September 11th, 2005
 
 
06:07 am - BURN, Chapter 26
Hi guys. We're back! Posting for Brian who is sleeping in. Enjoy! Ran


*********************************

Boyd was late for lunch. Brian leaned back in the booth, reading over the daily specials, 
remembering how good the food was in this inelegant little diner. He sensed Boyd’s presence 
before he saw him. He pretended not to look up as Boyd slipped into the other side of the booth 
with a groan.

“I’m thinking the blackened snapper, but the pompano baked in parchment is appealing. I’ve 
become hooked on pompano since coming to Louisiana. What do you think?” Brian asked. It was 
an endless source of amusement for him to compare the delicious food in this diner with the slop 
available in his local diner back home. 

“I’ll take anything in arsenic sauce with a strychnine chaser.”

Brian looked over at his lover, raising a brow in inquisition. “And why the sudden desire for an 
excruciating death?”

“I spent the morning at Coulter Mills,” he said with a deadpan expression that caused Brian to 
laugh.

“That bad?”

Boyd pinched the bridge of his nose in misery, a habit he unwittingly picked up from Brian. 
“Where do I start?”

Brian shrugged and made an expansive gesture to suggest he should hold nothing back. They 
were interrupted by the cute, gum-chewing waitress who had finally given up her interest in 
either of these handsome young men. It took her awhile to understand why they could see no 
one but each other. When they were alone, Boyd said, “I guess I went into it with the wrong 
attitude.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I thought the people who worked there might actually be grateful that I put my life on 
hold in order to help keep the mills operable while my father was incapacitated.”

“You mean you weren’t greeted with rose petals strewn at your feet by vestal virgins while a red 
carpet was unfurled to lead you to your vast office where a snow white unicorn waited to carry 
you to your desk on his magical back?”

Boyd stared at his lover and then sighed. “There was no unicorn. Can you believe the fuck out of 
that slap in the face?”

They both laughed and then Boyd reached over to grasp Brian’s wrist tightly as he said, “You 
look so hot in that red sleeveless shirt. So hot.”

“I am hot, Boyd. And by that I mean it’s 112 in the shade and 200 per cent humidity, but I’m 
also sexually attractive.”

Boyd smiled and reluctantly let go of his lover as their steaming bowls of gumbo were delivered. 
“So, it started when they called the tow truck to remove my car from the parking lot. I parked in 
my father’s reserved place near the door, because, guess what, he’s not coming in, now is he? 
They fucking knew it was my car but they seemed to think I was disrespectful to him or 
something by parking in his space so they were going to show me.”

“Who is ‘they’? Or who are they?”

“They are fucking everyone at the mill. They all hate me.”

“Why the hell would anyone hate you?”

“Because I’m not Junior. Because I’m not ‘one of them’. Because I’m closing my law practice and 
getting the hell out of Dodge. Yes, they already know, the only thing that grows faster than 
moss down here is gossip. Because I’m a faggot, and no, it’s not paranoia. I was reminded of 
that fact by a poignant little sign on the door to the private bathroom in my dad’s office that 
read, ‘No Cocksucking in this John’ with a capital C and J.”

Brian laughed. “Is buggery okay or is that forbidden too? Maybe your dad left it there as a 
friendly little reminder for you, or maybe he’s reminding himself. Or Rex.”

“Brian, it’s not funny. I’m putting my real life on hold to make sure these people still have jobs 
and this is what I get for it? Fuck that. I can vote to sell or close that fucking mill, you know.”

Brian put a hand on his forearm to quiet him as a couple diners turned in their direction. “Calm 
down,” he said in a low voice. “Look, their fearless leader, Big Daddy, has been taken out of play 
by his heart. For now, anyway. They’re fearful and uncertain. His son, who never had any 
interest in the mill, who certainly never worked there himself, is suddenly in charge. The same 
guy who is rumored to be leaving Canard Rouge and who suffers from a sexual orientation they 
consider deviant. These guys work in a mill, Boyd. They aren’t going to be the brightest bulbs on 
the Christmas tree. Give them some time to find out what a stand-up guy you are, and it’ll be 
fine.”

Boyd smiled at his lover as the waitress cleared their soup bowls and refilled their large red 
plastic ice tea glasses. “I’ll still be a high-tailing it sexual deviant.”

Brian shrugged. “I love it when you go all high tail on me.”

“How can you manage to make that sound sexy?”

“It’s a talent.”

“Apparently.”

Their main courses arrived, smothered chicken over rice for Boyd and the pompano for Brian. 
Midway through, Brian glanced at his watch. Boyd smiled. “Bored?”

“Just wondering if we could squeeze in a quickie before my staff meeting.”

“Your what?”

“I told Ted and Daphne to join me here.”

“Why make them drive all the way out here? Couldn’t you have talked to them on the phone?”

“Could have. But I want to see her face when we have this discussion about her playing Monica 
and Bill with the local power structure.”

Boyd smiled at that description. “She’s a kid, Brian. Be nice.”

“Bullshit. She has to learn lessons if she hopes to have a career. One is the lesson I’m going to 
teach her today.”

Boyd said nothing, knowing it was Brian’s issue to handle. He didn’t envy Daphne’s afternoon. 
But then, he wasn’t too fond of his own afternoon. 

“You have the Land Rover.”

“That’s what Hertz is for.”

“About that quickie, what did you decide?”

“What do you think?”

“Then we’d better box this up to go.”

“Wolf it down and skip dessert,” Brian countered. Not long after, they were at the mill house, 
enjoying the privacy of no kids and the promise of no interruptions. 

“Leave that shirt on,” Boyd pleaded as they began to undress. Brian smiled at him.

“You serious?”

“Very. Leave it on.”

When they were both undressed, other than the red shirt, Boyd sat on the edge of the bed and 
pulled Brian between his thighs. He began rolling up the hem of his close fitting shirt, letting his 
lips and tongue work the flesh he revealed as he manipulated Brian’s cock with his hand. Brian 
moaned and squeezed Boyd’s shoulders tightly, throwing his head back with ecstasy. When his 
pecs were revealed, Boyd began licking Brian’s nipples and pulling at the firm flesh covering 
Brian’s pectoral wall with his teeth. Finally, Brian pushed him back and turned Boyd over, 
reaching under him to pull him up to his knees. As he stood on the floor by the bed, he mounted 
Boyd from behind, first lubricating his cock to ensure his entry would glide easily. 

Boyd looked across his shoulder to watch his lover, with his shirt rolled high and his eyes closed, 
as he concentrated on his pounding. Boyd loved the way Brian’s fair skin became flushed with 
heat, the pulse of sex throbbing in his cheeks and turning his lips a bruised shade of red. His 
mouth matched the tip of his cock exactly when he was aroused, and it excited Boyd even more 
to know that swollen cock was buried so deep in his own body, pressing with increasing urgency 
against his prostate, forcing an orgasm that Boyd wanted to restrain.

In the end, the excitement proved too explosive to prevent, and they both resolved their 
combined itch in a matching jetstream of jizz. Brian urged Boyd into the shower with him, and 
they took their time washing each other, savoring the feel of familiar flesh. Finally Brian pulled 
back and said, “Save it. You have to go to work and my troops are arriving any minute.”

Boyd knew he was right, but he was reluctant to stop touching him. They separated, dried off, 
and were dressing when the buzzer rang. “See?” Brian pulled on his jeans with no shirt and told 
Boyd to take his time, that he would let them in.

When Daphne and Ted saw Brian leaning in the doorway still damp from his shower, and still 
glowing from the sex, they shared a joint sigh. No matter how long they had known Brian, and 
how well they knew that they could never have him, sometimes the sheer physicality of the man 
was overwhelming. 

“Enter,” he said, turning his back on them as he unrolled and turned his red shirt right side out 
while walking into the main room. He pulled it over his head just as Boyd came from the 
bedroom. Without a nod to his guests, Boyd reached up and gently pulled the shirt down Brian’s 
torso, leaning in for a kiss. Brian kissed him back and Boyd greeted the others with a 
perfunctory “hi ”and then said to Brian, “Don’t forget to pick up the kids.”

“Duh, Boyd, I’m not incompetent.”

“I know that.”

“Take a lump of sugar for your unicorn.”

“You’re the only unicorn I have,” Boyd said and they shared a private laugh as he left. Brian 
slumped down on the couch and motioned for Daphne and Ted to sit too. They did so and he 
immediately pounced. “Let’s get a couple of things straight. You guys aren’t my business 
partners, you’re my employees. You didn’t put any of your own money in Burn, it’s all down to 
my cash. I pay you a wage and you do your job, that’s how the free enterprise system works. 
I’m the boss and you’re not. Not either of you.”

“What the fuck did I do?” Ted demanded and Brian glared at him. 

“For once, nothing, but this is a good object lesson for you, Theodore. However, this little ass 
chewing is courtesy of Daphne.”

She turned both hands palms up as if to say she was utterly clueless about her trespass. Brian 
glared at her. “Don’t even give me that look of pure innocence, Daphne. And don’t try charm, 
either. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a faggot and your weapons of choice are without power 
over me. Your little game of hide the salami with hizzoner was a stupid mistake and it’s not the 
way I do business.”

“First of all, we didn’t play ‘hide the salami’ which is just so crude, Brian. We had dinner. We 
talked. It was just a date.”

“I don’t need details. If you didn’t hide anything, it’s not because you didn’t make it look like you 
were available. This man may well be someone we have to rely upon for a key vote if some 
issue is raised at the city by those bible beaters. I can’t have him recusing himself because he’s 
humping my employee, or worse, be accused of something in the press, like trading a vote for 
pussy.”

Daphne glared at him, crossing her arms across her chest. “This is my personal space…”

Brian interrupted. “Don’t give me that shit about your spheres again, Daphne. The only spheres 
he’s interested in are the two under your shirt. And there is no personal boundary when you go 
in there and meet him officially as my rep. What the fuck was that?”

She began to see his point, reluctantly. “But if he likes me, isn’t that a good thing?”

“I don’t know. I’m not your mother. I don’t give an elephant’s butt crack if he likes you or not. I 
only care if he’s going to support me if the whip comes down and if he can do that without some 
fucking scandal. So here’s the fix, girl. Either you erase Bellamy Beaufort’s name from your 
address book, or you quit. You decide.”

“That’s not fair!” She protested. “I really like Bellamy.”

“Fine. Then find yourself another job.”

She puffed out her lower lip in a pout and then said, “How come Ted can date Frank? They both 
work together now.”

“Don’t throw me under the bus just because you got hit,” Ted complained. 

“It’s not the same,” Brian let Ted off the hook. His old friend’s look of relief was not lost on him. 
Poor Ted. In too fast, once again.

“Because he’s gay, you’re sticking up for him.”

“If Teddy were fucking hizzoner, we’d be having the same conversation. There are a lot of good 
reasons not to engage in an office romance, but none of them are likely to be harmful to my 
business, so I don’t care. You want to take a run at Frank yourself, have at it.”

“Ha, ha,” she deadpanned as Ted repressed a smile. “It’s not like you haven’t ever mixed 
business and pleasure, Brian. You think Justin never gossiped about you?”

“This isn’t about me. I own this business, Daphne. I can do whatever I damn well please. I can 
be as hypocritical as I want. Until the day you buy me out, the directions on this street are one 
way. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

She nodded, squeezing her arms tightly against her midriff. Brian frowned. “I want a verbal.”

“Yes, Brian,” she seethed. 

“Yes, what?”

“Yes I understand I can’t date Bellamy.”

“Just to be sure there are no semantics involved in this conversation, ‘date’ means see, talk to, 
fuck, suck, or any other form of human communion.”

“You don’t have to rub my face in it, Brian. I get it.”

“Little girl, you’re lucky you still have a job.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. Can we talk about something else?” She was too depressed to fight but she 
didn’t want Brian to know how upset she was, for her reaction surprised her, too. 


Boyd stood at the head of the long conference table, facing the carefully masked faces of his 
front office staff. “I need each of you to pledge your support for me as I step in for Daddy while 
he gets well. I know you don’t want me here and frankly I don’t want to be here. But my dad 
can’t be here right now. He needs the peace of mind to believe that the mill is under control 
while he recuperates. Together we’re going to give him that. You understand?” He faced stone 
silent stares, so he said, “Either you work with me or against me. If you work against me, you’re 
threatening your continued employment.”

“We didn’t see nothing from your Daddy saying you was stepping in for him, Boyd,” a manager 
complained bringing a frown from Boyd.

“What did you expect to see? A delegation letter written by him from intensive care? Let’s just 
get past the fact that I’m here, accept it, and divert our attention to the crops that are going to 
be coming in soon and to the job that needs to get done and let my dad recover in peace.”

“And if he don’t recover? What happens then?”

Boyd shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about that right now. Let’s approach this a 
day at a time.”

“Rumor is, you’re leaving Canard Rouge with your yankee boyfriend.”

“Rumor is correct. I am leaving Canard Rouge at the end of the school semester, assuming all is 
well here. I’m moving to New Orleans with my family. That family includes my partner, Brian. 
You have a problem with that?”

“Yeah, I have a problem with that, Boyd. We all have a problem with that. We’re good God 
fearin’ people and it ain’t natural.”

“It’s none of your business. It has nothing to do with my being here. If you don’t like it, you’re 
free to leave.”

“To go where? Ain’t like there’s a world of jobs in this place. And it ain’t like you got the power 
to hire and fire.”

“No?” Boyd smiled. “You’re fired, Lucas.”

