have much sense of self preservation, does he? Excpet that he must know I'd never hurt him.

Have I mentioned how useless love is? Yeah, great. I'm hating this.

"Oh, poor Papa Wolf! I'm just not going for your act like a good little cub should. Ok, ok, hold on, I'll try harder." I glance over my shoulder and catch him straightening up and trying to look serious. "Ok, ok, it was good, really. But I know you better."

I turn to tell him how wrong he is, but he– bravely!– reaches up and lets his hand stroke over my chest. His voice is quieter: "I know us better...."

For a moment, the space around us is still. It's a perfect moment and I'd hold on to it if it didn't threaten to leave me so vulnerable. So instead I slam the empty glass down and grab him maybe a little rougher than I need to, but it leaves little room for him to wonder if this is a joke.

"What do you want me to say, Kirk, huh? That I've been thinking of you? Fine. That you're a damn good lay? Fine! That I've missed you?"

Fuck.

Caught again. I seethe for a moment, staring down at that porcelain perfect face before pushing him away and quickly pouring another drink.

"You're a drama queen. Not that you're alone. Damn it!" I swallow the drink down. Pour again. Glance into the bedroom. "I'm getting too old for this shit. Doesn't anyone just want normalacy?"

There's a real note of worry in his voice when he whispers my name. I don't let him get any further. I spin on him again, grabbing his arm and hauling him towards the bedroom.

"Fine– you people don't want to hear about what I want. Well, you're going to hear it tonight. And you're going to give me what I want."

*~*~*~*~* Bret *~*~*~*~*

Whatever it is that you think you can't live without, I can give to you.

The line just keeps running through my head as I watch him sleep. Am I just a fool? What is it that makes me want to say these words? Is it even him, or am I just desperate to mean something to someone?

How pathetic is that?

I don't know *how* pathetic it is, but I know it is sad. That knowledge alone will keep my tongue in check.

But oh god, I want to say something.

His blonde eyelashes flutter open, and I opt for "Rest well?"

When our chests pressed together, I melted from the warmth. Watching him sleep, I'm not sure who I was seeing. There was a mass of unruly blonde hair, a long lean body beneath my sheets.

But when those eyes opened– bright blue, not a shielded hazel– the ghosts of my past disipated in the morning light.

As much as I wanted to lean over, brush the hair from his eyes, and kiss him good morning, the logic won out. It usually does with me. That would be acting like this was normal, and it certainly was not. Why pretend?

As torn as I was, I really wish logic didn't rule my mouth as well. But it did, so the idyllic morning was quickly shattered by matter-of- fact interogation.

"So, where is your partner?"

James propped himself up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was barely able to open them, let alone form a sentence.

There was still time for me to lay down next to him, maybe kiss him. Maybe enjoy this moment.

Which would of course make me too open to getting hurt.

My decision was made when he was able to utter a few syllables.

"How did you...?"

"Oh come on..." I stood up and started arranging the pillows and shams that had been tossed about a few hours ago. I couldn't just sit on the edge of the mattress and watch him react to my words. "Look, James, some might say I'm a walking ego, but even I'm not fool enough to believe that a quality piece of flesh would come looking for me for anything other than... well, it was what it was, right?"

Nice, Hart. Could you sound any more pathetic?

The worst thing was, I knew I was attacking him. In my finest passive aggressive form, but I was feeling a little sorry for myself at once again being shown what I couldn't have in reality, and I was on the edge of bitter.

Yay. Wouldn't Dave Meltzer just have a field day with something like this.

James moves off the bed with the grace of a lion. I envy him that– I'm sure my movements are no where near as attractively fluid. Not anymore. He comes towards me with a soft expression, and I step back, flashing a grin.

"Sorry, self pity moment. I haven't had any coffee yet– let's blame that."

"Bret, I–"

"Ok, fine, I guess I should let you have your say. How about over breakfast?"

He nods affably and again I'm taken back. I've heard some stories about this guy, but none made him out to be anything like this. Easy and laid back with a smile that's threatening to kill off the last shreds of my dignity if I don't get away from him this second.

"Great. I'll just wash up and meet you downstairs."

*~*~*~*~* Kirk *~*~*~*~*

Scott barely stirs as Kevin barges in with me in tow. He's clearly upset, but no matter how many drinks I saw him down, I don't think he's lost his sense.

Which means he's still in control, and only wants to appear as if there could be the excuse that he's lost control.

He releases my arm, and I know there's going to be a bruise there. Not that I'm complaining, actually, and how fucked up does that make me? When he places me close to the corner of the bed, I obediently stay there. He grabs Scott and hauls him up.

My heart aches a little when Scott leans against Kevin, trusting him, waiting for the protective embrace. Instead, Kevin throws his lover across the edge of the bed. Beautiful bed, huge and by the looks of it, firm, high off the ground with ornate posts.

Oh, yeah, I was talking about my heart hurting. I wonder if it's because of Scott's treatment or of jealousy?

Why should I be jealous? I have James. I've been lost in too much of a mental whirlwind since we parted to have time to reflect, but I think if I did think about him I'd miss him painfully. Good thing I'm not thinking about that. And I'm not jealous.

Mostly, at the moment, I'm hard.

Besides, I have a man who is hopelessly devoted to me. So much so that we can be apart for a weekend to have our adventures. Ok, ok– it was me playing on his guilt that got me here in the first place, but hey, this *is* what I'm here for? I might as well have fun.

Kevin is doing that cool, collected, and mightily pissed off thing that he does so well. He turns to me, and I gotta admit, a part of me wants to shrink back. But I'm rooted to the spot.

"Get over here."

I come closer to the couple, losing my shirt as I move. Kevin's eyes aren't on me, though. My artful stripping is wasted. Pity.

His eyes are gazing down at Scott. Kevin strokes his lover's cheek, and Scott grunts a bit in his apparent stupor.

"Kirk?"

"Yeah?"

Raising his eyes to meet mine, he issues a command like it's normal conversation. "You're going to fuck Scott. And I'm going to watch."

"W-what?" I heard wrong. Must have. This is like a kinky nightmare come true. "Kev, man, that's... it's... uhm...."

"It's exactly what's going to happen."

I'm startled and still as I watch him cross the room and sink into an overstuffed chair. He spreads his legs, getting comfortable, and motions in an almost bored way for me to get on with it. I turn my attention back to Scott. Very much out of it, and strewn across the bed he shares with Kevin.

How many times did I call Kevin up –after James was sawing wood– just to see what was new, and heard a ruckus in the background? Each time Kevin immediately had to go. How many nights had the scene ended similarly to this? Were the other guys? Was this a new plan cooked up by Kevin just for me?

Was that selfish?

Hey, I can think anything I want. I mean, it's not like I can ask these questions. Kevin clears his throat to bring me back to earth. No matter how much time passes, he still knows when I'm spacing out. Kinda amazing.

On the other hand, I guess the kid at the grocery store in Iowa knows when Kwirk Hammet is getting spacey: that would be always, right?

Another subtle cough and my attention returns to Scott. I never did notice how sexy he was. Just kinda not my type. But he's definitely something to write home about (that is if home wasn't with my boyfriend). Tall and darker than dark, with the soul and demons to match. I run my hand over his hair, freeing it from the ponytail.

"Scott." Kevin's voice is demanding and intimate, even from half a room away. "Stand up and strip."

Without looking at either one of us, Scott obediently hauls himself up using the bedpost and works his too-tight tee-shirt up over his head. Holding on to the post with one hand for balance, Scott runs his other hand down his side and around to his belt buckle. I look over to Kevin.

He gestures to focus with a wave of his hand. So I slide my hands around Scott's waist and help his fumbling hands with the belt, buttons, zipper.... He manages to slide the pants off all by himself, and he's left swaying and naked.

"Lean over, Scott."

Kevin's voice has gone gravelly with anticipation. I never realized how much he loved to watch. Of course, I guess in the Kliq you get to learn to love everything.

Still, I feel like he should be stroking a big, fat cat as he supervises us.

Mmm, supervised sex: hot.

"Kirk." My head snaps up. "Strip, man."