His opponent’s fleshy face that resembled an over-inflated balloon above the too tight collar of 
his shirt suddenly lost color. He shifted his eyes to either side as if expecting his co-managers to 
jump in and defend him. Instead he found not one of them would meet his gaze. “Y-you can’t 
fire me! I’ve been working here for going on twenty years!”

“I can fire you, Lucas,” Boyd let him twist for a moment, and then smiled. “But I’m not. Not yet, 
anyway. But my personal life is off limits. No more pathetic little signs on doors, no more snide 
remarks about my family, my partner, or me. I expect to be treated with the same respect you 
show my father, whether it’s genuine or not, you’ll act as if it is. My goal is to get this mill 
through a busy part of the season, get people paid, keep people working and serve the sugar 
growers. That needs to be your goal as well, and as managers of this company, you need to 
instill that goal in every person on that mill floor. We understand each other?”

Nods and affirmations mumbled at low volume were enough for Boyd. He didn’t expect a rousing 
cheer. “Then get to work. I want the latest projections for intake and processing on my desk by 
four, and the current price list for milling and distribution. I want a force count, the latest 
salaries paid by job and the top twenty expense reports for the last month. One more thing. If I 
hear that any one of you bothers my father with any complaint, you’re history. The man is 
recovering from massive surgery. We will settle our differences among us without his 
intervention. That’s all, except I’d like you to stay, Elmer,” he singled out their chief financial 
officer. When they were alone, Boyd said, “I want our P&L for the last six months, our budget 
and actuals for the fiscal year, and our last audit report.”

“W-why, Boyd? You think something’s funny in the books?”

“Should I?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then I don’t. But what kind of CEO would I be if I didn’t figure out where we stood financially?”

“I’ll get it for you, Boyd.”

“Thanks, and Elmer?”

“Yeah?”

“I expect your support. If for no other reason, that you’re gay, too.”

Elmer blanched. He had run into Boyd a few times at Spike’s, the closest they had to a regional 
gay bar, and yet they had never discussed this pink elephant standing in the living room. “No 
one here…”

Boyd shook his head. “Don’t go there, Elmer. They do know. It’s clear.
I’ve heard my father talk about it. Everyone knows. Your closet isn’t that foolproof. I’m not 
making an issue of it, you make your own decision about how to live, in or out, but I expect 
your support.”

He sighed and nodded. “As long as my mother is alive, I can’t live my life the way I want, Boyd. 
It would kill her.”

Boyd nodded, finding that very sad. “I understand.”

As the tall, skinny man paused at the door, he said, “Your partner? He’s really pretty.”

Boyd smiled. “Thanks. Yeah, I know. But he’s taken.” It was just a friendly joke. They both knew 
Brian was far out of Elmer’s league. Elmer nodded and left as Boyd walked through a back door 
into his father’s familiar office. 

He sat down behind the desk looking at silver-framed photos of his own children, of his niece, of 
his mother, but oddly enough not one of him or of his sisters. It was as if the family skipped a 
generation to end up with these grandchildren. He remembered other times when his dad had a 
picture of Boyd in a high school football uniform, or Lisette and Luann as cheerleaders, or the 
wedding portraits of Luann and Boyd and their respective spouses. He could understand why 
those wedding portraits hit the dirt, but he was surprisingly hurt by the fact neither he nor his 
sisters were represented in this room, except through their progeny.

“You old bastard,” Boyd said quietly as he picked up the picture of his own children and stared at 
their smiling faces. The picture was a year old. So much had changed for them during that year. 
So much had changed for him, both tragic and exultant. There seemed to be no in-between. He 
picked up the phone and dialed a number. 

“If you’re calling to tell me to pick up the kids at three-thirty, I will so kick your scrawny ass.”

Boyd smiled. “My CFO thinks you’re pretty.”

“Yeah? Your CFO would be right. Is he hot?”

“Think Fergus in a cheap suit.”

“Must I?”

“Brian, I have not one clue what to do here.”

“Yes, you do. Sugar mills are in your blood.”

Pause, and then they both laughed. Boyd didn’t expect any answers from Brian, he just wanted 
to feel connected to him, and he got that just from hearing his voice. “I’ll pick up dinner on my 
way home.”

“Okay. Boyd, don’t work late.”

“Miss me?”

“Don’t want to be stuck with the rug rats by myself.”

Boyd smiled at Brian’s bluster and reluctantly said goodbye.
Current Mood: accomplished
September 11th, 2005
 
 
05:56 pm - BURN, Chapter 27
In honor of my son's birthday (belatedly, we were out of the country when his real birthday hit) 
in which he becomes a TEENAGER for the first time, I am putting up a bonus post. I had it 
written anyway and took some time to work on it today. Going to my mom-in-law's for birthday 
dinner. Hope you guys like it. Love, Big B

*****************************************************************************

Belle was pouting while picking turf out of her cleats as she sat in the backseat of the Range 
Rover. “You’d better not be putting that dirt in my car, Final Bell,” Brian warned. He watched her 
face screw up in a glare, captured in his rear view mirror. Her brother was sacked out beside 
her, too sleepy to care. The orange juice and cookie snack that he wolfed down at Belle’s 
practice burned off from an initial sugar high to the expected current energy drain. 

“It’s just a silly old car,” she mumbled, causing Brian to smile.

“It’s a silly old car that you’re going to go over with the dust buster when we get home.”

“Am not.”

“Want to bet?”

“Make me.”

“Miss Priss, don’t be copping a ‘tude with me because you played a lousy practice. That’s your 
fault, not mine.”

“You think I was lousy?” She looked on the verge of tears. He didn’t back off.

“You know you were lousy. Those strikers were running all over you. You were a stripe on the 
pitch. You’re called ‘blocker’ for a reason. You’re supposed to block a score. Where was your 
head? It wasn’t on the game.”

“What do you know about soccer, Brian?” She challenged him.

“More than you, obviously. I played soccer for years. I was a blocker too, only I was good at it.”

“I’m good at it!” She exclaimed, flicking a piece of turf that hit Brian in the back of the head. He 
pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road and glared across the seat at her. 

“You ever do that again while I’m driving, or even when I’m not driving, and you won’t sit down 
for a week. As it is, you’re grounded. No television, go to bed right after dinner.”

“You’re not my daddy! You can’t make me.”

“You want to bet?”

“I don’t like you, Brian!”

“Yes, you do. But you’re being a brat and I don’t know why. You want to tell me? Or we can sit 
here all night, if you prefer. I don’t care and Mac is sound asleep.”

“I don’t care either,” she crossed her arms in a gesture similar to one he saw from Daphne 
earlier that afternoon. He wondered if it was a girl thing. He lowered the windows to admit the 
breeze. He knew he could wait her out. 

“I’ll walk home,” she threatened, but Brian had the child locks engaged so she couldn’t open the 
door. “Let me out!”

“Not a chance.”

A panda car cruised by, then circled back, and pulled up behind them. Brian moaned internally 
as he saw someone approach in his side mirror. “Trouble here…oh, it’s you,” the protector of the 
peace said with a scowl.

“Deputy,” Brian greeted Fergus, another reason he didn’t want to be in Canard Rouge. 

“What’s the problem?”

“No problem.”

Fergus settled a baleful glare on the two children. “Them Boyd’s kids?”

“So he says.”

“You alright, Belle?”

She knew this fight was within the family, so she left it there as she nodded. “Car trouble?” He 
asked. Brian shrugged.

“No. Girl trouble. We’re just having a little Mexican standoff, Fergus. No crisis.”

“You can’t park here, Kinney.”

“I’m not parked. I’m idling.”

“You can’t idle here, neither.”

“Fine, wouldn’t want to get busted again for doing nothing wrong,” he put the car in gear and 
Belle laughed as he pulled away. 

“Ha! You got in trouble. You had to move.”

“Not nearly as much trouble as you’re going to be in if you don’t tell me what’s eating you.”

“It’s weird not having a mama.”

Something in Brian clenched. He knew. He was an adult and he and his mother had endured a 
lot of conflict, but he agreed. It was weird not having a mama. “I know, Belle. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Never said it was, but I can be sorry. I lost my mama, too, not long ago. It hurts.”

“Where are they now?”

“Who?”

“Our mamas?”

Brian winced. Who was he to take away a little girl’s belief that her brutally murdered mother 
had gone on to a better place? She had been raised in a religious environment. It wasn’t his 
place to inject his own cynicism into her celestial view of the hereafter. “No one knows for sure, 
but a lot of people believe if you live a good life, you go on to a better reward after you die.”

“Heaven, you mean?”

“Some people call it that.”

“What if you didn’t live a good life, though? Maybe Mama didn’t live such a good life all the 
time.” 

Brian didn’t expect that one. Perhaps Belle saw and understood more than they thought she 
comprehended. “Maybe you should talk to your shrink or to your Dad about that, Belle.” Again, 
he was questioning his credentials.

“I’m talking to you because you’re honest.”

“So are they.”

“I know, but they treat me like a kid and the doctor always seems to want something out of me 
that I’m not saying. It’s never enough for her. She always wants me to say more.”

“No one lives a good life all the time. We all make mistakes.”

“So do you go to hell if you make a mistake?”

“I don’t believe in hell. I think they made hell up to scare people into being good.”

“Then where does the devil live?”

“I think they made him up, too.”

“No devil?”

“Plenty of devils, the human kind. The ones who try to mess up your life.”

“Like Artie?”

Their shared nemesis. Brian nodded. “Maybe, yeah.”

“So where did Artie go when that big man killed him dead?”

“Nowhere. I think Artie just got put in a box and forgotten. Someday he’ll be dust. His 
punishment is that no one will care.”

She concentrated on that as they pulled up to the mill house and Brian slumped Mac over his 
shoulder like a rescuing fireman. The little boy stirred, but didn’t waken as they climbed the 
stairs and went inside. He flopped the inert child onto the sofa and went into the kitchen to open 
himself a beer. Belle followed, having removed her cleats, taught well not to wear them on the 
hardwoods. “Mama is not in a box, she’s in a little marble house in the cemetery.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you go to her funeral?”

“I was in the hospital, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Daddy cried.”

“I’m sure he did. He married her, he had you kids with her, she was a loss for him.”

“But he loves you.”

“He loved her, too. You don’t ever completely stop loving people who were important in your 
life, Belle. It just changes into a different kind of love.”

“Were you ever married to a girl?”

“No. But there was someone I loved before your dad, and I still care for him. I want him to be 
happy. And if something terrible happened to him, I’d cry.”

“What if something terrible happened to Daddy?”

“Nothing is happening to your Daddy, Belle,” Brian said with finality, picking up her cleats and 
prying the turf from them with a kitchen knife, knocking the dirt into the trash receptacle. This 
familiar task made him feel young again, remembering how he did it with his own shoes when 
he was a player. To get proper traction, the cleats had to stay clean. 

“But what if it did?” She persisted, climbing onto a counter stool to watch him. “What if an 
alligator ate him or he drowned in a hurricane or he got bit by a poison snake?” Brian smiled, 
realizing again how picturesque it was to grow up in a swamp. 

“Well, if it did, we’d be really sad, wouldn’t we?”

“But where would Mac and me live? Who would get us?”

Brian felt a cold chill go through him as he faced for the first time the tenuous connection 
between these children he had grown to love and himself. He turned to face her. “Where would 
you want to go, Belle?”

“I want to stay with you.”

He forgave her everything at that moment, her pissy mood, her bad practice, the dirt in his car, 
even the clot flicked at his head. He went back to scraping her cleats as he said, “I’m not sure 
what would happen, but we don’t need to worry about that, because your Dad is fine and is 
going to stay fine. Even if something horrible happened, you have grandparents and aunts who 
love you, too. Not just me.”

“But you’re our other Daddy now. We don’t have a mama anymore, so we have two daddies. If 
something happened to my first daddy, then you should get to be our daddy.”

Brian couldn’t tell her that if something happened to Boyd, he wouldn’t be good for anyone, least 
of all himself. Even less so for orphaned children. He’d be an empty hull. 

At that moment Boyd came in, carrying two sacks of take-out food that instantly filled the space 
with the promise of pepperoni. He looked healthy, invincible, and beautiful. Brian sighed with 
relief and took a bag from him. He washed his hands to ensure the mud was gone before he 
leaned over for a quick kiss from his lover, who accommodated him and then glanced at his 
daughter. 

“You’re one big mud and grass stain, Belle. Did you play soccer on your butt today?”

“Even worse than that,” Brian teased, ignoring her stuck out tongue. 

“Go take a quick shower while we put dinner on the plates. May as well get into your jammies 
after your bath.” Boyd directed her. Brian vaguely remembered his threat to ground her, but 
decided not to press it. Either she had inherited the family’s lawyer genes and had cleverly 
talked her way out of it, or she was in sufficient psychic pain that he didn’t need to add to it.

“Better wake up Mac or we’ll never get him to bed tonight,” Boyd said to Brian, who shrugged. 

“I tried. He’s comatose.”

Boyd smirked at that response. “Amateur. Mac! Pepperoni pizza! Go wash up!”

Mac sprang to life, only slightly disoriented as he shot to his feet and ran down the hall towards 
the bathroom. Brian glanced at his lover and said, “They could’ve used you with Sunny Van 
Bulow.”

Boyd winced. “That’s cold.”

“How was your day at work, dear?” Brian teased, slipping behind Boyd and winding him up in his 
arms.

“Miserable. Yours?”

“I enjoyed reading the riot act to Miss D,” he nuzzled the back of Boyd’s neck with his nose and 
brushed his upper lip along his nape. Boyd shuddered and said,

“Not now. Later. Do you think she took delivery on what you had to say?”