I finish undressing quite detached, studying Scott's body all the while. He's leaning over the edge of the bed again, only slightly more dignified than the position Kevin threw him into. Propped up on his strong forearms, his toned ass jutting out towards me. It's more of a challenge than an invitation. I run my hands over the tanned skin of Scott's bare back, and when I speak, my voice is a hoarse whisper.

"Now what, Kev?"

Tight lips form a smile. "Take Scott."

Scott glances slowly about the room, looking for the source of the voice. His eyes rest on Kevin, but the look is not met. But Kevin's looking at me, and I'm pretty sure he's ignoring Scott to keep his anger in check. Rather than get up and bang Scott's head into a wall, he's just going to use me to bang his boyfriend.

Not that I can really bitch about being used. It's gotten me into some pretty interesting situations.

"Fuck Scott from behind, Kirk."

Scott lays his forehead against the mattress, probably only half comprehending the setting or scene.

I suck on my fingers and slide them down the crack of Scott's ass. Kevin chuckles softly.

"Waste of time, m'friend."

I loosely interpret that as `knock it off, and get on with the show.'

Massaging his ass cheeks is a waste of time, too, but that doesn't mean I'm not doing it and enjoying it. Alcohol is the great relaxer, but I'm woefully sober and will carry any crude misuse of a human that I commit tonight with me for as long as it chooses to haunt me. So I'm as tender with Scott as I think I can get away with. I lean over him, brush his hair away from his neck, and kiss his shoulder blade before talking to him.

"Scott, I need you to spread your legs for me. I'm going to enter you."

Scott grunts in response, but shifts his weight until his feet are shoulder width apart. Ok, time for some calisthetics.

And I thought inappropriate humor was the bassists' job.

Tension and watching have made my cock swell, and I'm really ready to get some release. I position myself at Scott's entrance, and Kevin nods at me. Trying to enter as slowly as possible, Scott lets out a rewarding moan at my motion. I understand why Kevin chuckled when I went to prepare Scott– that arrogant bastard.

They call Kev `Big Sexy' for a damn good reason. I can't tell if Scott's been recently fucked or if his body has acclimated to taking Kevin's considerable girth. Either way, I slide into Scott with an intoxicated ease. He may not be the unbearable tightness that I'm used to with James, but his ass clenches at me to pull me deeper. And holy fuck it's hot in here. Warm and soft and just really great against me. I slide my shaft into Scott, pull out, slide in... it's more of a tease than anything. There's no way I can get off like this, but that doesn't change the fact that it feels damn good.

Gripping Scott's thighs, I push him against me. My own head rolls to the side and I let out a moan. I'm sure that pleased Kevin. God, I'd like to be pleasing Kevin right now. I wonder what his ass feels like.

As my thoughts speed up and run away with me, my thrusts speed up as well. I'm banging against Scott with more intensity than I thought I had. I guess in a way it was for Kevin, and this was the physical means of transferring it.

Fine. Fuck him then. I can give this all I got.

I'm pounding against Scott, and he's rocking against the edge of the bed. Moaning incoherently, maybe– but obviously enjoying himself. He starts to sober up, as being fucked in the ass might do to you. At that point, he slams his body back towards me, meeting each of my thrusts.

"Kirk?"

"Mmm, fuck... what, Kev?"

"What do you want to do?"

I take that as an invitation to do whatever I want. I smack Scott's ass, pleased at the sound that echos in the room. I'm even more pleased when the sting goes through Scott's body, and he reacts by clenching around me.

"Ah, fuck! I want to come, Kevin!"

"Fine. Scott, pull off of him."

I freeze, stand perfectly still. Mostly in confusion. Scott off of my dick? I want to COME, not ... uh, not come. I wonder if this means Kevin's going to join the party for real.

"Get on your knees, Scott."

I get shivers listening to that voice. Kevin's a dangerous man when he's in a sunny mood. The darkness in those grey eyes suggests now's not the time to challenge him. Scott obviously knows this, as he slowly sinks down in front of me.

"Feed it to him, Kirk."

I swallow hard and close my fist around the base of my cock. With an almost detached fascination, I watch Scott close his eyes and part his lips. Barely controlling myself, I outline his mouth with my cockhead, smoothing precum against Scott's lips.

Maybe it's the situation. Maybe it's being watched. Maybe it's the fact that this is just physical and there won't be any questions to answer tomorrow (except to myself). Who knows, but I was getting pretty damn close before, despite the slick and easy entrance into Scott. A sane part of my mind knows what Kevin's doing though.

Big Sexy may have stretched that ass with constant fucking, but Scott's mouth promised to be as wet and warm, but so much tighter.

Sliding in to his mouth feels incredible, and I resist the urge to buck forward. A moment later, Scott's taken control and is swirling his tongue around me and driving me crazy.

He sucks hard a few times, and I was already so close to the edge... One hand grabs for the bed post, supporting my weight as I stumble forward, closer to the heat. My other hand tangles in Scott's dark curls and I vaguely realize they're not so unlike mine.

I can feel my cock hardening in his mouth, his tongue still working against flesh. The image and sensation is too much, and I explode into his mouth with a husky shout.

Through a fog, I watch Scott sit back on his calves and avoid looking up. A part of me was still aroused, seeing my cum cling to his lips. Mostly though, my heart was aching. Scott stole a glance up at Kevin when the big man turned to pull on some pants. There was such naked curiosity, hope, and pain there. It was as if Scott was stealing a look just to check for any signs of emotion. It was pathetic and beautiful all at once. This huge man would subject himself to... well, whatever– for Kevin. Because of what Kevin had done for him?

Or, I should say, what he perceived Kevin had done for him. I understood Kevin's brain because my own worked similarly. We were damn good at twisting others perceptions into steel-like loyalty. It was a useful tool for men who were afraid of being found out and left alone.

I looked over at Kevin myself and caught him exiting. Sighing in frustration, my mind gave me a whole list of shitty options. Since I couldn't really help it, I reached down and slid my thumb over Scott's lower lip. Instinctively, he tensed up. I tried to say something soothing, promising I'd be right back, but I fumbled it.

I just needed to find Kev, talk to him.

Shutting the door behind me, I tried to shut up the little voices nagging me. One said stay out of it. It's not your business– remember last time you tried to help in a volatile relationship? Yeah, I do. Vividly, thanks. That little voice sounds a lot like Jason. The other voice sounds like Lars. He would never pass up the chance to meddle– so here I go, dictator! Be proud.

"Kev?"

"Yah?"

*The* most fucking nonchalant, off-the-cuff tone you could imagine! How? "Don't you yah me! What the fuck was that?"

He raises a hand to `calm' me. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried. I'm interested."

"Well, get over that quick." Kevin shrugged as if he had given me oracle-like advice.

I checked over my shoulder again, making sure the door was still shut. Dropping my voice down to control what could quickly escalate into a frustrated shout, I tried to talk sense to my `friend.' "Fuck it, Kevin– drop the Mr. Cool act and spill. That man is in there, on his knees, wishing for a speck of compassion from you. And you're out here... just... just... what are you doing?"

"Fixing a Vodka Tonic. Want one?" He turns to me, offering a tumbler.

I rubbed tiredly at my eyes. I just shot my load down some near- stranger's throat. I definately wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with this. "Dude, what are you doing?"

As my tone soften, so does his. I just wish his didn't sound like a pained sigh. "Look, Kwirk– none of us are perfect. You should know that."

I nod. Yeah, of course I know that– I'm like the king of fucking up. Which is why I'm here and my lover is in Calgary with the man of his dreams. I have to admit, I get a certain amount of satisfaction that I would offer James the chance to go meet his Mr Perfect when I know for years he didn't even have the chance to come up for air. But I can't pat myself on the back about how good I am for him when I'm in a dim room fighting with the very thing that is threatening our relationship.

Of course, Kevin doesn't know that. Just like he doesn't know how twistedly devoted Scott is.

"Is the air too thin up there?"

"What?"

"Thin air– your head. Brain damage, right? Can't think properly...."

"Kirk, take the drink. You're babbling."

I snatch the drink from him and stomp back to Scott. He's still on the floor, but has sat back and is leaning against the side of the couch. His hands are palm up in his lap, and he doesn't look up when I walk in.