“I think so, but time will tell. Boyd, question. What happens to your kids if you drop dead on 
me?”

Boyd stepped out of his embrace, and then pulled off his tie and opened his collar as he gave 
Brian a curious stare. “I said later, I didn’t say put a permanent chill on the mood. What are you 
talking about?”

“Who gets them?”

Boyd shrugged. “I need to make a new will. My current will contemplates that Bonnie is still 
alive. My sister Lisette has always been set up as the conservator of their estates and as their 
trustee. If Bonnie predeceased me, which she did, then I named Lisette as their custodial 
conservator, too. Why, Brian?”

He said nothing as he took plates down from the cabinet and carried them over to the table. 
Boyd watched him, and then said, “Of course, things are different now.”

“Because Bonnie died?”

“Because I met you.”

“How does that change anything?”

“For one thing, it changes how I view the money.”

“Why?”

“Right now, everything I have goes to them. Except for our house in New Orleans.”

Brian turned from the table to stare at his lover. “Which is how it should be. I don’t want your 
money, Boyd. I won’t take it.”

“You may need it.”

“For what?”

“To raise two kids, three including your own son.”

Brian met his eyes and the conversation stopped at a point where neither wanted it to stop 
when Mac came back into the room. He was followed soon after by Belle, who was wearing pink 
shorty pajamas featuring fantastically pastel ponies. After dinner, after homework, after a 
bedtime story and a kiss goodnight, Boyd joined Brian in the privacy of their bedroom. The 
house was quiet, the kitchen cleaned up, Belle’s cleats scraped and placed in her bag for 
tomorrow. Brian looked up from a construction punch list to watch Boyd undress.

He tried not to get too visually involved in that feast. He had a serious topic to discuss with him 
first. Boyd sensed his concern as he slid in beside him with a red folder of budget numbers from 
the mill that he had yet to absorb. “Okay, say it. I’m expecting it.”

“I’m not ready to take on that responsibility. I may never be.”

“Okay, Brian.”

“That’s it? 'Okay'?”

“What did you expect? Did you think I’d beat on your chest and insist you step in to raise my 
kids if I should die before I wake?”

“I- I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t love them, Boyd.”

“I know you do.”

“But I don’t know how to do this as your partner, when you have the major responsibility, let 
alone on my own. I wouldn’t know whether to shit or go blind, to quote Bo.”

“Fine. I heard you the first time.”

“Are you mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“You tell me. Because I’m rejecting the most precious gift you could ever give anyone? The 
responsibility for your children?”

Boyd smiled and slipped on his glasses. Sometimes Brian was so clueless that it was endearing. 
The great sophisticate, Mr. Cool, could be utterly hopeless about some fairly significant issues. 
“Brian, I’m not trying to saddle you with something you can’t handle. Honestly I thought you 
might want or expect a shot at custody, but if not, there’s always Lisette and Petra. Don’t let it 
bother you.”

“How could it not bother me? What kind of man am I? If we were a straight couple, we’d be 
talking about my adopting your kids in these same circumstances.”

“But we’re not. We don’t have the same rights. So you don’t have the same obligations. I don’t 
plan to check out today or tomorrow, Brian. I hope I’m around for a great while. But no matter 
what, the kids will be fine. I’ve seen to that. So let it go. Forget I said anything.”

Silence and then Brian added, “I can barely take care of myself.”

“Brian, stop.”

“I never wanted a family. This isn’t how I saw my life.”

Now Boyd took off his glasses and stared at his lover. “What the hell does that mean?”

“What?”

“ ‘This isn’t how you saw my life. I never wanted a family’. How am I supposed to read that?”

“I didn’t mean anything dire by it.” Brian heard the emphasis in those words when Boyd said 
them back to him.

“I don’t want you here if you don’t want to be here. This isn’t a noose. You’re free to leave.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Just what I said. If this isn’t the way you want your life to go, then walk.”

Brian sat up, the sheet falling down to his waist. “Just like that? You tell me to walk? That’s all it 
means to you?”

“No, Brian, that’s all it means to you!”

“All I said was that I never expected this.”

“You said you never wanted this. There's a difference. What did you want, Brian? To be the 
eternal party boy? Forty-five and foxy? Still chill after all these years? Coming on to twenty year 
olds in the club who laugh at you behind your back? What is the life you wanted for yourself? 
Serial monogamy? Serial screwing around?”

Brian paused and then said, “I never really saw myself past thirty. This is all virgin territory to 
me.”

“You saw your life ending at thirty?”

“Yeah, kind of, in an abstract way. I couldn’t see the life I was living wearing well on a man 
much older than that, so I never really saw myself past that age. But if someone said you’re 
going to fall madly in love with a man with two kids and settle down in New Orleans I’d have 
laughed in his face.”

“Oh, thanks for that, Brian. I’m glad our life is one big joke to you.”

“Why are you twisting everything I say?”

“What do you want from me? I love you, Brian. I love you more than I ever thought possible. I 
adore you. But I have two motherless kids who need me. I’m sorry if that interferes with your 
self-image or your long-term goals, or your dream life. They’re here and they need me. They 
need you, too, whether you can stand it or not. But that’s my problem, not yours. I never want 
you to feel trapped or bored or banded. You want out, you go. I won’t like it, I’ll hate it in fact, 
but I’d hate it even more if you were here out of obligation rather than love.”

“Christ,” Brian said with a groan. “This is like bad dialogue from a 1940’s melodrama where the 
husband is cheating with the cigarette girl.”

Boyd looked away. “It’s not funny. Being snide and sarcastic won’t save you this time.”

“Save me from what?”

“I don’t know, Brian. Maybe from yourself. I’m tired, I’m turning out the light.”

In darkness, Brian felt the panic begin deep within and move to his limbs like the aching start of 
a bad virus. “Boyd? Are you asleep?”

“No.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too. But I also know that it may not be enough. I don’t know how to fix it, 
Brian. I can’t wave a magic wand and be childless. I can’t bring their mother back from the 
grave. This is the only life I have to offer you. I don’t know how to make it less complicated.”

“I’m not asking you to. Just be patient with me.”

“Tell you what, give yourself a break, and I will, too.”

Brian’s long fingers reached out to trace the slope of Boyd’s hip. When he felt his lover tense, he 
sighed. “I didn’t mean what I said, not the way it sounded.”

Boyd flipped over to look at Brian’s shadowy shape in the night. “Some men aren’t intended to 
be in a family situation, Brian. They’re not happy in it. Maybe that’s you. It’s not me. But if it’s 
you, I don’t want to be the cause of your quiet desperation.”

“Why don’t you just shut up and kiss me?”

Boyd opened his arms and Brian went into them. The sex was easy. The sex was always good. It 
was everything else that was difficult. But for right now, the sex seemed to be enough to quiet 
their fears. 
Current Mood:  distressed
September 14th, 2005
 
 
04:24 am - BURN, Chapter 28
Hi burniacs. Posting for Brian and ducking and running on this one!!!! Ran

************************


Brian sat in the dark living room, sipping a glass of merlot and contemplating his life. He pulled 
a robe over his naked body in case one of the children awoke unexpectedly. He tried to sleep 
after the sex, but the ennui that usually followed his explosive release with Boyd never arrived. 
Instead, he just kept strumming until he finally got up. Maybe the wine, maybe the solitude, 
maybe a combination of the two would allow him to sleep. 

Maybe the Ambien, if he could remember where he hid it from Boyd, who wasn’t convinced of 
the non-addictive properties of the drug. 

He remembered more than one night in his loft in Pittsburgh, after the trick of the night left, 
after he came home tweaked and silly from a night of clubbing, after a night at the baths left 
him drained and sore. Maybe after an orgy party which he used to gauge whether he was still 
the piñata that everyone wanted to shake a stick at, or whether someone else was taking his 
hits. Or after an evening of scouring the backrooms looking for someone suitably enchanting to 
suck his dick or take it up the ass. Hot, blind, anonymous sex. The stick, the rub, the orgasm, 
the release. And the next night? The same thing all over again, with a new receptacle for his 
load. He sighed. Wasn’t he something special?

But sometimes, especially after Justin left him for the fiddler, he’d sit there in the dark and 
contemplate his life, just as he was doing now. He felt just as lost, just as uncertain, just as 
scared. Only something was missing tonight. Oh yeah. He didn’t have that emptiness in him, 
because Boyd had miraculously managed to fill him up, emotionally. 

He didn’t always feel bleak after a night out. Sometimes he just felt smug and self-satisfied and 
proud of his conquests. The chase and the snag was fun. The fresh cock was exciting. When he 
was really young and eternally altered, chemically, the blue meanies seldom had a chance to 
grab him. But after Justin, after turning thirty, after Gus, after repeating the same pattern over 
and over again until he did it by rote and new stuff worth fucking was hard to come by, he found 
himself drifting into a funk in that loft more often than he liked, thinking about what the hell he 
was doing with his time. Was his destiny really to boogie-oogie-oogie til he just can’t boogie no 
more?

He had worked so long to perfect his self-image as the eternal stud that without his carefully 
crafted legend, he wondered if he had any moorings. But how could that be true? Wasn’t he the 
same person that he was before all that entered his life? That he had been at twelve? That he 
once was at six? Wasn’t it all a progression that brought him to where he was today? And where 
was that? Breederville? Did it all really lead to this detour? This abrupt change in direction?

“Stop it, Brian,” he thought to himself. “You big drama queen.”

It took all kinds of fags to make the gay world twirl. Some went through ceremonies and 
pledged eternal fidelity. Others stayed wild and crazy, even when they had to pay to keep the 
fantasy going. Most found happiness somewhere in between the two extremes, and different 
things worked for different phases of their lives. Maybe he was that kind of fag. Maybe he would 
go through phases in his life. 

Certainly falling for Justin had been a remarkable and unexpected phase. So was bleeding for 
him. And maybe being the top stud was also a phase, although that was one not everyone could 
hope to accomplish, thus the word “top”. Maybe his love for Boyd was another phase and 
someday he’d be bleeding over him and then enter yet another phase once that grieving ended. 
Maybe another promiscuous stage, maybe something boring. Or maybe he’d just die and never 
go through another stage at all. 

“Nice, Kinney,” he mumbled aloud. He went into the bedroom, dressed quietly, left the house, 
and started the Land Rover. He drove instinctively through the thick, humid bayou night and 
found himself where he wanted to be. Parking for easy egress from the lot, he walked into 
Spike’s, the one gay bar in the area. He found it far more crowded than he expected. He felt 
them all stare at him, felt his power, felt their longing, almost like a physical caress.

“Jim Beam, neat,” he said to the bartender who gave him a big smile. 

“I know who you are. You’re that Philly guy who’s living with Boyd Coulter, right?”

“Pittsburgh,” Brian said with a scowl, disappointed to be known foremost as Boyd’s partner. 
Somehow it diminished him individually. The bartender seemed to be looking over Brian’s 
shoulder.

“Where’s Boyd?”

“We aren’t joined at the hip.”

The bartender smiled even more widely. “Are you looking for company?”

“I’m not looking for anything.”

“Then it’s really nice when you find something when you’re expectin’ nothin’.”

Brian took a sip of the liquor and said, “Does that really work for you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Not this time,” Brian turned his back on the bar and the bartender. He rested his elbows on the 
wood as he stared out at the room. If he was looking, the field was narrow. But he wasn’t 
looking. Not really. So what was he doing? He finished his drink with a grimace, feeling it burn 
all the way down. His mobile rang and he flipped it open.

“Where are you?” Boyd sounded sleepy but also worried. Brian sighed.

“Spike’s.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Having a drink.”

“With whom?”

“No one, Boyd. Just having a drink.”

“Oh. You going to be okay to drive?”

“Yeah.”

“Brian?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you asleep?”

Brian winced and held the phone to his forehead for a moment, then smiled and brought it down 
to his mouth as he said, “What am I doing?”

“You tell me.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. Guess what? I’m scared too. Right now I’m terrified. Are you leaving?”

“Leaving?”

“Me? Us?”

“Boyd,” Brian threw some bills on the bar and walked out to the parking lot so he could hear 
himself speak. “I want to come home, now.”

“Then get in that fucking car and come home. Now.”

Brian smiled. “Is that an order?”

“That’s a plea.”

“See you when I see you,” Brian said and flipped the phone shut as he got back in his car and 
started retracing his route. Boyd was seated on the front step of the mill house, smoking, when 
Brian pulled up. Shirtless, he had pulled on a pair of boxers when he left the bed. His skin looked 
sleek and silver under the sliver of moon. Brian sat beside him, took his cigarette, inhaled, 
coughed, handed it back. Boyd stared straight ahead as he continued to smoke and said 
nothing. Brian stared at his profile and as the clouds drifted past the moon, the light clarified. He 
saw the glimmer of tears that tracked his lover’s cheeks and he felt his heart contract.

Brian inched his hand over Boyd’s bare knee, spreading his palm above the lumpy collection of 
bones and tendons. He felt him tense under his touch. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you think?” Boyd’s voice was strained, forced. Brian sighed. 

“It was just a drink.”

“Was it?” A tear collected at the tip of Boyd’s nose, hovered, splashed onto the dirt. “I don’t 
know how to love you any better, Brian. Loving you is like loving a tornado. You get swept off 
your feet when you least expect it, thrown around in a whirl, and just when you feel like you get 
it and you’re enjoying the exhilaration, you get thrown on your ass and the storm ascends back 
into the clouds where it came from.”

Brian sighed and tightened his grip on Boyd’s knee as he said, “It’s not so easy to be the 
tornado, either. You’re preceded by this bad-ass reputation, and the danger and elusive nature 
of the storm is part of the attraction. Maybe you sweep up the right victim one day and all of a 
sudden you’re tired of all the whirling and the destruction and you just want to be a tropical 
depression or maybe even a summer rain, not a force of nature. You worry if you let yourself 
lose that dangerous edge, what’s left of you? Will you still be appealing to that victim you swept 
up or was it the noise and the spinning and the danger that drew him to you in the first place? If 
you lose it, you lose him, too. And then you’ve lost everything because you already gave up 
your force.”

Boyd winced. “I don’t want you to give up your force, Brian. I don’t love you for your danger. I 
love you for whatever you allow yourself to be, an April shower, a typhoon, a tornado, it doesn’t 
matter to me. I’m past all those layers now. I love the man, not the spectacle, but I don’t know 
how to be enough or not be too much. I don’t know what to do.”

Brian knelt on the ground between Boyd’s spread knees and rested his cheek against his lover’s 
bare chest. He could feel the ragged rhythm of his breathing caused by his tears as he closed his 
eyes and whispered, “Don’t give up on me, Boyd. Even if I give up on myself, don’t you.”

Boyd leaned down to rest his chin against Brian’s soft auburn hair as he said, “Never.” Closing 
his eyes to the night, he breathed in Brian’s scent and said it again for emphasis. “Never.”

Concealed by the swamp, someone watched and waited. He stayed in shadow, the moss 
layering his form in black lace. Superficially he appeared human. He stood like a man, upright. 
He had features that were more human than not. But he knew that was all a shell to calm the 
masses he moved among while living in the light. He knew he wasn’t human. He was a 
messenger from God, a weapon of righteousness, a pure, glowing light of heavenly retribution.

Never mind that he smelled of smoke and ash, of gasoline and fuses, of fire and brimstone. As if 
he came from a darker clime with a foul purpose. That didn’t register with him. Fire was the 
cleansing weapon of the Lord. He was the flaming sword of vengeance. He was the burning 
bush. He was tasting bile at the back of his throat as he watched these two perverts embrace 
like innocents. A vile imitation of God’s gift to man and woman, a mockery of the natural order 
of things. 

“Burn,” he whispered to the unhearing lovers. “Burn in hell.”
Current Mood:  anxious

September 17th, 2005
 
 
08:03 am - BURN, Chapter 29
Daphne and Bellamy met in a small café in Faubourg Marigny. A wizened black man played 
blues guitar on a raised stage as waiter prepared some fringe tables for the expected lunch 
crowd. They met early because he had a conflicting appointment and she wanted to have 
this conversation while she still had the nerve. 

Bellamy watched her pick at her Creole pasta. She wasn’t a picky eater from what he had 
seen so far, so he asked, “You don’t like it?”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Not hungry?”

“Not really,” she leaned back and looked at him, ignoring the strong sensual pull he aroused 
in her. Those hazel eyes were just too much. And that suit was as great as anything Brian 
wore. He had style like a gay man and to Daphne, that was a great compliment. “Bellamy, I 
can’t see you anymore.”

He looked up from his jambalaya and smiled. “You called and invited me to lunch, 
remember?”

“I know. To tell you I can’t see you anymore.”

“Are we seeing each other?”

Frustrated, she leaned back in her chair and swung her crossed leg in time to the guitar 
player’s rhythm. “So it’s like that? You don’t care?”

“Daphne, maybe you should just tell me what’s on your mind.”

“My boss thinks it’s a conflict of interest for me to go out with you.”

“Does he? Is there a vote pending on that business of his?”

“No, not right now but he said he may need help from the city, from you, at some point in 
time, and he doesn’t want me to compromise your vote.”

Bellamy smoothed the linen napkin folded over his thigh and smiled. “Tell your boss he 
doesn’t stand a chance of compromising me. And neither do you, for that matter.”

“I’m not trying to compromise you.”

“I never thought you were. But even if you were, you can’t.”

Daphne sensed a challenge. “Why not?”

Bellamy looked up and smiled, surprised by that question. She was full of surprises today. 
“Because my vote is not for sale. I’m that rare being, the incorruptible public official. I have 
money, my father was very generous in his will, so that eliminates the lust for money that 
brings down so many careers. I’m young enough and have been successful enough that 
lusting after power isn’t a big drive for me. I seem to find power wherever I go. As for sex, 
well,” his grin got wider. “It’s not that hard for me to get laid. I don’t need to go out on a 
political limb for it and my tastes don’t run to kinky.”

“Oh, you are so smug,” she said with a glower and he shrugged and tore off an end of the 
baguette of fresh, hot French bread and used it to mop up the dregs of his spicy sauce. 

“How is that smug?”

“You have money, you have power, and you have all the girls you need.”

“I’m just being honest with you. I realize there’s an appearance of impropriety as well as 
actual impropriety, and I’m sensitive to that, too. I like the way your boss thinks. Maybe I 
should meet him.”

“You like the way he said we can’t see each other any more?”

“I like the fact that he’s sensitive to appearances.”

“Well, this has been flattering. Silly me, I thought you might be disappointed. Instead you 
want to meet my boss. Are you sure you’re not gay?”

He laughed. “As sure as I am of anything in the world, Daphne. But look at the time. I know 
you haven’t eaten much, but as I mentioned, I have an appointment. I’m going to take care 
of the bill and you stay and eat as much as you’d like. Have a dessert on me.”

She glared as he stood up, motioning for their waiter to meet him at the bar with the bill. 
Daphne stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him as he left, refusing to let him see the 
disappointment on her face. Obviously, he didn’t feel as she did, that not seeing each other 
again was giving up something with potential. Obviously he had all the women he could ever 
want, so what was one more or less?

She jumped when she felt a hand close on her shoulder and looked up into Bellamy’s smiling 
face. He had concealed those killer hazel eyes behind dark glasses and he leaned close to 
her ear as he said, “For the record, no man tells me who I can and can’t see socially. I’ll call 
you later.” He squeezed her shoulder and left as Daphne bit into her lip to stop from grinning 
like a goof.

“He’s hot,” the bus boy, who was adorable, with a curly mop of black hair and a stunning 
contrast of blue-violet eyes gave her what had to be a very powerful smile. “You’re hot. The 
day is hot. Want to go for a swim later?”

She giggled at that. He probably wasn’t much younger than she, but he seemed much more 
so and that made her laugh. Maybe it was just in comparison to how smooth and 
sophisticated Bellamy was. He was clearing Bellamy’s dishes with deliberate slowness. “You 
always hit on the customers?” She asked and he shrugged and flashed that smile again.

“Just the cute ones.”

“And you’re so rich that you have a swimming pool?”

“I didn’t say that. But I work at a house that has a great pool and no one at home.”

“What’s your name?”

“Moody. Yours?”

“Daphne. Moody, you’re a doll, but I’m way too old for you.”

“I’m not picky and you’re not old.”

“Good luck with that, you really know how to sell it. You remind me of my boss, at least the 
way he used to be. You see something you want and you go for it.” Her phone rang and she 
dug it out of her bag, noticing how he was still lackadaisically clearing the dishes, while he 
made no secret of eavesdropping. “Hi, Brian. Yes, I just had lunch with him and told him. He 
wants to meet you. I don’t know, he just said he did. He also said no one tells him whom he 
can and can’t see socially,” she grinned as the busboy gave her a thumb’s up at that one. 
“Yes, I know you told me, not him, but…yes, I know, Brian. Moody, would you mind getting 
me some more water?” He shrugged, but didn’t leave, and then Daphne said to her caller, 
“He’s a busboy. Because he told me his name when he hit on me. Swimming. At some house 
that’s empty where he says he works. He’s cute, but young. Dark hair, blue eyes, nice smile, 
a real player.”

Moody nodded, grinned, and then Daphne looked perplexed. “My boss wants to talk to you.” 

He held his hands up as if being robbed. “Me? Why? Who’s your boss?”

She wiggled the phone at him and he took it. “Yeah?”

“Moody, you fucking dawg. If I find out you’re bringing cooze over to our house to fuck in 
our pool when we’re not there, I will bust your horny ass for trespassing!”

Moody winced. “Shit. Is this that Brian? The big mansion owning hot looking faggot Brian? 
The hot blond partner Brian?”

“The same.”

“Shit.”

“You really play a no limits game, don’t you?”

“I told you I don’t discriminate. Not gender, not color,” he winked at Daphne, who rolled her 
eyes. 

“I’m serious about this. Do not take advantage of your pool sweep job to use my pool as 
your seduction chamber.”

“Don’t get all hot and bothered over it, Brian. I’m always willing to share that pool with you, 
man.” Moody saw his boss give him the hook signal and he frowned. “My master is cracking 
the whip. Here’s your girl back. She’s cute.”

Daphne took the phone from him as he sauntered off with a bin of used dishes. “What an 
ego,” she said. “He reminds me of you.”

“Very funny. I’m coming into town later today. I’ve got some meetings this evening and 
tomorrow. You and Ted plan on meeting me at the church at ten tomorrow morning.”

“Okay. Brian, you need to get on Bellamy’s calendar. That man is going places.”

“Daphne, the only places he better not be going are on your own geographical map.”

She grinned at that and ended the call, deciding against dessert as she waved at Moody and 
left the café. After all, she had to keep her geographical map in shape if she hoped to have a 
man like Bellamy retain his interest in exploring it further. She was so lost in her own 
thoughts that she walked into the path of an oncoming pedestrian. The man gripped her 
arms to avoid a collision. His face chilled her. He smelled of smoke. “Watch where you 
walkin’, pickaninny,” he said in a thick back woods accent, and went on. Everything about 
him was a gray, ashen smudge; his clothes, his skin, even his hair. It took a moment for his 
insult to sink in. Pickaninny? She hadn’t heard that word in years. 

“Idiot,” she thought to herself, or worse than that, probably one of these crazed street 
people who were not just financially strapped or chemically addicted. They belonged in 
mental hospitals where their schizophrenia or other disorders could be treated, but instead 
an unfeeling, uncaring and socially broke society just loosed them on the street until they 
met their inevitable doom. That thought suddenly made her feel sad. As she boarded a 
streetcar, she saw him pause at the black wrought iron fence surrounding a pale yellow 
mansion with black lacquer shutters and a beautifully tended front garden. Something about 
the way he stared up at the tall, plantation windows and the Mediterranean tiled roof made 
her uneasy. She wondered who lived there and why he was so interested. She almost 
wanted to warn the owners, but that was silly. 

The streetcar meandered back into the Quarter, and she forgot about the smoky, racist man, 
and let her thoughts drift once again to Bellamy and happier feelings than the distress 
caused by that nameless encounter.

******************************************************

“Boyd, there’s a Mr. Kinney here to see you. He don’t have an appointment,” his father’s 
secretary’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on Boyd. He knew that she knew that Brian was his partner. 
This was her way of minimizing their relationship. 

“Brian doesn’t need an appointment nor does he need an escort,” he walked past her and 
smiled at his lover who waved with a wry smile from the reception area. Boyd nodded him 
into the office and closed the door behind him as Brian pulled him into his arms. They kissed 
and then sat down together on the leather sofa, their hands interlocked. 

“So this is Daddy’s nerve center?” Brian glanced around the oversized and underutilized 
space. It reminded him of a set featuring an executive’s office in 1968. Even the phone on 
the desk was a large beige desk model with big plastic buttons to punch into various 
extensions, along with a red hold button. Boyd saw his lover’s gaze settle on the phone and 
he smiled.

“I know. ‘How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying’, starring Robert Morse.”

“Uh, what’s this? Daddy’s more supportive than I thought.” Brian walked over to the desk 
and picked up a framed photograph. In it, he was seated on the terrace of their hotel room 
overlooking Chartre Street in the Quarter. He had only recently left the bed when that 
photograph was taken. He was in need of a shave, wearing just the hotel’s robe as he glared 
at the camera being poised by his lover. Boyd loved that picture of Brian, with his hair still 
messed by the sheets, the faint flush of recent sex glowing in his cheeks and chest, his 
bedroom eyes beckoning to his lover to put down the camera and get over here. Boyd 
walked over and took the picture from him, putting it back where it had been.

“I love that picture of you. I thought you were on your way to the Big Easy?”

“I am, but I wanted to stop and say goodbye.”

“We said goodbye this morning,” Boyd reminded him with a smile. They said goodbye with a 
lot of passion and fire, locking the door to ensure their privacy even though the kids weren’t 
up yet. After an emotional night together, they ended with the two of them finally falling 
asleep while still wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. Saying goodbye, even for a short 
separation, was painful after that intense intimacy. 

“I wanted to say goodbye, again,” Brian said with a shrug. Boyd pushed him back to sit on 
the edge of the desk, slinking his arms around Brian’s neck as he kissed him on the lips. 
Brian’s tongue pushed between Boyd’s lips, seeking entrance to his mouth and Boyd opened 
up to him. Tongues thrust, pushed, played together as Brian’s hands crept up Boyd’s back, 
under his jacket. It was as if they hadn’t touched each other in months, the limit of their 
capacity for sex as yet unmeasured. 

Boyd took a step back, exhaling slowly as he wagged a finger at his lover. “Brian Kinney, we 
can’t. Not here. Not now. No way, it’s too fucking weird. My Dad’s office? Creepy,” he 
shuddered dramatically and Brian laughed and closed the gap between them, pushing him 
down to the floor. 

“Creepy is what makes it good. Can you lock that door in case Mrs. Peepers decides to walk 
in on us? Or do you want to educate her to the finer things in life?”