"Here, I brought you a–"

"No thanks, chico. I need another drink like a hole in the head." I kneel down and try to get him to make eye contact. "Hey, are you ok?"

"Only getting what I deserve."

"How the fuck do you figure?" There's a big part of me that wants to wrap my arms around my latest lover and comfort him.

Unfortunately there's an even bigger part that's too pissed off to be in the moment. I just want to get the fuck out of this moment. And I want to do it with as much dignity as possible.

Scott chuckles softly. "Look, I know you and Kev have a history, but trust me– me and the big man go back further. It's been up and down, but at the end of the ride, it's the two of us, you know?"

I nod. I feel stupid. I have no words and I have no place here. Kevin forced Scott to let my dick invade his ass and then to suck me off. Forced him without ever touching him– so maybe Scott wanted it? I really wish he would take the drink, wash my taste away. I'm suddenly very impatient for morning to come. I need to get the hell out of here. I'm really making things worse.

Hey, it's what I'm good at. Taking a situation, not leaving well enough alone, and meddling until I'm just about as deep into it as you can get.

And what do I get out of it? Martyrdom? Feeling like everyone is indebted to me? Owing someone doesn't mean you love them.

I don't think I've ever been so confused.

*~*~*~*~* James *~*~*~*~*

I roll over and rub my eyes. If anything, I'm more tired than when I feel asleep. There was some sort of peace in the air when Bret and I passed out. Now that's evaporated, as most things do in the morning.

Is it any wonder I hate mornings?

What is it with me and scaring away guys I care about?

I shouldn't let myself care anyway. I have someone I love to go home to.

Yes, sir. Someone I'm quite, quite in love with.

I stifle a sigh. I'm not sure if it's self pity or registering the fact that maybe I want more than a fling out of Bret. Not that it matters. But I know I have Kirk, and I know for damn sure that it's more than Bret has.

I yank on my tee-shirt roughly, irritated at the loss of the afterglow and taking it out on something that can't fight back and can't sport bruises. I wander down to the kitchen, head pounding from all the thoughts crashing into one another. The familiar scent of strong coffee leads me directly to the kitchen. Finding Bret throwing placemats down, I blurt out the first sentence to form into a coherent version of a thought. "You know, Kirk is off on his own weekend adventure."

Bret looks up startled. "What?"

"Well, I only mean... I mean, this isn't really cheating because...."

"Hey, James?" He's not looking at me. He's setting down silverwear. I guess we're going to eat. "Does it feel like cheating? Because if it does, then guess what. It is."

Ok, obviously that question wasn't meant to be answered, but it is a good point. Does this feel like cheating? I haven't had much of a chance to think about that. I mean, in some very obvious ways, it is cheating. On the other hand, it's cheating with permission. Does that make it not cheating? When Kirk was with Randy, they had the understanding that the other could fuck whatever he wanted. That was more a deal made by Randy in fear. I think he thought that Kirk would get bored with him and so wanted to be different for Kirk and give him freedom. Kirk instead saw it as Randy didn't want to own him the way he thought he needed, and so their days were pretty much up.

It is too damn early in the morning for this much thinking. I need some concrete answers here. Coffee... good. Morning... bad. Bret... cheating? It really didn't feel like cheating. It felt more like ... a vacation, I guess.

"So where is Kirk?" Bret was finally looking right at me.

I managed to answer without averting my eyes. "He's with an old fling, actually."

Bret took some eggs out of the fridge, fussed around at the stove, and finally fried them up as he talked. "Hold on, Kirk goes to visit an ex, you come to see a stranger– and this is good for your relationship HOW?"

Chuckling, I slide into a chair. "Well, I don't know if it's good or not. I guess that's one of the things that'll get discovered. It's kinda a weekend of discovery. See, well, Kirk can go wherever he wants... and in a way it's all my fault."

Joining me at the table, Bret fixes a confused look on me. "How so?"

I shift uncomfortably. "I'll... tell you later. The thing is... Kirk suggested this. He's very understanding."

Bret snorted. "Clearly."

"Huh?"

"Well, where's he?"

"In Arizona with Kevin Nash." That wasn't that hard to admit. And Bret's face barely changes. He looks more amused if anything, as if he's got a secret.

"Are you sure about that?" Rising, he crosses back over to the stove. Smells like the eggs are done. Quick work.

"Yeah, we were at the airport together and–."

Bret puts a plate in front of me. "No, I didn't mean in a `can you trust him' or `do you really know where he is' way. Nothing that cynical. What I meant," Bret was now talking around bites of breakfast. "Kevin Nash is with someone. Very much with someone, in fact."

"Oh."

Bret studies me for a moment. I love that he's sorta smiling, I just wish I was in on it. "How did you know I wasn't?"

Crap– that was without warning. I nearly choked. "Honestly, I didn't. But I figured meeting you, maybe hanging out... getting to know you. That sort of thing would be worth the trip."

Bret sat back in his chair and appraised me with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, really?" When he couldn't mask his smile anymore, he grinned widely.

I let out a laugh. "Yeah, really."

"Hmmm." He looked down thoughtfully at his eggs. "Well, hope you weren't disappointed."

"Not yet." He flashed the smile back up at me, but now it was clear he was covering– trying to maintain the affable mood. Ok, he doesn't think nearly enough of himself. Wonder if I can help that any-- wonder if I'll get a chance. But in the meantime, I seriously am wondering about his earlier comments. "So, Kevin has a partner?"

"You could say that. Kevin has a project. I actually feel bad for the guy sometimes, but... on the other hand, there's some bad blood there. I mean, I like him and his lover just fine. But one of their best friends... one of their brothers... "

"Ah, Shawn." I stab another piece of egg. Hot, great in bed, and the guy can cook. Does the rest of the world know this?

"Ah, you've heard."

"I'm a musician, not a hermit. So you want to let me know what happened?"

"Let's just call it the world's worst and most public break up, ok?"

"Fine by me. But, can I just tell you from personal experience–."

Bret spears another piece of egg. The clank of the fork against plate is a little louder than it needs to be, but his voice stays light. "I didn't ask for advice."

"I don't care. You seem ... well, not the happiest. Bret, old bridges can be mended."

He shakes his head, but there's a bittersweet smile. "James, it's not worth it, trust me. We've both moved on, more or less. Bringing anything up now would do more harm than good."

"You sure?" I'm not too fond of the look he's got on, because it's more pity for me and how little I seem to understand than pity for himself.

Bret meets my eyes and his tone is earnest. "He's got a great current. Real hunk, smart, fast– good wrestler. The guy's even Canadian. Trained at my dad's place."

"Do I know him?"

"You heard of Chris Jericho?"

"You got a thing for blondes, don't you, Hart?"

The smirk is back, and I'm sure I'm mirroring it. "Like you wouldn't believe. You want to go back upstairs and I can prove your point for you?"

I'm taken a bit off guard by that. I think I like that this man can surprise me. He seems more comfortable than he did upstairs and I wonder at why. So I do the only thing I can think of: regain that rock-god composure and figure here's my chance to shine. He might be used to blondes, but ain't no way he's got a handle on me yet.

At least, I don't think so.

Swallowing the insecurity down with the last of my coffee, I stand up from the table. With my hand out, I motion fro Bret to do the same. With smirk firmly in place, he follows my lead. We head back towards the staircase, walking side by side like old chums or some shit. One day I'll learn not to get distracted so easily. That day is not today. "Bret... what's in there?"

The haste with which he slams the door shut tells me it's something good.

Damn it all, I know what curiosity did to the cat– but can I help it if there's still a 19 year old brat inside of me? It's almost fun to watch this guy react. For better or for worse...

So I slip by him and into the room, and stop dead.

I'd guess Opium Lounge if I wasn't so sure about Bret's personality. Swank pillows, plenty of ambiance, and more toys than you can shake a stick out. And a stick– to do the shaking, perhaps.

"What the hell is this place?"

Bret cleared his throat. For how hard he was trying to hide this place, I'd expect him to be blushing or something. I'll give him this– he regains his composure fast. He crosses the room, almost challenging me to follow him, and idly toys with what I can only guess are leather restraints. "You don't need to worry about what this place is."