Boyd smiled and struggled to his feet. “Watch this. Straight out of a Doris Day and Rock 
Hudson movie. Although my Dad views it as more James Bond,” he opened a desk drawer 
and pushed a concealed button, automatically locking the doors to reception and to the 
conference room. Brian laughed and migrated to the sofa. One foot on the floor, the other 
propped up on the cushion, his tight jeans enhanced what he had to display. He saw Boyd’s 
appreciative gaze land there, and he began to unbutton his fly, one metal stud at a time. 
Boyd watched for a minute, then took over the task and knelt between Brian’s thighs as he 
leaned over to suck him. 

Boyd sucked with all the enthusiasm and finesse of a lover who was not only skilled, but who 
wanted the recipient to remember that this was the source of the perfect blow job, no other 
substitute would do. He knew what Brian liked now, how hard he liked it, how deep, how 
wet, and at what pace. He knew what position he liked best when he was ready to come, 
and how to prolong it if that was what Brian needed.

Brian appreciated every nuance Boyd offered him, luxuriating in his expertise, his 
knowledge, his love. As soon as he popped, he threw Boyd back and returned the favor, his 
own dick still thick and flushed between his legs from his recent release. Boyd felt as if his 
eyes had rolled back in his head as he gave in to Brian’s skill with complete surrender, 
letting it build and throb until he was unable to stop the hot flow of semen. 

“Well, now,” Brian said with a smile as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I 
should leave town more often.”

“Not.”

“You got the kids covered?” He asked, not for the first time. Boyd nodded, carefully re-
tucking, re-zipping, straightening. He then jabbed Brian’s starchy black linen shirt into the 
back of his jeans as he said,

“Homer and Madame Dhue have it under control. We’ll eat at least as well as you tonight.”

“Better. I’ll call you after they go to bed.”

“I’ll wait up.”

“We’re okay, aren’t we?”

Boyd smiled. “Better than that.”

“Even though I’m a tornado?”

“I guess that makes me a storm chaser.”

“Better go or I’ll miss my dinner date with your fancy-ass interior decorator.”

“Designer, Brian. They don’t like to be called interior decorators.”

“Yeah, I’ll worry about that.” He hesitated, as if unsure about going, then walked over and 
kissed Boyd again. “I’ll be back in time for dinner tomorrow.”

“We’ll be here. Be careful. And don’t let that interior decorator grab your ass.”

“What makes you think Sebastian Slade is gay?”

They both laughed. Brian then smoothed Boyd’s hair with his palms and walked over to the 
door to find it locked. “Let me out, Rock.”

“Might as well. I got your virtue, anyway.”

“My virtue was ‘got’ long before I met you, stud muffin.”

Boyd laughed and pushed the release button. The locks opened and Brian gave him a final 
wave and a smile before leaving the office. Boyd sat down heavily behind the desk, a sigh 
escaping from deep inside. He knew he was being ridiculous. Separations were inevitable. 
But he already missed Brian, and only felt half-alive. He picked up the photo of his lover 
from the desk and said, “You be good.”

Brian met his command with a bedroom expression that suggested being good was not in his 
repertoire. 

As he left the bayou, Brian felt as if he had forgotten something. Something important. It 
nagged at him, and yet he couldn’t place what it was. He had all the papers he needed, his 
bag was packed with the correct amount of clothes. He had the keys to the house in case he 
and Slade went over there. He had his phone, his PDA, his laptop. What was it he was 
leaving behind?

As the swamp roads gave way to the highway, he remembered what it was. He was leaving 
behind his life. He was no longer able to throw a bag together and hit the road without a 
look back. He had a reason to return that was waiting for him to come home. He had a lover, 
he had children to worry about, he had a life outside of himself. Was this what he was so 
afraid of leaving? This sense of belonging, of being part of something? 

Brian had never been afraid of responsibility. He took responsibility for himself at an early 
age and ran with it. He took responsibility for being gay in a world where he could easily 
pass as straight. He took responsibility for being promiscuous, even when that lifestyle was 
no longer in fashion. He took responsibility for leaving Pittsburgh when he knew it would 
have been easier to stay with the familiar. He took responsibility for Gus even though his 
original deal was that he would have no responsibility at all for him.

All of that assumption of responsibility came at a price and yet what was there to regret? So 
this latest responsibility had a price, too. It was no more or less scary than what came 
before. Or was it? Now it wasn’t only his happiness and well being on the line. Others 
depended on him emotionally. Did that change it for him? Yeah, it did. It changed it 
completely because his love was reciprocated. Self-love was a hollow emotion once it 
surpassed the healthy goal of doing what was right for yourself. It was a step away from 
vanity and while some would insist Brian was a vain man, he knew otherwise. He accepted 
his good looks and brains, just as he accepted having hazel eyes and a wonky left knee. 

They were tools, part of him, things to use or avoid using, but no great accomplishment on 
his part. He didn’t work to get this face. He had been born with it. And all he did for his body 
was to struggle to keep it in shape. He was born to be tall, lean and adequately hung. 

He was a chicken shit in so many ways. Being responsible in part for a family was a big fear 
for him. His own experience of growing up in a family had been horrific. In some ways family 
life was a complete turn off. But in others, it made him feel…home. Boyd was his home. And 
with Boyd came the children. He couldn’t have one without the other. Would he change that 
if he could? 

By the time his thoughts unclamped his mind, he was already within sight of the turn-off for 
the Vieux Carre. It waited, squat, decrepit, steeped in sin and history, on the other side of 
Canal Street. Like a whore past her prime, who tried to hide that fact with frills and paint, 
the fancy iron grillwork and gaily painted shutters drew notice from crumbling brick and 
sagging foundations and the sweet stench of wood rot and mold. Brian smiled. God, he loved 
this place. 

Momentarily at peace with his role in the Big Book of Life, he left his car with the hotel valet 
and set out on foot to meet his dinner companion. He had just enough time to make the 
walk. This was a walking town, and he always found something new whenever he walked 
here. Like the intricately beaded Haitian “voodoo” flags displayed in a shop window. Haitians 
used them to warn others of which spirit happened to be in residence. Or the antique store 
on Royal that sold nothing but old bottles. Elaborate perfume bottles with Lalique stoppers, 
tiny snuff bottles made of dark glass with cork tops, clear glass milk bottles from dairies long 
since out of business, a world of glass containers sold for prices ranging from a handful of 
dollars to thousands. 

This was the French Quarter. Voodoo flags and antique glass a half block apart. From the 
French Market came the scent of chicory coffee and warm beignets, while jazz buskers 
played for donations around Jackson Square. A mule wearing a purple straw hat decorated 
with the gold and green ribbons of Mardi Gras pulled a cart full of tourists past Brian’s path. 
The driver gave him a friendly nod without pausing in his discourse about the city’s charms. 

Brian went into Café Sbiza on Decatur, his recommendation, and sat down at the bar 
overlooked by a mural of decadent revelers who surrounded a central figure costumed like 
the devil. He asked for a neat Scotch and then said, “Sebastian Slade is meeting me here. 
You know who he is?”

“I’m Sebastian Slade,” a voice from two barstools down responded and Brian stared in that 
direction. He didn’t know what to say. Even New Orleans hadn’t prepared him for Sebastian 
Slade. He wasn’t sure what could.
Current Mood:  contemplative

September 18th, 2005
 
 
07:43 am - BURN, Chapter 30
My loving partner may have ruined my surprise through an early uploading of pictures, so I 
thought I would go ahead and post. Don't expect these daily postings, though, guys, I've 
now worked through my surplus from the vacation! Big B

*********************************

If he hadn’t been perched on a tall barstool, Sebastian Slade might have reached Brian’s 
kneecap, standing on the flat. He answered Brian’s wide-eyed expression with a smile. 
“Whassup? No one told you I was African American?”

“Uh,” for once Brian was flummoxed and he could kill Boyd for not having warned him. He 
didn’t like to be caught uncool. He just wasn’t prepared. Slade extended a small, slightly 
misshapen hand that was attached to a small, slightly foreshortened arm and Brian felt his 
long fingers consume the man’s digits in a handshake. “Brian Kinney,” he said as Slade 
laughed.

“No shit. Well, Mr. Kinney, you are a thing of beauty, but then you know that. Shall we move 
to our table?”

Did Brian offer to help him down from the stool? If so, what did he do? What was the 
etiquette in this situation? He needn’t have worried. Slade slid to the floor with enviable 
dexterity and Brian was right. He was about knee-high to him. “Marv, can we have my usual 
table near the window? You know what a voyeur I am and how I enjoy watching the foot 
traffic in the Quarter.”

“Of course, Mr. Slade,” the maitre de acquiesced and Brian wondered who made the interior 
designer’s clothes. His suit fit perfectly and was of a primo silk blend. His white linen shirt 
was equally well tailored. His boots looked Italian. Were there specialty stores for people of 
his stature or did he have a deal with Armani or Boss or Zegna? Brian felt underdressed, 
another sensation he didn’t appreciate. He was accustomed to being the best-dressed man in 
the joint. 

They went to a table and Brian again wondered how this worked. How could Slade see over 
the top of the table? But without a word, the waiter appeared with a booster seat like one 
would use with a child, and suddenly the height differential was no longer so extreme. Brian 
still had a fresh scotch to sip from, but Slade ordered a glass of Rombauer chardonnay. Brian 
raised a brow. He liked that particular wine and he knew it was pricey. The little man had big 
taste. “So, are you over it yet? The shock? You owe someone a head thumpin’ not tellin’ you 
the facts.” Slade grinned at him, his accent native to the area. Brian began to relax.

“It’s not as if it matters to me, I’m hiring you for your skill as an interior designer, not as a 
forward for my basketball team.”

Slade laughed. “Still, it’s a surprise. It was certainly a surprise to my parents, who are 
average sized, and often it’s still a surprise to me. Sometimes I dream of lookin’ a great deal 
like Denzel Washington. Or doing something with Denzel Washington, anyway.”

Brian grinned at him. At least he got the designer’s sexual orientation right. He knew that 
the moment Slade told him he was beautiful. “I’ve had a few dreams about Denzel myself.”

They shared a conspiratorial smile. “So, I drove by your house today.”

“You drive?” Brian blurted it out before he could stop himself.

“Specially equipped BMW. I don’t let my size stand in my way. I know that house. I love that 
house. I’ve been dying to do something with it since the former owners opened it up to the 
Tour of Homes last year. It’s a great place. You have a partner, right?”

“Yes, Boyd Coulter.”

“I looked up the deed. Never leave any stone unturned. Coulter Mills. Nice.” Brian misread 
his smile. 

“It’s a love match, not money.”

“No doubt, don’t get your y-back in a knot. I’ve seen pictures of Boyd Coulter. He doesn’t 
need a bankroll to land a prize. And I know who you are. You’re the man turning an old 
church into a gay club. What could be more fun than that? Who’s doing the interiors for 
you?”

Brian was appeased. “Let’s take it one project at a time. It’s not just Boyd and I who will live 
in the house in the Marigny. There will be two full-time kids, aged nine and five, I think, and 
one part-time kid, aged three. The younger ones are boys, the older one is a girl. Oh, and a 
nanny. We have a nanny.” 

“You’ve been busy boys,” he said with a smile. Brian shrugged. 

“Or something. It just worked out that way.”

“What else?’

“I want a home office. And Boyd and I both want our suite to be private, some distance from 
the melee if you know what I mean.”

“Of course.”

“We’ll probably do some entertaining. Business, maybe social, that kind of thing. We both 
like clean and modern, but we don’t want to ignore the architectural details of the house and 
we don’t want it to look like a Bauhaus fuck den.”

Slade laughed. “Mr. Kinney, I don’t design Bauhaus fuck dens. Not unless someone is willing 
to pay me a huge premium and agrees to never mention my name in association with the 
project. Colors?”

“Open. My place in Pittsburgh is pretty monochromatic. His place is, too. But you know, I 
think it might be nice to warm it up a little this time. And we’re both into art. The furnishings 
need to be a frame for the art, not the other way around. Our collection is more abstract 
than anything else, and he’s opening a gallery so I suspect we’ll be rotating works, 
periodically. He had a huge collection of Jared Hall’s works, but he’s donated those. If you 
know Hall, you know the kind of thing he likes, as do I.”

“Jared Hall was a genius. An absolute genius.”

Brian chose not to share Hall’s history with Boyd. They ordered their food and as they waited 
for the first course, Slade said, “I charge according to the square footage of the project, Mr. 
Kinney. I can give you an estimate after we walk the house and I understand how many 
rooms will be involved.”

“All of them,” Brian said.

“All?”

“Plus the carriage house.”

“That deserves a toast. Here’s to a happy partnership, of the design kind.”

Brian tapped his glass and said, “What’s next?”

“We should walk through the house together. I’ll pick up more from you as we go, and you 
can tell me about the children, what they might like, their favorite colors, that sort of thing. 
Then you’ll cut me a check for my retainer. After that, I’ll work up some sketches. We go 
from there. How does that sound? I’ll have a digital camera with me when we do the walk-
through, so I can have a record of your rooms.”

“It sounds like a deal.” Brian was already relaxing with Slade, his diminutive size no longer 
imposing such a sensation of separation. Only in New Orleans, he thought with a wry smile 
as he added to his intriguing cast of characters since making this move to the south. 

*********************************

Lady P looked up as Brian entered the hotel. When they parked his car, the hotel staff also 
carried his bag up to his usual room. She was in the courtyard, lit by candlelight as she 
sipped from a flute of champagne. Her cat was on her lap. 

“Brian, how handsome you look tonight,” she said with a smile as he walked over to her 
table, leaned down to buss her cheek, and sat down across from the two feline creatures. 