I can almost here the `yet' hanging on to that sentence. I feel some kind of need swell in my stomach, and I walk further into the room, and closer to him. "What are you hiding, Bret?"

"Not a thing that hasn't been well documented."

He's gone kinda coy on me. I'm not saying it doesn't work for him, I just think what works for me is throwing people off base. So I follow him into the den– three long strides and I'm less than an arms length away from him.

"What's going on up there, man?" I stroke his cheek as intimately as possible in a well lit psuedo-living room.

"Huh?"

Nice to see I still have the touch. His face goes icy rather than playful at my approach. Somewhere in my mind a lightbulb blows– I really must be a masochist to push like this. "What are you thinking?"

Bret's face darkens. "Nothing."

Darkens in a familiar way. Lord help me, I give in to the part that needs to play. I would kinda rather we were upstairs playing, but hey, I made an unexpected turn. Let's see where this road leads. "What happened between you and Shawn, honestly?"

"What?" Bret's voice is more controlled anger than verbal sparring partner "Uh, what happened between you and Cliff? Honestly?"

Oh, he wants to go for blood. Fine. I can play that. "What happened at Survivor Series 1997?"

"Why did Jason really quit the band?"

"Why did Martha drop the court case?"

"What, you want to tell me your secrets and I'll tell you mine? You want to share quiet walks on the beach and sip Chardonnay? What the hell do you want?" And that was just a decible under an actual shout. Either I'm really getting to this guy, or he's really getting into the game. And by the looks of this room, I think Bret Hart might just be into some games.

So I shrug as if he's not affecting me. "Actually, I don't really drink anymore and if I'm going to make the exception, it's not going to be for that white swill–"

"I was trying to make a point!"

"I know, and I was trying–"

"To lighten the mood. I know. I know I'm too serious for most people, I know I'm too uptight for– look, I know why you came here. Mission accomplished. Now pack up and go back to your normal life."

"No."

Bret clenched his fists and took a step forwards. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, come off it, Hart!" I finally exhale, and quickly get my smirk in check. I'm pushing the wrestler gently enough not to damage him further, but hard enough to get a reaction. "Snap out of the role! You can let the curtain down for a few hours. It won't kill you."

"You got proof of that?" Bret's face softened and his shoulders slackened. I could almost see the fight draining out of him, and it was no fun to kick an opponent when they were down.

When exactly did this get so twisted? Did I just want to find a way to prove to myself that Bret and I wouldn't be ideal together, so I started a squabble?

Or am I so conflict-habituated that I needed to test how good he could fight.... See if it could compare to my battles with my current.

"No, Bret, I don't have proof or a promise." Heaven knows I've lost my fair share of fights, but then so has he. I reach out to him and falter. What the fuck? *I* falter? Don't tell me I'm losing my edge...

I manage to place my hand against his neck, and to his credit the flinch is minimal. "Bret, I want to know your secrets."

His lips twist into a cruel imitation of a smile. "Sure. Trust. I can pull that off."

"Jason leaving was my fault." I blurt it out before I'm even sure the sentence makes real world sense.

His eyes snap up.

Ok, clearly Bret *did* understand the words. His eyes are fixed on me, patient and not prying, but so ready if I want to gush. And I suddently realize, yes I do. I desperately want to spill all the bullshit that I've had holed up inside me. I say a silent prayer that this is a safe place to let go... and then I do just that.

"He and I were in a terrible relationship. A six month fling that went on fourteen years too long. He was controlling and manipulative. I was an abusive drunkard." I nearly choke on the bitter chuckle that forces its way out. "He had cemented this image– to the fans, to the management, hell, to my best friend– of the innocent victim. Poor little Jason, taking care of and dealing with big bad James. Chicks ate it up."

Bret's nodding with a little more than the acknowledgment that he's listening. He understands. That's unexpected. I find myself in a chair. I guess my legs couldn't hold the body up if my mind didn't want to hold the wall up. Bleakly, my mind reminds me of what an odd situation I'm in at the moment. It occurs to me this is the first time I've shared this with anyone. Almost anyone, y'know.

"So, I felt trapped. And I knew I had to play the role, keep the machine rolling. I never really hurt him, at least I never meant to. But man, could he dig into me. Those first six months were bliss. I opened up in ways I didn't think were possible for me. And it was a huge fucking mistake. Everything I shared he later used as ammo against me in one fight or another. Cut deep, man. Your lover using... well, everything. My childhood, my facial scars... Cliff. So what did I do? I drank more, tried to get dull. Fought with him, and he threw more barbs at me– `defending himself'."

I'm vaguely aware this has almost nothing to do with what Bret asked. It just feels damn good to get it off my chest. He crouches down next to the chair and wipes some hair away from my forehead. Bret is being tender, and again, I'm not going to question it. If I question it, it might go away.

That must be killing his knees. Maybe I should stop and lighten up so we can go get my stuff packed... or something.

I watch Bret's tongue dart out and moisten his lips. "What finally gave? What changed?" His voice is quiet, and the whole atmosphere has softened. Surreal... but I'm swept away by it.

"Someone noticed." I squeeze the side of the chair, and Bret's there. "A couple of years back, right around that Napster bullshit, while my best bud was out getting his ego bruised pretty bad, Kirk was kinda... I guess looking at us kinda different. At first I thought he wanted Jason, and I was almost relieved. But... turns out... " Fuck. I will NOT cry. Look, I'm sharing, all right? I'm facing my emotions. Just no fucking tears in front of this Canadian rock of a man, deal?

I manage to take a shaky breath. "Kirk basically... well, I guess he saved me. I mean, it was more than just interfering and breaking us up or whatever. I needed to find a new way to live my life, needed to give up the boozing– and he helped with that. More than anyone can ever get. And... and, man this is so stupid and high school, but he choose me. You know what I mean? I mean, no one chooses me. My parents didn't, girls at school– no fucking way. But Kirk... chose me.

"Of course, it broke up the band. Well, sorta. Jason couldn't stay. Kirk wouldn't let him. The thing is, Jason could have stayed if he would have stopped playing the mind games, stop with the victim routine, quit trying to... I don't know. Kirk convinced me he wouldn't change. I guess I know that now. I was kinda a fool for hoping. It's just– 14 years, you know? It's a big chunk of our lives. But he brought out the worst in me and he had everyone fooled."

"But Kirk saw the best."

I meet Bret's eyes, soft now with empathy and something that looks a little like respect. I nod in agreement. Kirk had made one hell of a sacrifice. Bret leans forward and presses his lips against mine. It's the slowest moment, and so comforting I almost forget to breath.

The kiss ends, but I think the connection's still there. "Bret?"

"Mmm?"

"What really happened in Montreal?"

He can't hide that smile, but he tries by rising to his full height and looking down at me. Grabbing my arm and urging me up, he answers, "Let's go upstairs, James."

*~*~*~*~* Kirk *~*~*~*~*

You know how you see bugs trapped in a spider's web and you don't know how they got there, and you feel sorry for them? You wish there was some bug language so that you could warn them not to go near the spider's home because it's just dangerous. I don't know. Must be some bug-masochist thing.

Sitting in Kevin's den, I know I should leave. I'm vaguely aware that if anyone was looking in on me right now, I'd get nothing but pity.

Kevin emerges from his room. I know he put Scott to bed. I know he tucked him under the covers, maybe even gave him a kiss to help him drift off to sleep. But I can't see anything through the oak barrier, so I let my mind think the best.

It keeps me from shattering.

Kevin swallows the rest of his drink. "Why don't you go home and pack, Kirk. I'll pick you up in the morning and take you to the airport."

"No need." My voice sounds more dull than I feel. "James is getting a flight from Calgary to Arizona, and we'll fly home together."

Kevin glances at me as if he could tell that I almost choked on the word `home.' "Well, I'll wait with you until James' flight gets in. He's a good guy, you know. We'll get breakfast or something."

"Huh?"

"Breakfast, you know the meal that comes after you wake up but before you start drinking."

"That's not funny, Kev. I meant... why did you mention James?"