“I do? I’ve been feeling underdressed this evening.”

“Nonsense. Where’s Boyd?”

“Canard Rouge. He has the kids, he’s running the mill, that kind of thing. I had business 
here.”

“I see,” she said with a smile. “Miss him?”

“I do. Isn’t that a kick in the ass? One day,” Brian shook his head at his hopelessness. “I was 
thinking of walking over to the work site before I go upstairs. Want to join me?”

“Of course, that sounds like a grand idea. I’ve been sedentary all day. On the way, I’ll show 
you a work site of my own.”

Minutes later, sans cat, they were en route. The sidewalks of the Quarter were never 
completely deserted, and at this hour, there were plenty of tourists and locals on their way 
to dinner, to clubs, to bars, to mischief. Or just on their way home. She looped her arm 
through his. The warm humid breeze lifted her mane of dark, curly hair and smoothed her 
thin linen dress against her slim figure. Walking in the evening through the Quarter with a 
handsome young man made her feel young again, even though this handsome young man 
was unavailable to her on every level. She didn’t really miss the bother of a relationship, but 
sometimes she missed the romance. 

To the casual observer, the darkness erased the difference between their ages and they 
resembled an attractive pair of lovers. Their easy, casual affection could be easily 
misunderstood. She took him down a side street of few commercial establishments, but 
many homes and small guest houses. They paused at a graceful, narrow, two-story structure 
that was surrounded by the debris of construction. 

“This is my home,” she said with a smile that told him this was the home of her heart, no 
matter its condition. “It was so beautiful, has been beautiful for over a hundred years, but 
then it was almost destroyed, except for the outer shell. Now it’s being made beautiful 
again.”

Brian was surprised by how much work remained to be done. He presumed the fire was 
some time ago. If his club took this long to rebuild, he was in trouble. “What’s the meaning 
of those crosses painted on the plywood covering the windows?”

“Christian graffiti,” she said with a smile. “People are superstitious fools. The crosses are 
there to keep the evil away, my being a voodoo queen and all that.”

“You do trade on that, after all,” he gently reminded her.

“Of course I do. And I pay for it. Especially with the ignorant.”

“When will they be done with the rebuilding?”

“I’m beginning to think never. Come on, let’s walk on. It’s depressing for me to see the place 
looking so forlorn. When I was a girl, living in the bayou, I dreamed of having my own place 
in New Orleans. Always that dream put me in the Vieux Carre. Starting with nothing, it took 
some time to get that house, but it was the culmination of a dream for me. When you lose 
your home, you lose much more than mortar and brick. You lose your memories and your 
sense of security. You feel incredibly vulnerable and temporary.”

They turned towards the church, and Brian said, “At least you weren’t hurt physically.”

“No, but the wounds are there. Someone hated me enough to set fire to my home, Brian. 
Can you imagine how that feels?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just faulty wiring?”

She smiled. “I had the foreboding for days, but it wouldn’t become clear in my mind. The 
person who did it is still out there. I can feel his simmering rage. I can sense his threat, 
smell his smoke. What I fear most is that it will happen again once it’s rebuilt, and maybe I’ll 
be in it this time. Trapped. Agonized.”

He took her hand and squeezed it in a comforting gesture. “Why don’t the police do 
something?”

“They don’t care about me. A little black woman with a witchy reputation? They wrote it off 
as an accident. Never mind the accelerant the insurance investigator identified. Never mind 
the pattern of arson. I had to fight to get my claims paid. They wanted to suggest I burned 
down my own home. But I won that fight. I’m blessed to have a comfortable sum of money 
in the bank. It’s not as if they could show financial distress.”

“You have any idea who did it?”

“Some fanatic. He still calls me occasionally and predicts my doom.”

Brian frowned. “We got a weird call the other night telling us we would burn in hell and our 
kids, too.”

She stopped and by doing so, stopped his progress too. “What did he sound like?”

“A cracker.”

“Brian, that may well be the same man. There’s been a pattern of fires in the area, the 
targets always being folks considered blasphemous in some way. Gays, alternative religions, 
even a shop that specializes in crystals and meditation, and an occult book store.”

“Why do you think they’re linked?”

“Just the target and the pattern. Threatening calls, glimpses of a man in the shadows, 
following or watching, not able to identify him due to darkness, and then the fire and the call 
afterwards. Two people have died in these fires. One was a very old woman who was feeble 
and unable to escape. She lived on the upper floor of a guest house operated by a gay 
couple. They were out and no guests were in residence at the time. Another was a homeless 
man who had broken into the storeroom of an occult bookstore and fell asleep there.”

“And the police ignore it?”

“The police say they are all unrelated.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It’s been over a course of years. Easy to forget. I tried to interest my son, but he has 
important things to handle.” Brian sensed her regret where Bellamy was concerned, but 
didn’t pursue that topic. 

They walked up to the church site and found it well lit, with a guard at the temporary gate. 
Night crews worked on the internal, floodlit area for a premium cost, and the protestors had 
gone home for the night. They would return in the morning, many of their picket signs 
waiting for them against the fence. Brian picked one up that condemned the “homosexual 
perversion of this holy place” and tossed it in the dumpster. “Gather all of these signs and 
throw them away,” he said to the guard. “They can make replacements themselves.”

He nodded and admitted the two of them to the premises. “Night crews are so costly, Brian,” 
she observed.

“I know but it needs to open by Halloween.”

“You’ve made so much progress. I remember how long this place was a sad, boarded up 
refuge for pushers and then for homeless people. How nice to see it brought back to life.”

He smiled as they walked inside. “There are many who wouldn’t agree.”

“You can’t come in here,” the crew boss informed them, so Brian showed him his ID.

“I own the place.”

“Sorry, Mr. Kinney.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad you asked.”

The club was coming along. The bar was in place, but not yet refinished. The wiring for the 
sound system was exposed. The artist’s renderings for the stained glass were taped to a 
wall. Brian was replacing the religious-themed glass, donating the old glass to the Catholic 
Church, and putting in panes that were leaded panels of orange and red and yellow. They 
would appear as flames in the arched windows, especially when lit by the sun or by spotlight. 
She looked at them and smiled. “Tempting fate?”

He shrugged. “It is to be called ‘Burn’, after all. Those windows are costing a fucking fortune. 
But worth it.” The steps leading down to the crypt, that would become the backroom, were 
littered with construction rubble, and they picked their way past it. Caged lights provided 
illumination. Wiring was underway to bring the music into this cavernous crypt and she 
rubbed her arms at the surprising damp, looking around at the vacated honeycomb of coffin 
vaults. 

“So unusual to have a below ground room in New Orleans and a place for the dead at that. 
Of course, the Vieux Carre is built on high ground and this church is on a rise, so I guess 
that puts it above sea level. But it has to take on water on a fairly regular basis.”

“I think that’s why they moved the zombies out of here long before the church shut down. 
My inspector told me there were scars from flooding. But they took steps to protect it along 
the way, and he felt it was as watertight as anything in this area, now. As it is, I wouldn’t 
lose much if this room flooded, assuming we cleared the cocksuckers out of it before the 
waters rose. It will remain pretty bare, and the only real cost sunk in it will be the sound 
system. There’s a portion we’ll use to store booze behind locked doors.”

“It seems so strange to be planning a room to accommodate semi-public sex acts. That’s not 
an experience replicated frequently in the straight community. Sure, there are swinger clubs, 
but they are few and far between. Your back room phenomenon is not so rare in your 
culture.”

“It’s part of the kick. The strange cock, the voyeurism, the cruising.”

She looked up at his handsome profile and asked, “Miss it?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I bought that t-shirt so long ago that it’s a rag I use to wipe 
the windows of my car, now.”

She laughed at that and they left the crypt, walking back into the main church and then 
through the side door to the back of the property. More pole lights illuminated the area that 
was being used for staging certain construction activities. He explained about his vision for 
the outside café as they walked, and then took her through the hedgerow to enter the 
rectory. 

Unlike the rest of the property, this house had been untouched by the crews. It had power 
and when Brian turned on the lights, he recalled just how much needed to be done here. The 
paint was faded, the wallpaper peeling, the wood floors in need of a refinishing. Worse yet, 
the itinerants who invaded the abandoned property had come into this house, too. Graffiti 
and garbage littered the place and the fixtures had been destroyed or removed. It was so 
hot inside the house, they only stayed for a minute, and both breathed in the fresh air when 
they left and started back to the hotel.

“What will you do with the house?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “At least part of it I intend to use as my office. The rest I’ll probably 
turn into a typical house, bedrooms, kitchen, bathrooms, and we can use it to put up guests 
if our own place overflows or maybe even lease the rooms, use it like a guest house. What it 
won’t become is a fuck haven by the hour for horny queers from the club. That’s what the 
crypt is for.”

“You’re going to be very successful, Brian.”

“You mean that as a supportive friend or as a seer?”

She laughed. “Both.”

“What’s it like, being able to predict the future? I think it would be dreadful.”

She looped her arm through his. “Few understand that it is. It’s not as if I can command the 
visions. I can’t just sit down and predict what the next Microsoft will be or who will win the 
Super Bowl. If it comes to me, it comes to me. I can’t summon it. And much of it is dark. 
Someone wants to know what I see for them and all I see is pain and death. Do I share 
that? No. I’ve learned that fate cannot be tricked. I used to think I was obligated to run the 
streets like Paul Revere warning of the British. ‘Don’t go fishing tomorrow, I foresee your 
boat will sink’, ‘don’t take that trip, you won’t come back’. I gave up that horrid responsibility 
once I realized fate will out. If I could’ve told President Kennedy that I foresaw his 
assassination in Dallas, and somehow he believed me, and didn’t go, then he would’ve met 
his face in Washington. I believe that. I’ve seen it. So I’ve learned not to be a doomsayer. 
No one really appreciates hearing bad news, and you can’t change fate.”

“Come on, Lady P, if your saw that your son was going to be hit by a car on Poydras Street 
at noon tomorrow, God forbid, you wouldn’t tell him to avoid Poydras at noon?”

“Of course I would. He’s my son. My reservation has its limits. But even if he bought it, 
which he wouldn’t, I know that if he avoided Poydras, fate would come back at him in a way 
I couldn’t predict. Maybe not that day, but soon after. The universe has its order. No voodoo 
queen can change that.”

Brian paused, and then asked, “Will Boyd and I stay together?”

She smiled and squeezed his arm. “That’s entirely up to the two of you. Yes, if it’s important 
enough to you both.”

“Can’t you put a spell on us to ensure it?” he teased as they entered the hotel. 

“No, and I wouldn’t if I could. Fate has acted with you two. The rest you have to control.”

“I love him, Pearl. I adore him. And I love his kids. Belle and I have a real connection. But I 
don’t know about my ability to act like a father.”

They sat down in the enclosed garden, the soft rustle of the banana leaves fanning them as 
the fountain provided a musical trickle of water. “You’re not acting, Brian. You are a father. 
You’re a loving man. You care. You want to do right. What more could a child expect?” He 
nodded and she smiled as her cat leapt up onto her lap. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Don’t 
over-think it. Just let nature take its course. You’ll be surprised how things progress if you 
let them.”

“I’m a control freak. I’m not good at letting nature, or anyone, take its course.”

“But it will anyway. Why fight it? You’ll never be able to win. Why frustrate yourself?”

“That’s what control freaks do.”

She laughed. “I’m far more attuned to the fates, Brian, so I can see how foolish that desire 
is. Maybe I can help you see it, too.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Not so long ago, my best friends and companions were a 
bunch of queers, and now I’m surrounded by voodoo queens and black dwarves and fire and 
brimstone Christians and the swamp. How did that happen?”

“Welcome to Louisiana,” she said with a smile. His mobile rang and he flipped it open.

“Brian.”

“It’s Lindsay, Brian. We need to talk.”

He sighed and nodded, expecting the worst from her tone. 
Current Mood:  amused
September 22nd, 2005
 
 
07:56 am - BURN, Chapter 31
Home waiting for a delivery. Here's one for you. Brian

*********************************************

Alone in his room at the hotel, Brian undressed, lit a joint, and climbed into bed before 
calling Boyd. As soon as he heard his lover’s voice, he smiled and relaxed completely for the 
first time since leaving Canard Rouge.

“You are going to die for not telling me about Slade.”

Boyd chuckled. “What about him?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“What’s the matter? Have a prejudice against short people? Who are you? Randy Newman?”

“There’s short and then there’s short. You asshole.”

“So other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?”

“He’s funny. I like him. We’re going to meet tomorrow and do a walk through on the house. I 
have to write him a retainer check at that time, so it’s fish or cut bait.”

“Fish.”

“Yeah, agreed.”

“Just let me know what the amount is and I’ll reimburse you for half.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re in this together, Brian. This project will cost some significant bucks. I’m 
pulling my weight.”

“You paid for the house.”

“Let’s not reopen that one.”

Brian sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was argue with Boyd. “Fine, we can talk about it 
tomorrow. What’s going on there?”

“You created a shit storm of gossip at the mill with your little visit.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t care. The kids are fine, asleep. Madam Dhue fixed her famous jambalaya 
for dinner. I miss you.”

Brian sighed. “You too. I took Lady P over to see the club and on the way she showed me 
her house. Boyd, after all this time, it hardly looks worked on. If my club doesn’t progress 
faster than that, I’m toast.”

“She’s had problems keeping crews. Superstitions. It’s stupid but true.”

“She’s convinced an arsonist set the blaze. And she fears that crank call we got from that 
cracker may be related.”

“I don’t see how or why.”

“I don’t know, but the woman can see things, as you know.”

“You believe that now?”

“I don’t completely disbelieve it.”

Boyd laughed. “She won you over!”

“Whatever. Colors.”

“What do you mean, ‘colors’?”

“The house. What colors?”

“You got me.”

“I need more than that from you.”

“Can’t he give us some suggestions?”

“Okay, but the kids’ rooms. What there?”

“Belle likes yellow and Mac is a big fan of blue. What about Gus?”

Brian winced. “He’s a baby. Do babies have color preferences? Anyway, he’ll never be 
staying there,” he reached for the small, framed photo of Gus he had on the table beside his 
bed. The photo had made his travels with him since leaving Pittsburgh. It lived in his duffel. 
When he was alone, as now, he set it out, making him feel less disconnected. Tonight, it just 
made him feel sad. 

“Why do you say that?” Boyd asked as Brian returned the photo to the table. 

“Because Lindsay called me tonight and told me Melanie threw a bitch fit over Gus coming 
down to stay with me for a few days. She said they shouldn’t disrupt his school, and I don’t 
have adequate care lined up for him and it’s too far away.”

“What bullshit!” Boyd exploded. “Did you tell her we have a nanny? And he’s not even in 
kindergarten yet. It’s not as if he’ll get behind in calculus. Too far away from what? Her? 
He’s been down here before and he survived. You’re his father, Brian. She can’t just cut you 
out. Lindsay needs to grow a fucking set!”

Brian smiled. “Then there would be four balls between them. Sounds good, but they’re 
dykes.”

“What if Lindsay came down and stayed a few days, with him?”

“She has a job.”

“Then you should go up there to see him.”

“Boyd, I have a job too. Stuff to get done. A life. You.”

“I know, but…”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Brian, move forward on Gus’s room. He will use it, we’ll make that happen.”

“I don’t want him to forget me, Boyd.”

“He won’t. We won’t let him. I wish I were with you. I want to touch you right now. I know 
that look you have on your face and it breaks me up.”

“I have no look on my face.”

“Yeah, you do. I want to touch you anyway.”

“I want to touch you too.” Brian smiled. “Want to do the phone sex thing?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you a little story that will make us both come. How’s that?”

“That sounds good.”

Brian reached for the lube and threw the covers back, giving him open access to his cock. He 
heard similar rustles from Boyd’s side of the line. “When I was seventeen…it was a very good 
year.” They both laughed. Brian said, “We had a fucking prom. Mikey and I went together, 
well, not as dates, we bearded these two girls, the poor, pathetic creatures, but we went 
together.”

“I get it. What did you wear?”

“You so don’t want to know. It will ruin the moment.”

“I do want to know.”

“Listen, this was the ‘Pretty In Pink’ era of fashion. Not a good thing.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Close enough. Rented tux, the pants were too baggy, so I substituted tight black jeans and 
wore the tux jacket and a black ruffled shirt and a truly hideous black grosgrain bow tie that 
I ditched. I looked like a riverboat gambler or a failed lounge lizard. Mikey kept telling me 
how hot I looked, supportive friend that he was,” Brian laughed. “As early as possible, we 
ditched the girls and went to Babylon.”

“Of course.”

“Dancing at the prom sucked, but dancing at Babylon was fun. I threw off the jacket, 
unbuttoned the shirt half way and created my own little universe of hungry queens and 
butch daddies. After playing the belle of the ball, I went to the backroom.”

Boyd sighed. “I can just imagine you at seventeen. God, what a force you had to be! That 
face, that beautiful body, that cock, and a little hint of innocence too. Potent.”

“I never looked innocent, Boyd. At two, I looked jaded.”

Boyd laughed. “Stop it. Tell me more.”?
“I was no virgin, but I hadn’t spent much time in the backroom at that point. I was nervous. 
My eyes adjusted to the dark and I saw these guys, naked, or semi naked, going at each 
other with no shame and no skittishness. As I walked, hands came out of nowhere to touch 
me, try to stop me, but I wandered around, wanting to see the whole thing. My dick got hard 
from the voyeurism and there wasn’t much room in those tight jeans to expand. I finally 
stopped, leaned against a wall and unzipped as I watched this hot muscle mary get fucked 
by a hung blond. It was empowering for me to be able to stand there and jack my cock in 
public. In my house, it was such a fucking sin, I was always terrified of being caught 
whipping the mule because my mother would go into religious fervor and my father would 
tell me to be a man and go give it to some chick.”

“That hurts.”

“Yeah. But in Babylon, standing there with my cock in my hand, no one minded. In fact, 
everyone seemed really happy that it made an appearance. I drew my own little crowd. Men 
came out of the shadows to take it over for me. Hands unbuttoned my shirt and stroked my 
torso, my pecs, my abs. Other hands shimmied my jeans down and pulled at my dick. 
Fingers reached for my ass, looking to penetrate, but I shut that down. At that point in my 
life, my asshole was all about rimming.”

Boyd laughed. “Still is with you. I have to make an appointment to come inside.”

“Trust me, you’ve been invited in more than anyone in my life.”

“I feel special. Go on.”

“So this guy sinks down to his knees and starts sucking me. He was older, mid-twenties 
probably, and he knew what he was doing. Not that it took that much to get me off, then as 
now, but probably more so, then.” Brian was stroking himself as he talked and the memory 
crystallized for him. “He was really good at cocksucking, and very handsome. I came too 
fast, but I didn’t lose my erection and he smiled up at me and went right back at it. The 
others were still there, sucking my tits, jerking off, licking me. I felt like a cherry Popsicle on 
a hot day. Everyone wanted a taste.”

Boyd moaned, his own hand working at himself as he pictured his lover’s beautiful cock and 
thought about how he tasted, how he felt, how he unloaded. “Then what?”

“Across the way from me, this beautiful guy leaned against the wall and watched. His eyes 
met mine. He smiled and took his cock out. It was big, thick, uncut. As he played with it, he 
turned away other guys who came up to him. He didn’t want the interference between us. 
Watching him made me shoot even faster, and this time, I got free of my cocksucker, pulled 
up my jeans and walked over to the watcher.”

Boyd could picture the scene and he sighed, wishing he had been there to see it in real time. 
But at that age, he was a coward. “What did you do?”

“I stuck my tongue in his mouth and wrapped my hand around his cock. He slipped his hand 
down the back of my jeans and was rubbing my ass as we kissed. His cock felt like steel and 
my own was getting hard again. The beauty of being seventeen.”

“As if anything has changed.”

Brian smiled, looked down at his engorged phallus and gave it a long, leisurely stroke. He 
still had the lion’s share of his sexual potency intact, but he wasn’t where he had been at 
seventeen. That was a good thing. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been as successful as he had 
so far because at that age it was only about his dick. Now it was just mostly about his dick. 
He wasn’t looking forward to the era of whatever happened to my dick? “So the man puts his 
hands on my shoulders and pushes me down. I drop to my knees in front of him and his 
cock brushes my face as I grab onto his ass and slip his rod into my mouth.”

“Were you already good at it?”

“Probably not that good. I hadn’t had enough experience, but I was seventeen and hot 
looking. That was enough. My dick was too stiff to ignore, so I took it out and jacked it while 
sucking the guy. He put a hand on the back of my head and anchored it there as he slipped 
in deeper than I had taken anyone before. ‘Breathe through your nose and relax the back of 
your throat’ he told me when I choked a little. Good advice. He slipped it in and out like he 
was fucking my face. Which he was, of course. Some guy comes over and kneels behind me, 
kissing the back of my neck and reaches around to take over my cock stroking for me.”

“Brian, I’m going to come,” Boyd said with a groan. Brian smiled.

“Do it for me, Boyd. Think of my mouth swallowing your dick and my lips on the hard shaft 
and my tongue beating against your skin and shoot that motherfucker down my throat.”

He heard Boyd gasp as he reached orgasm and the sound of it was enough to push Brian 
past the point of no return. He shuddered as the warm gush of semen splattered his belly 
and chest. He stroked the slick wetness over his throbbing penis and then sighed. “So, that’s 
three for today,” he said with a smile. “We’ve still got it.”

Boyd laughed. “Four. You got off twice this morning.”

“You’re right. I forgot to count the encore in the shower.”

“So what happened at Babylon?”

“The usual. He came, I came, the guy jerking me came, and I found Mikey and went home.”

“Was Mikey….?”

“No. The chickenshit. I think he was twenty before he ever did anything in the backroom 
other than annoy me and interrupt what I had going on. Now that I think about it, he’s never 
stopped that habit.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Being annoyed by Michael? He still annoys me.”

“Brian.”

“Someday you’ll stop asking me that, right?”

“Okay, let’s make that today.”

“Good.”

“Want to go to sleep?”

“I think I can, now.”

“So do I.”

“Wish you were here.”

“Me too. Brian, don’t worry about Gus. We’ll find a way.”

“Goodnight, Boyd.”

“’night. Talk to you in the morning.”

Brian went into the bathroom and toweled off, then turned off the lights and went to sleep, 
no longer feeling so alone. The next morning, freshly showered and wrapped in the hotel 
robe, he responded to the breakfast knock at his door and found instead of the usual white-
jacketed waiter who was so polite as he sat up the service on the terrace, a slightly 
hungover-looking Moody who handed Brian the burdened tray and flopped down on his 
unmade bed with a groan. Brian kicked the door closed and carried the tray to the table on 
the terrace. After leaving it there he walked back in and stood beside his bed as he said, 
“Get the fuck up. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I tipped the waiter to let me deliver your tray. I told him I was your brother and wanted to 
surprise you. He knew I was lying but I guess he thought I was some young hottie who 
wanted your body. Oh yeah. He’s right about that.”

“Moody, get out.” Brian walked out to the terrace and sat down, setting up his own service 
and then pouring himself a cup of coffee. Moody wandered out, wincing at the sunlight and 
helped himself to a biscuit. Brian glared at him as he sprawled in what was supposed to be 
Boyd’s chair and slathered strawberry jam on his purloined bread. “Get out means leave,” 
Brian defined.

“Don’t be such an asshole.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“I have my network. Where’s the boyfriend?”

“In none of your fucking business land.”

“Lonely?” Moody gave him a winning smile and wiggled his eyebrows in invitation. Brian let 
out a long sigh. 

“No.”

“Can I use your shower?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Do you have a home?”

“I have that temporary place your boyfriend got for me. I’m looking for some rooms 
somewhere. I wanted to make you a proposition.”

“Haven’t you already done that?”

“A different one.”

Brian shook his head, buttered his own biscuit and wondered if he ever had this kid’s nerve. 
Even at his nerviest. Moody continued.

“You got that big, empty house in Marigny and that’s not good. It’s never good to have an 
unoccupied house. It’s a target.”

“For what? There’s nothing in it to steal but the fixtures and that’s not usually the goal of a B 
and E artist.”

“Point is, I could stay there and watch it for you, for a nominal fee.”

“I’m supposed to pay you to stay rent-free in my house?”

“Yeah. Just until you move in.”

Brian chuckled. No, he definitely never had this much nerve. “Fuck off, Moody.”

“Why not?”

“You’d have your boys and I guess girls, too, spreading their germs in my pool and you’d be 
partying in the empty rooms and probably turn it into a rave venue and charge admission. 
No way.”

“We could cut a strict deal. Have rules.”

“We’re having the place redone. It will be full of work crews and paint and floor refinishers 
and all kinds of annoying shit.”

“Even more reason for me to be there.”

“In the way? No.”

“I could stay in that carriage house.”

“We’re re-doing it, too.”

“Do it last.”

“Moody, I don’t know you. And what I do know of you, I don’t trust. Give it up.”

“Brian, do you know what rent is in the Quarter and do you know how much I make as a 
busboy?”

“So get a real job.”

“I can’t without a real address.”

Brian heard a small hint of veracity in the young man’s voice and he looked into his too-blue 
eyes and saw the faint glimmer of a distant fear. “Why did you leave Brooklyn? Truth.”

“I got busted at a rave party for holding an ounce and a half of Buddha. The cops didn’t do 
that much to me, it wasn’t like I was dealing, but my old man is a maniac on the subject of 
reefer madness. He thinks fags and drugs have destroyed this country, oh, along with 
spades, of course. His word. So he got two out of three with me. He beat the shit out of me. 
I thought that’s it. Sooner or later, the guy is gonna kill me if I hang around. So I left. I 
stayed in New York for awhile, crashing with friends, but it got cold and I was homeless, so I 
hitched south. A hustle here, a blow job there, I got all the way to New Orleans. I like it 
here. I want to stay. But I’m really tired of struggling. I can’t seem to get my legs under me, 
you know?”

Brian leaned back and stared at the pretty young man, who had unknowingly touched a very 
raw, very painful wound in his own soul. His own history with his own father blazed back to 
life. He knew that pain, that fear, that rage. “Go take a shower.”

Moody nodded and got up, pulling off his shirt as he went. 

“Good morning, Brian,” Lady P’s voice drifted over from her terrace. “Sleep well?”

He looked over at her with an internal wince. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s exactly what I think,” she said with a laugh. “Trouble.” 
Current Mood: busy


September 27th, 2005
 
 
05:28 am - BURN, Chapter 32
Posting for Big B. Enjoy! Ran

*************************

Lindsay was having a busy morning at the gallery. She arrived late after dropping Gus off at 
school, and was behind on trying to organize an exhibition. When the phone rang, she picked 
it up with an annoyed, “Yes?”

“Lindsay?” the soft, southern accent eased her tension. “It’s Boyd Coulter.”