Kevin sighs and swirls his empty glass. He's not really frowning, but that's definitely not a happy face. "Get out of here, Kirk. If I know you, you have a lot of packing to do."

Smart thing would be to get the hell out of the web while the spider is distracted. I never was a rocket scientist.

I walk up to Kevin, slower than earlier tonight. Taking the glass from him gets his attention. "What did you hope would have happened tonight, Kev?"

Grey eyes peer down at me. "Truth, Kirk? I had hoped when I told Scott to suck your dick he would have resisted more. I wanted to come over to you two, grab a fistful of his hair and force his mouth to swallow you. I wanted to catch you and hold you against me, watching your face twist in ecstasy. But I guess we don't always get what we wish for."

There's a lump in my throat. Not sure if it's from the predatory look in his eyes or from the rise in my pants at his words. I swallow hard. "You knew it would go that far?"

He nods. "I knew it would go like that. As it was, I got a pretty good show."

Kevin walks around me and reaches for my jacket. "Now, why don't you get going. I'm all tuckered out and you got an early day."

I take my coat. "I do?"

Kevin nods and leads me to the door. "Mm-hmm. I'll pick you up at 8:30. And if I know you, you got a long night ahead of you."

I do. I nod and let myself be led. Kevin pats my shoulder just before he closes the door behind me. For a moment or two, I don't move. Another oak barrier separating me from what I don't really want to see.

I'm unsurprised that there's a taxi waiting for me. Resigned, I climb inside and return to the hotel room. The cabbie asks permission to leave the radio on, and I think I grunt in response. Some U2 song is on. Decent band, and I dig the Edge's guitar work. I should focus on that, but I'm lost in a cloud of shadowing thoughts. Once again, I find myself alone and facing a long night of wondering what happened, reflecting on just what it meant, and berating myself for just how in the world I lost control– again.

A lyric pierces through my fog: "If you hold on to something so tight, you've already lost it."

Ah, `Dirty Day'. Good song.

*~*~*~*~* Bret *~*~*~*~*

I open the door to my bedroom and let James in. It's as if this is the first time we've entered together, despite the fact that we woke up here together. I guess since our last trip was so frenzied, this almost feels like the first time.

To clarify, I don't mean physically frenzied. I think I've quite had my fill of that. Not that Shawn wasn't exciting, but excitement isn't enough to sustain a relationship.

Not that I have a relationship with James. I mean, it's not that I want a relationship with James. I'm just... reflecting.

I barely remember getting up the steps or into this room last night. One moment James and I are making very civilized conversation, the next we're strolling down the hallway, exchanging borderline coy glances. Sitting with him silently in my living room– watching him struggle to find words that he didn't want to share anyway. I felt a strange connection, and empathetic swelling, let's just say, that made me stand and motion towards the stairs.

Why speak when you can act? Words have gotten me in trouble more than once. I was hoping that, like I, he would find a way to communicate if I gave him a medium. Once we reached the bedroom, he was quite a gentleman in many ways, and made me feel something I haven't felt in many years: desired.

The way I see it, the least I can do is return the favor.

After all, the man is very desirable. And I never would have known it if he hadn't come to find me. I can shut my mind up long enough to show him the things I can't say. So I touch his cheek and he understands my language. He leans towards me, and I get to kiss him again.

A part of me wonders how private this moment can really be. I mean, the man's a lyricist. Can I expect to be fodder for a tune or two?

As I start to undress, I wonder if that's egotistical of me. Apart from the fact that I believe if a song was constructed with me as inspiration, it could only be grating and irritating. Nah, that doesn't sound egotistical. It sounds kinda jaded.

His hand on mine stops me from undressing further. When he doesn't move, I look up.

James' soft gaze brings me right back into the moment. I'm thinking too much. I don't want to think, don't want to talk. I wonder how James became so open, so good at talking, and if maybe I should ask him to help me along. But I know for now that would be too rough around the edges, too hard on the both of us. All I can think now is that while he could talk and open up to me, I hope he can understand that I'm opening up to him now. In my own way, in the only way that's proven effective and relatively interpretation free.

We had both begun to undress, each watching the other. I realize he stopped me when my focus glided away. Holding my wrists, James pulls my hands away so that he has access to my shirt. As he unbuttons from the top down, he holds my gaze. I'm comforted by the openness I see there: we're on the same page. But I'm stunned by the intensity. Instinctively, I reach out and find myself tugging at the edge of his tee shirt. It lifts over his head and drifts to the floor.

There's this comfortable silence in the air– like a hum of expectancy. Yet, there's something nagging at the back of my mind. A few things actually, but one in particular is doing some damage. And far be it for me to keep my big mouth closed. "So you said that you'd tell me later?"

James looks up from where my hands are tugging at the button to his jeans. "Tell you what?"

"How this is all your fault?"

He pushes a hand through his hair in frustration, and considers me for a moment. I lower myself to sit on the edge of the bed. "You know, Bret," his voice lacks tone, his face is unreadable, but he leans forward and helps me out of my boots. "I don't think we should play it that way. After all, I've admitted a lot more to you."

I nod in agreement. However, that doesn't mean I'm going to let the subject drop. "True, but if this is something that could effect me, you can see how it would be my right to know?"

James sinks on to the bed–bare chested, top button of his jeans undone. And I'm questioning him. Because trying to push him away is *clearly* the smarter strategy. I sigh at my own stupidity.

In turn, James sighs in resignation. "You know how it is when you can feel your lover pulling back?"

I nod but I don't think he catches it. He's studying his hands. Good. At least he didn't catch the pain that crossed my face. Or guilt.

"Well, I could feel Kirk sorta pulling away from me. I was never not in control... but him, you paint him into a corner, and he's like a trapped wildcat. So I didn't want to do that to him. I figured he'd come to me when he was ready. Meanwhile, I turned inward to keep the lust alive. You know what I mean?"

"Fantasy." It's a simple statement because it's an easy answer. At least to me– maybe I know it a little too well. After seeing my little lair downstairs, I'm almost surprised James hadn't guessed that I would get it. But then again, his focus does seem quite divided at the moment.

He nods and raises his head. "That's when I started calling out for you in bed."

I'm shocked. So I keep my mouth shut. Yelling `You're kidding me!' might not be the best thing at the moment.

James lowers his head again– obviously fascinated with his fingernails– and I manage to ask, "Did you ever find out what was wrong?"

He shakes his head. "No, after calling your name a few times, Kirk finally got fed up and asked for this vacation."

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm? You know, Bret, I didn't like it the first time you answered me that way, and I sure don't like it now. If you got something to say–"

A little uncomfortable with him raising his voice, I interrupt. Not the most polite solution, but I definitely don't mean to upset him– I just can't seem to censor myself when I think I'm speaking the truth. "All I was thinking is that a guilty conscious often finds its own faults magnified and mirrored in others."

"Is that a saying? Some fortune cookie–."

`No, I just made it up. But it doesn't make it any less true. Where did you say Kirk was?"

"I get your point."

I sit down on the bed next to him, placing my hand on his knee. "Maybe once you get home, you should ask him–"

"Can't. We said no questions."

"We?"

He looks over at me smirking. "Quit while you're ahead, Bret."

I smile back. "Fine. No questions for you two. But can I ask one of my own?"

"One?!?!"

"Another, then."

"Shoot." He smiles and turns towards me, drawing one leg up on to the bed.

"How were you when you thought of me?"

"How? How was I? Uhm... kinda sweaty... "

I think my laugh shocks him. I stroke his cheek and try to explain with as much dignity as I can. "No, I mean, how were you... taking him? Or... "

"Oh." James blushes as understanding registers. "Why?"

I lean in and kiss his cheek, trailing my mouth over his jawline and close to his ear. "Because I'd like for you to show me."

With my tongue running over his skin, I reach towards the bedside table. Brazeningly, I push a small bottle of lube into his hand. James pulls back to study the object, and I turn away, busying myself with straightening the comforter. A short laugh from him turns my attention back.

Please don't say anything, James. Just get what I mean and ... just don't say anything that might make me think twice.

His eyes are shining like crystals and I'm damn sure I want this. You know, just as long as he doesn't say anything to challenge that decision.

Instead, he puts the bottle down on the mattress and moves closer to me. "C'mere."

I don't exactly obey, but I don't pull away either.

His hands roam up and down my arms, fingers playing over the muscles there. When his lips touch mine, my eyes drift close and I'm fully in the moment. A very unique taste invades my senses, musky with some sweet undertone. It's illogical and potent– very James. There should be some feeling of urgency, and it should be heightened by my need– this is _it_.

I'm not feeling that, though. I'm feeling James' fingertips sliding over my skin. I'm feeling the need to mirror his actions. I'm feeling his pulse race when my lips press against his throat.

He leans back on the bed and allows me to finish disrobing him. After pulling his jeans down long legs, I throw them to the floor and find my mouth roaming over his stomach.

"Gah, Bret..." His moan reaches my ears and his hands wrap around my arms, urging me back up. I crawl up the bed, but hover over him. He's smiling expectantly– it's a beautiful sight.

I lave my tongue over his nipple for a moment before surprising him with a little bite. He laughs and arches towards me. James has got a great body, and I know it's only on loan, but there's no reason I shouldn't enjoy him while he's here.

As he nuzzles my neck, his rough hands slide down my back and cup my ass. Between the squeezing and the kneeding, I'm becoming very relaxed... and very turned on. Our bare erections rub against one another, igniting the nerve endings and making my body hum. I realize when I feel a slick finger probe my entrance that he got the lid off the lube.

But there's no rush.... he's teasing me. I arch back against his hand, and he pulls away. Like I said: tease.

A gentle smile, innocent kiss, and his hands on my hips turns me around. His hands are urging me to lay down, and I give in. Stretching out on my stomach languorously, I close my eyes and enjoy James mouth as he brushes his lips over my shoulders, down my back, kissing me. He nips and licks at the small of my back, his hands continue to massage my ass. Finally, his finger is back, probing against me.

Then something unexpected is added– his tongue. After smoothing some of the lube against my hole, James licks and kisses and blows against the warming gel. I have no idea why I even bought this brand, but I'm so glad I did.

Why am I thinking? Oh yeah, that's right– I'm not.

When his soft tongue explores my inner walls, every rational thought is annihilated by the explosion of pleasure.

I moan incoherently, and James continues his orchestrations. I reach behind me and grab his arm, pulling him up and away. He gives in, but presses himself against me as he creeps up. His cock pressing against my ass, I can't help but arch back against him. He's lightly nipping the flesh of my back and I can feel him smirk. Now his hands are on my hips, controlling my movements. There's not nearly enough contact, just enough to keep me panting. His cockhead is pressing against my hole, but his strong grip keeps me from impaling myself. Holy fuck.

"James, ahh– need you now!" It's really not my style to beg, but I couldn't care less at the moment.

James cups my cheek and responds, "You have me now." A moment later, my emptiness is pushed roughly away.

We move together, falling almost instantly into a slow pace. He moves forward, I move back against him, then at a ballet's tempo we pull ourselves apart, only to meet again. We're moving like waves, building stronger and more intense as the storm rolls on. His hands are everywhere, just a roaming sensation. I've one arm stretched out in front of me so that we don't go flying off the edge of the bed, the other reaching back and gripping his thigh.

He speeds up, allowing me to buck back against him more forcefully. My vision blurs, and I start to pull away. James must have had the same thought, because his lips are against my throat and he's moaning "Easy, baby, easy...."

I smile and try to catch my breath. I feel him pull away from me and try to turn me to face him. Then he stops, feeling me go tense.

His soothing mouth is once again heating my skin as he asks, "What's the matter, Bret?"

"I... just don't think we should face each other." Trust me, it's not because I don't want to see his face. And it's not because I'm trying to keep this impersonal. Well, not entirely. How do I tell him that I know –from experience– how much it'll fuck with his head if he fucks me the same way he loves Kirk?

How do I tell him that and not ruin the mood, or mess with his head anyway?

Fortunately, there's no need to worry. I don't know if James is a mind reader; more likely he just understands the thinking of someone he's similar to. He slides back into me, inch by inch this time. I can feel myself spreading again to take him all in. Once he's fully sheathed within me, he's still for a moment. I'm panting– he is, too. It's the only thing stirring the air.

Suppressing a groan, James finally talks to me. "Just tell me when you're ready, Bret."

I don't need to say a word. I just need to move against him. We react to the stimulation, feeding it by torturing one another. It can't last forever, but with his fingertips clutching my shoulders, and my thighs pressing back against him– it feels like maybe it can.

"James, you feel amazing." I don't need to say it, but the way he's rocking against me.... I can't stay quiet. I moan for him, asking for harder thrusts.

He pushes against me, harder and deeper, and in the same agonizing pace. His hands on my hips, and suddenly he's angled differently and spots are bursting before my eyes. My strong legs drive back against him.

Moments later, he's grunting and thrusting harder against me. "B-Bret?"

"Mmm, yeah, James?" I can't believe I can speak. I can't see, I can't think, and I can barely breath. But I find a way to answer him, let him know I'm with him.

"I need to hear you. Talk to me, babe."

"Oh, fuck... yeah... ok."

He's still forcing himself deep, and it's driving me crazy. "You ok?"

"Fuck yeah. It's just... you're... you're right there. Right there, James– now harder. Please!"

His chest presses against my back and I feel a new amazing sensation as James calloused hand closes around my cock. He's moaning words against my shoulder: "You like that? Yeah, oh fuck yeah, Bret, you're so tight... I can't believe you're so..."

He loses his words, but manages to offer up `ugnh' as his stroke my shaft. I'm becoming overwhelmed, but I know I want to feel him come before I'm over the edge completely.

"Come for me, James. Please, baby... I want to feel you... Mmmm, fuck that's good!"

He's pounding against me, and starts to shout. Good. I knew he couldn't hold the passion in completely– and you have no idea how much it's effecting me that he's screaming my name.

"Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! I'm there! Oh, fuck! BRET!!!"

My body adjusts for him, and I'm filled with his seed. Pushing deep behind me, he continues to stroke me, whispering my name into my ear. With a cry for him, I spill my release over his hand and the sheets. We collapse together, panting and smiling.

After a short eternity, his eyes open. "Hi."

"Hi."

He sighs, and I know what's coming next. He needs to get up, get dressed... get going. I smile encouragingly as he informs me of these details I already know. He goes to the bathroom to get cleaned up. I pull on my jeans, and dial to call him a cab. I'm sure he overhears my short conversation with the Taxicab operator.

He can't hear what I'm thinking– and that's a blessing for the both of us. James didn't need to come up here for sex. I quickly figured out that he could have anyone he wanted, and I hardly believe that his partner could possibly be unsatisfied. Unless he's an idiot who is always looking to the horizon, wanting only what they can't have. Not that I've ever been with anyone like that.

Not at all.

But James... he didn't need this. I did, obviously, more than I knew. I can't believe he came just to get laid, but I can't let myself believe he came for anything else. All at once, I'm very tired. Suddenly, I either want him to stay indefinitely or just get out as soon as possible so I can be alone with my thoughts. They're quite a jumbled mess.

I hang up the phone. I could tell him that the taxi will be here in 20 minutes. I could tell him that I had a really nice weekend and I'm glad he came to visit. It all sounds so terribly trite and insufficient in my head that I just don't say anything. Lowering my eyes, I sink to the edge of the bed. I can see his suitcase across the room, by the door. It's smaller than it was when he arrived here– which somehow feels like it was a short lifetime ago. I close my eyes and can see the empty bottle of wine in my den, the plates that need to be washed.

The bed dips and James joins me. I lean against him, and our fingers intertwine. Silently we wait for the doorbell. It'll ring, he'll get up, get in a cab. Maybe we'll hug each other goodbye. Vaguely I wonder if I should ask for his phone number. He gives my hand a squeeze and brings me back to the present. He smirks, I smirk back.

And all too soon, it's all over.

*~*~*~*~* Kirk *~*~*~*~*

"So, now what?"

He says it like it's common, polite conversation. Which of course doesn't give me a clue on how to take it. I mean, that was a fucked up scene. And Kev is my friend– should I give him advice? Well, I do kind of suck at that. And it's not like I'm the most pulled together individual. But here we are– sitting at a frickin' outdoor café– he's passing me the sugar, and he whips out something that simplistic? What the fuck?

"What the fuck, Kevin?"

"Excuse me?"

Now he has that amused and condescending smirk on. I'd like to slap that right off his face– if that wouldn't prove his point that I'm a drama queen. Ok, step one. Calm down. Step two. Find out what he means.

"What do you mean `now what'? Now what with you and me? Now what with James? Now what goes into my coffee?"

"Sure, all of the above. But Kirk– there is no you and me. I just wanted to know what the band was up to."

He's still smirking. I bet my cheeks are red. I bet there's steam coming out of my ears for how much fun he's having. Fine! Bland. I can do bland conversation. "Now James, my lover, and I go back to Frisco and hang out with the new bassist. He got in this weekend and the poor man spent the weekend with Lars."

"Poor guy. So the three of you go back to Frisco–"

"Three of who?"

"You said it was you, James, and your lover."

I think back as quickly as I can. "No, wait.... " I'm chewing on my tongue and I still don't know what he's talking about. "I said...."

I'm interupted by his booming laugh. "Relax, Kwirk– I was screwing with you. You and James, I get it. It's cool, man."

"Actually, it's kinda not, Kevin."

He takes a sip of his coffee like he doesn't hear me and squints into the sun.

I lean forward, across the table, and grab his hand. "Kev, what was all that?"

Of course I can't read his eyes through the dark shades. "Don't worry about it, Kirk."

"I hate that response. You know I'm going to worry about it."

"You don't need to. It's not your problem anymore."

"Kev-! Ok, fine. But... I am your friend, man."

He yanks back his hand and whips away his glasses. It's just in time for me to see his eyes go from steely gray to the dangerous shade that means he's covering. Kevin has his friends, and I guess I'm not one of them. I guess I'm everyone else, because instead of giving me a straight answer, he affects this overly dramatic tone.

"Fine, Kirk. I'm tired. Alright? I try and I try... but I can't lie anymore. I HATE it. I hate having to pick up all those damn... toothpicks! Damn little pointy bastards get stuck in my feet at least half a dozen times a day!" Throwing his arms up in surrender, he leans back in his chair. "I mean, I've tried to tell Scott how I feel, but do you think he cares? Noooo. And those ones that he keeps behind his ear? Do you have any idea what he puts in his hair? Then it's all over those little wooden sticks of death– and they cling to your–."

"Alright, alright... I get it, man."

Kevin chuckles and puts his sunglasses back on.

I just shake my head. "Man, Kev, you're night and day."

He sips his mochafrappathing. "How do you mean?"

"How can you be so... nevermind. I don't care."

"Oh, don't be so simple."

"I'm not simple!"

"Well, it's either that or you're a drama queen." He takes another sip and smirks at me. "Oh, right... I almost forgot."

"Kevin, really– how can you do extremes like that?" I drop my voice to respect him, even if he won't return the respect. "So angry at night, and so ... I don't know, jovial now that we're in daylight, in public?"

"You do what's necessary to get by, Kwirk. I'd expect you of all people to get that."

As he leans back in his chair, nursing the drink the way I've seen him with a nightly brew, I realize that I do get it. I don't like that I get it– but I do. It's hell on Earth to be in the company of people that you love, who say they love you, and to feel so isolated. And it makes you feel even lower when you know it's your own damn fault.

"Who knows what you want, Kirk?"

Random. And it broke me out of my concentration– so rude. Even if it might have also saved me from where I was taking myself. Through discovery, yes, but ultimately to self pity. I wonder if Kevin could read that on my face, hence the interruption. But still– an interruption. "Why are you attacking me, Kevin?"

He sighs and adjusts his sunglasses. "I'm not trying to attack you, Kirk. I'm trying to be a friend."

"By attacking me?"

"By maybe helping you top realize a few things. You hint and you flirt but at the end of the day, what does all of that really mean? It can be a tease just as often as it can be sincere. Especially coming from you. You might want to take some time and figure out what you want and what you need and what you have."

"Yeah, great thanks. And then once I figure all this shit out, what do I do with it?"

"How about communicating? If there's one thing I get it's that without communication, a relationship isn't worth a whole lot."

The look on his face tells me he's not talking down to me here. Maybe he's figuring some things out for himself. "Gotcha, big man. Wanna do me a favor?"

"Name it, Kwirk."

"Try taking your own advice."

He sighs again, and looks over my shoulder. "I'll give it a go."

I turn to see what he was distracted by, and find the most beautiful blonde man strolling towards our table.

And here I thought I was sitting with the most incredible blonde guy. Shows what I know, right?

*~*~*~*~* Kevin *~*~*~*~*

James removes his sunglasses as he approaches us. "So, did you two have a good weekend?"

I'm not sure if he looks nervous or hopeful, but I do catch Kirk's look just as I open my mouth.

He's desperate, pleading with me not to say a damn thing to his lover. While I can't quite suss out why, I do a 180 anyway.

"Yeah," I exhale. It might sound sexual, but really it's me collecting my thoughts. Ok, I learned from the best. I can lie without lying. "I think this weekend was great for the both of us."

The bright smile I'm rewarded with from Kirk just about takes my breath away. Holy shit– did I make the wrong decision two days ago? It makes me rethink just exactly how I want to leave things.

"Uhm, James?" Why am I still speaking? Oh, man. Oh, well. "If we could... have a moment?"

James picks up on the subtly of the request, probably figures we were in the middle of our goodbyes with his well timed entrance. Truthfully, he probably altered the way the conversation was going, but everything happens for a reason, right? James smiles fondly at Kirk. I just know he's thinking, `yeah, my baby's just that good, and now he's mine all mine. Muahahaha.' Ok, maybe without the sinister laugh at the end. Anyway, he nods and makes some lame excuse about picking up a Phoenix shot glass for Randy. Kirk's wide eyed look just about breaks my heart. How can a man who's put himself through so much appear so innocent? Before I have a chance to chicken out, I wrap my arms tightly around him. He's so thin, my arms wrap completely around him so that my left hand is on his left shoulder. My right hand presses his waist against my body. He parts his lips– to protest or tell me I don't have to or whatever. I shut him up with more passion then I've given to anyone in a long, long while. From my end, the kiss seems to stop time. I'm aware of him, his warmth, his scent. So many memories come flooding back. I'm dizzy against him.

Our lips part with a quiet sigh. I choose to ignore the tears in the corner of his eyes. They make his eyes glisten, and threaten to break my will. I have to talk before he can.

"It really was good to see you, Kirk."

"Y-you too, big man."

"Kirk?" I take his face in my hands and tilt it up to face me. I manage to brush the tears away before they make tracks down his cheeks. The tears are ice on my thumbs. Fuck, this is harder than I could have imagined. And remember, I deal with Scott and Shawn every day. "I mean it. I... didn't know if we could ever talk again, I mean face to face. I didn't know how. I missed you so much. Ok? You just need to believe that because I'm not about to prolong this Casablanca moment here in the airport, ok?"

He laughs, a little. Oh thank you, God. That made this so much easier.

"So you believe me?" He nods. He doesn't know what he's agreeing to.

"I missed you too, Kev. So... we're... uhm, good again?"

"Shit yeah." I see James mulling about uselessly. I guess my moment's up. "Ok, you– go to James. Go home."

He nods again. This time he knows exactly what he's agreeing to. He kisses me on the cheek and then hurries off to James. They board the plane hand in hand, which is really fucking brave considering the state they're in.

I stand there for a few minutes more, trying to catch my breath. Suddenly, I'm very antsy to get home to Scott. I want to make love to him so bad it hurts.

*~*~*~*~* James *~*~*~*~*

He slept the entire plane ride home. I had heard about Kevin's stamina, but I hadn't expected Kirk to be this worn out. He hasn't slept so soundly since Jason left the band, and then it was only after staying up for 49 hours straight and spending the majority of it in tears. I guess emotional extremes wear him out.

Not that I would ask him about it. After all, that was part of the deal. What happens in Arizona, stays in Arizona. What happened in Calgary, stays in Calgary.

It's probably for the best. I can't deny the missed beat of my heart when Kirk whimpered in his sleep. I can't pretend I didn't study the smoothness of his skin and the sweet lines of his face while he slept.

Now we're home. He's home– he's unpacking. I've been done. So I've just been sitting on our bed watching him tediously fuss with his belongings. Why he needs three suitcases for one weekend, I'll never understand. But I don't need to get it. It's one of his quirks and I love it. I love him for it. "I love you, Kirk."

He looks up at me, surprised, from meticulously arranging his lotions and colognes. "I love you, too, James."

I reach out for his hand and he sighs, but smiles and comes over to me.

He stands in between my knees, and I wrap my arms around his waist. For a split second he looks like he's in pain, and I'm about to ask if he's bruised. But if he is, I don't want to know why. Further, I'm not allowed to ask. So instead I say what I intended.

"I mean it, Kirk. A lot about you doesn't make much sense to me, but being without you– that doesn't make ANY sense. I love you."

He blurted out, "What happened in Calgary?"

The damn crickets were back, chirping away.

"Kirk... you're... "

"I know. I just.... need to know if he was right for you?"

"It was a nice weekend. But we both had good weekends, right?"

"Sure."

I pull him down on to my lap. It's the only way to get his attention, I think. "Kirk, what are you asking?"

"I was worried, James."

"That I wouldn't come back?"

"Well... sorta. That you would figure out what I had."

"Oh, and what is that, wise noisey one?"

"Don't kid, you big jerk."

"Kirk." I kiss his shoulder. "I'm completely serious. Why were you worried?"

"I thought you would figure out that Bret is your Mr. Right."

I go all thoughtful and his face falls. He tries to pull away, but I hold him in place. "Ok, maybe. Different circumstances or whatever. Kirk, it doesn't matter. Bret may even BE my Mr. Right. But you're the only man I'm in love with."

That's not enough to make him smile. So I stroke his cheek. "Everything's going to be okay now, baby. I promise."

He still doesn't smile. "Back to normal?"

I nod and pull him close. Whispering in his ear, I try to reassure him. "Just like it was."

His shiver tells me he's not impressed. I faintly hear him mutter against my shoulder. The words are muted, but the I can hear his tone– despondent, defeated, and very tired. "Great. Just what I wanted."

*~*~*~*~* Epilogue *~*~*~*~*

Lars let himself into the house James and Kirk shared, but heard no movement. He crooked his head as if trying to hear if the bedsprings were squeaking. Hearing nothing, he smiled to himself. `Good,' Lars thought. `Those two must have worn each other out once they got home from their little vacation.'

Or so he thought. A laugh from the den made Lars snap his head around.

"James?"

"Den, dude."

"Ah, master of the Californian obvious. You heard me come in?"

"Nope. Heard you humming to yourself and saying a few random words. Thinking too much, Uli?"

"Fuck off, Het. What cha doing?"

James snickered at his friend, honestly missing this simple banter. "Hey, listen to this–," James began. He launched right in to conversation without the politeness of a `hello' and he didn't bother wiping the smug look off his face which told Lars he was right about at least one thing: Kirk was still in bed, all tuckered out. "`Back then he was known as Sterling Golden. He was very green . And very impressive. On the day I left Atlanta to come home I knocked on his door to say good bye and told him if he ever wanted to learn to wrestle he was welcome to come up and work for my dad any time.' I mean, talk about arrogance!"

"Yeah, but all true."

James glanced over to Lars with a calculating smirk. "And just how in the hell would you know?"

Lars crossed his arms across his chest, and puffed it out to look as proud– and indignant– as possible. "You and Kirk aren't the only two who are wrestling fans. Hogan could have learned from Bret– and it was good of him to write kindly of someone who was such a fucking waste of–"

"Ok, ok!" James threw his hands up in resignation. Lars looked smug: he loved winning an argument, even a baby argument. "Damn, c'mon, man– just be a friend and make fun of the pretentious meathead with me."

Turning to leave the den, Lars threw his answer over his shoulder. "Sorry, man, I will not help you make fun of men you're in love with." James took the cue to follow, turned off the monitor and turned into the kitchen. "Fine, fine. Coffee?"

"Wait– you're not going to argue with me?"

James handed over a mug but didn't make eye contact. "What would be the point, Lars? Are you wrong?"

"Taupe, with two sugars. You're a great friend, Het. And– am I ever?"

"And if I argue with you?"

"On this? Oh hell, same outcome as if you ever argue with me when I'm right."

"Right. And honestly, I'm too tired to bother. I might be awake, but I'll pick my battles, thanks. Besides, we both know it doesn't matter right? I mean, not really."

"I guess not... not really. Kirk upstairs?"

The cocky smirk was back. "Of course."

Lars returned the smile, but turned away before the edges could turn down. The Dane knew that Kirk loved James like no other, but there were many times when Lars doubted Kirk would ever appreciate what a really good guy he had. "Ok, I'm going to go wake his lazy ass up. I want you guys to meet our new bassist today."

James' smile shifted from possessive confidence to hope for Lars. "So... you like this guy? I mean– he's a good guy, a good player?"

Lars knew he was blushing so didn't turn back into the kitchen. "You're going to love him, Jame. He's one of the best."

"Uli?"

"Yeah?"

"Get back in here."

"Fuck off, Het."

"You're blushing, ain't ya?"

Lars laughed. "You really are a great friend, Het." Damn it all did Lars hate blushing. He was being more or less concise– and Lars was well aware James could see right through him. Still, he was letting it drop for now.

"Good, good. Ok, you go wake Kirk and I'll make some breakfast."

*~*~*~*

Lars bounded up the stairs, suddenly 19 again and hanging out with his best friends. He was halfway up the stairs when his cell started to ring, reminding him of the current year– of reality. So he simply hurled it back to the landing, hoping the ringing didn't wake Kirk. There's never a real rest, but today he didn't seem to so much care.

Lars found Kirk still asleep. The cell didn't wake him, so Lars figured he would.

A well worn out Kirk, laying face down on the bed, limbs spread out like he's hugging the mattress, a slight smile curving his full lips– blissfully unaware of the Danish Cannonball that's about to disturb him.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Kirk nearly had a heart attack and scrambled beneath sheets, ultimately getting tangled up and rolling off the other side of the bed. Falling with all the grace of a slobbering puppy, Kirk hits the floor with a thud. In the kitchen, James jerked his head up in curiosity.

Then, instead of hearing Kirk yell, James darted up the steps at the sound of an extremely pissed off Lars.

"Who the fuck spilled goddamned coffee on these cocksucking sheets?"

James snickered, Kirk scrambled to get up, and Lars rubbed frantically at the stain.

"Dude, that didn't even make sense!," James choked out.

"Shut the fuck up! This isn't fucking funny, Hetfield!"

Of course, that made James quiet down. Really.

Kirk came running out of the bathroom– still naked and still tripping on the sheets– carrying damp towels. He tried to help Lars clean the sheet. "Damn it! I knew there was something I forgot to take care of!"

"I'm never giving you two a nice gift again! Fucking slobs!"

"Don't just hover there uselessly, James!"

James leaned against the wall and watched his friends fuss over the 5 day old coffee spill. Twenty years ago, they could all have given a fuck less. James grinned to himself contemplating the old adage `never say never.'

Meanwhile, Kirk tried to make small talk with Lars. Both had settled down and were sitting on the edge of the bed, dabbing at the stubborn mark.

"So what have you been up to the last couple of days, Uli?"

"Making some calls, planning some stuff, hanging out with our new bassist."

"Cool. How's he? What kind of stuff?"

And they were back to their comfortable gossiping and everything was right in the Metalli-verse.

Lars dropped his gaze trying to control the blush as he answered. "Planning a group vacation, actually. You two had your time off, but I was thinking– you know, bond as a group. That is, as soon as we get the new bass player acquainted with our... unique style of band politics."

Kirk giggled predictably, but James caught the look on Lars face and knew there was some important detail missing from that sentence.

Any kind of break was still a ways away. They all had a lot of work to do. But James never would have guessed that in a few months they were headed up to Calgary for their `group vacation'.

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