“Boyd! How are you? Is Brian okay?”

“Brian’s fine, we’re all fine. How are y’all?”

She smiled at the word “y’all”. Boyd was so cute. “Good. Busy.”

“I won’t keep you. Listen, Lindsay, it’s important that Brian see his son. Important for both 
of them, as I’m sure you realize. Now what do we need to do to make that happen?”

She was taken aback by that remark. “I, uh, it’s not me, it’s Melanie.”

“No, Lindsay. It is you. You can’t hide behind Melanie,” his words were spoken in a low-key 
way, but they still stung. Perhaps Boyd wasn’t so “cute” after all. “You’re the one who’s 
Brian’s friend. You’re the woman who carried his baby. You’re the one who owes him 
something, even if she doesn’t agree. And you also know what a good person he is and how 
much he cares about his son and how much Gus loves him. I know it’s hard to stand up to 
your partner, especially someone as, uh, feisty as Melanie. But Brian deserves better and 
you know it.”

Lindsay frowned, not expecting this from Boyd. “Did Brian ask you to call me?”

He laughed. “Don’t you know Brian better than that? He’ll kick my ass for doing so. But he 
was so let down after you said Gus couldn’t come to Louisiana to visit him. I had an idea. 
What if I fly our nanny up there to collect Gus? You can meet her and see for yourself 
whether you think he’ll be in good hands while we’re at work. If you agree, she can fly down 
with him so you don’t have to take time off. What do you think of that?”

“Brian with a nanny? I can’t wrap my mind around that concept.”

Boyd smiled. “Brian may need a nanny, don’t we all, but this one is actually for the kids. 
She’s great. Her name is Jane March. I think even Melanie will find her more than 
competent. She can bring a resume with her. Her credentials are impressive and I’ve fully 
vetted her recommendations. They rave about how wonderful she is.”

“I’ll ask Melanie about it, Boyd, and let you know.”

There was a pause. “When will you let me know?”

His tone of voice reminded her of the term “steel magnolia”. She’d never heard the term 
applied to men, but something convinced her it could be easily adapted to Boyd. “I don’t 
know, Boyd. You do know that Brian signed a piece of paper giving up his parental rights?”

“I know about that paper, Lindsay,” he responded with a slight laugh. “I also know a bunch 
of really good lawyers who can spend a lot of time testing the efficacy of that paper. I know 
Brian signed it in order to save your relationship with your partner, and I know that since he 
signed it, he’s been a presence in Gus’s life, has supported him financially, and is recognized 
by his son as ‘Daddy’. Funny thing about paper. It has a way of losing its power when facts 
intervene. And a funny thing about lawyers. If someone is willing to pay their bills, they can 
keep you tied up in discovery contests, document productions, expert testimony wars and 
other completely legal and very invasive and expensive techniques until the weight of that 
paper buries you. And it doesn’t come cheaply, defending against that kind of lawsuit. I 
could see us spending a quarter-million easily in a custody dispute with you two. We can 
afford it without too much heartburn. Can you?”

Lindsay felt a hard clamp close around her gut. “Are you threatening me?”

“Why would you consider that a threat? You’re the one who brought up the fact that Brian 
signed a piece of paper at your request to help preserve your failing relationship with 
Melanie. I’m merely telling you what you can do with that piece of paper if you try to use it 
to prevent Brian from seeing his son.”

“You certainly aren’t the southern gentleman I thought you were, Boyd!”

“I am that person, Lindsay. But my love for Brian is so fierce that I will do anything 
necessary to keep you from hurting him by keeping him away from his own son.”

“Brian won’t let you hurt us.”

“Brian wants to see Gus.”

“Then he can come up here.”

“He has a business to run and a life down here, now, Lindsay. Don’t use Gus as bait so that 
you can spend a little time with Brian.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning if there is a Mrs. Brian Kinney, which is a ludicrous concept under the 
circumstances, I guess I’m she. Not you, and it never will be you. You need to move past 
that little fantasy. It invades Brian’s life in so many subtle ways. And I’m sure it’s a primary 
reason that Melanie is so outrageously jealous of Brian. Why not? It’s obvious you still have 
a thing for him. That’s very threatening for a partner. Brian’s gay, Lindsay. He will always be 
gay, no matter what happens with me. He’ll still be gay. He’s not going to grow out of it or 
suddenly see the light, or decide to settle for something else. It’s who he is. You fomented 
trouble with Justin, I’ve heard about that, and now you’re trying to use Gus as a magnet to 
pull Brian up there. I’m not a young kid whom you can manipulate. I’m not blind to your 
crush. And I’m not letting you hurt him again.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about! You don’t understand my relationship with 
Brian at all. We have a history.”

“You mean he fucked you when you were both in college? Yeah, I do know that. And I also 
know he thought it was a big mistake. For both of you. And that he’s never fucked you since. 
And that he never will. Grow up. Concentrate on your own relationship. Fix those problems. 
Melanie’s hostility towards Brian has more to do with you than it does him. It doesn’t have to 
be this way. I want it to be cordial and easy and positive for everyone involved. But more 
than that, I want Brian to see his son.”

Lindsay’s hands were shaking now, and so was her voice as she said, “I’m hanging up now.”

“Fine, but let me know when you want Jane to come up there and visit and bring Gus back to 
Brian.”

“I-I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long, Lindsay. I want to know by tomorrow. We can do this the easy way or 
the hard way, but either way, we’re doing it.”

She hung up and Boyd sighed and called Brian’s mobile number, determined to get to him 
before she did. 

***************************************

Brian was on his way to a meeting with Daphne and Ted at the work site when Boyd called 
on his cell. He smiled. “I tried you earlier, but went to voice mail.”

“I must have been on a call. Brian, I have a confession. I’ve intruded into your life.”

“Yeah, I think I know that already.”

“She already got to you?”

“I meant generally. What do you mean, ‘she’?”

“I called Lindsay.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“And?”

“Because she’s being a spineless bitch about Gus.”

“So you made me look like a spineless bitch who made my boyfriend call her to beg for me?”

“I’m sorry, but you cut her every break and always eat the sin, Brian. She needs to let you 
see your son. She needs to stop emotionally blackmailing you because the real truth is she 
wants to see you herself. She needs to get over that infatuation for you.”

“And you need to butt out,” he wasn’t really mad, just annoyed.

“I can’t.”

“That means you won’t.”

“That means I can’t. I love you and I know how hurt you are by this and it’s just fucking 
wrong.”

Brian sighed, stepping over two Kappa Alphas who had obviously partied too hearty the 
night before. He could identify their Greek affiliation by the two large red letters, KA, on their 
vomit and booze stained t-shirts. They were propped up against a bar on Bourbon Street, 
waiting for the inevitable trip to the slammer. Welcome to the Big Easy the morning after the 
night before. “Faggot,” one of them mumbled as Brian accidentally clipped his leg with his 
heel as he crossed their barricade. 

Brian said nothing back, concentrating on his lover instead. “It’s complicated, Boyd. We go 
way back.”

“Yeah, and she’s been regretting your loss ever since.”

“She’s a dyke.”

“Second choice.”

Brian frowned. Some part of him always suspected that was true, but he had never admitted 
it, not even formally to himself. “She had been dyking when we met and she went back to 
it.”

“Is ‘dyking’ a verb?” Boyd asked with a laugh and Brian smiled.

“It should be, if not.”

“I’m sorry if I went too far, Brian, but I felt your pain. I had to do something.”

“You probably made it worse.”

“I don’t think so. I think I may have scared her a little.”

“Meaning?”

Boyd recapped their conversation and Brian listened to the whole recap before he spoke. 
“Well, you had your Wheaties this morning.”

Boyd winced. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, Brian, but I’m not sorry for what I said.”

“I guess I’m not used to people taking up for me. It’s weird. I always had to fight my own 
battles.”

“You still do. You just have a comrade in arms. I have a meeting now, but are you still 
coming home for dinner?”

“No, I’m leaving you,” Brian teased. “Yeah, call me later.”

“Uh, Brian, I need to hear you say it.”

Brian smiled. “Are you asleep?”

“I love you, too.”

They ended the call.

The Christians were back. They were obviously not happy about having to make more signs. 
The signs they carried looked a little spur of the moment and someone left their spellchecker 
at home. “Stop Construction” read “Stop Construcion” and “Do Not Desecrate This Church” 
read “Do Not Desicrate This Church”. Brian wryly thought they needed to spend more time 
with a grammar book than with the Bible. Not that any of them were Bible scholars. These 
were idiots who parroted what someone told them to parrot and believed what someone told 
them to believe. No independent study had gone into their dogma.

“HOMOSEXUAL!” someone shouted at him and Brian paused. 

“Yes, yes I am. Why does that bother you so much? Felling a little conflicted? Would you like 
to climb aboard?”

He laughed at their roar in reaction to his remark and went inside the gate. He supposed it 
was bad form to pull on the robes of the righteous, but he didn’t mind tweaking these 
morons. Daphne, Ted and Dora awaited him in the trailer, and he poured himself a coffee 
and sat down at the small table. “Who called this meeting of the Lions?”

Ted chuckled and Daphne squirmed, still a little nervous after her ass chewing from the 
boss. Dora gave a detailed report of where they stood on the construction schedule. Brian 
was pleased. Working night crews as well as day crews had escalated the completion date, 
just as he planned. The rectory may not be finished in time for Halloween, but he could live 
with that. He drilled down on some expenses with Ted and then turned to Daphne. “You 
need to get an apartment. I’m not paying for a hotel for you. It’s too expensive. You have to 
live on your salary like everyone else. I’ll give you until the end of the week and then you’re 
on your own, whether it’s staying where you are or moving into an apartment. I’m not being 
punitive, Daphne, but that’s the way the world works.”

“I’m looking for a place, Brian. I have been. I want to live in the Quarter or nearby. I really 
wanted a place in the Pontalba buildings overlooking Jackson Square.”

Dora laughed. “Honey, they have a ten year waiting list. People die on that list. You need to 
expand your search.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“I have an idea,” Brian offered. “My idea is that we talk about business, and you discuss your 
living arrangement issues on your own time. Where are we on media placement for the 
club?”

They continued discussing the agenda and when they left, Dora went back to her crew, 
Daphne went to buy a newspaper with apartments listed and Ted walked out with Brian. At 
the gates, Brian saw a long white limo with a personalized license plate that read, “Saved”. A 
short, pudgy man in a light colored linen suit was holding the crowd in thrall. Brian glanced 
at Ted and said, “He must be the most holy Reverend Bullshit Flynn.”

“Want to go out the back?”

“There is no back, Ted. You mean scale the wall? In my Prada silk shirt? Are you serious? He 
doesn’t scare me, the fat phoney.”

As they walked out, the crowd grew silent and Flynn turned to stare as a member of the 
faithful identified Brian to him. The reverend was porcine, smooth skinned, pink, exactly as 
Bo had described him and even stranger looking than his photographs. As if he didn’t have 
the hormones to give him enough body hair to develop a full eyebrow or to achieve a 
masculine shape. He had a nervous habit of wiggling his pudgy little fingers at his sides and 
he smelled of cologne so thickly applied that Brian could pick it up from across the drive. 
What stink was he trying to hide? 

“A word with you, Mr. Kinney!” It was spoken as a command, not a request. The crowd was 
murmuring to each other in nervous observation as Brian paused. 

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Then perhaps you’ll grant me the courtesy of listening.”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

“What are you afraid of, Mr. Kinney?”

Ted felt Brian tense. Fighting words. “Tornadoes, hurricanes, bears, condom shortages and 
bad weed. Why?”

The man calmed the crowd’s response with a wave. He crossed over to stand closer to Brian, 
overwhelming him with his strong scent. Brian knew the cologne. It was expensive. He must 
dip himself in a vat of the pricey stuff. Underlying it was the slight acidity of sweat. Sweating 
like a pig took on an intense connotation with this one. 

“Mr. Kinney, why don’t we take a little ride? Feel free to bring your….friend,” he brushed Ted 
with a condemnation and Ted shrank from him, hiding halfway behind Brian’s shield. 

“He has work to do,” Brian said, watching a tall, broad shouldered black man emerge from 
behind the wheel of the limo and hold open the back door. Ted hesitated.

“We both have work to do, Brian. We’d better go.” There was no way he intended to get in 
that car and he didn’t want Brian to, either.

Brian glared at him. “Scuttle off, Theodore. I’ll call you later.”

“But…”

Brian widened his eyes in a silent “go” gesture, and Ted reluctantly left him there. Brian 
returned his attention to the reverend. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere private and much more commodious where we can have a little chat, Mr. 
Kinney.”

“It’s not some faggot de-programming center is it? Because I promise you, I’d turn your 
programmers before they turned me.”

Flynn gave him a tense smile. “I don’t suspect I can change your evil ways, Mr. Kinney.”

“In that case…” Brian preceded him into the limo, sitting on the far side of the seat, near the 
door, his hand resting under his nose to serve as a defense against the onslaught of cologne. 
As the reverend positioned his bulk on the seat beside Brian, he lowered the tinted glass to 
wave at the faithful and then closed the window. The air conditioner was icy. He took a 
bottle of chilled Evian from the refrigerator and offered one to Brian, who accepted. 

“You’re a very handsome man, Mr. Kinney,” he observed and Brian raised a brow.

“You touch me, I’m out of here.”

“Very amusing. I always preach that evil comes wrapped in pretty paper to tempt the 
faithful.”

“I guess that makes you extremely righteous,” Brian countered and it took a moment to 
settle in before the reverend frowned at the implied insult. They grew silent. Brian watched 
the Quarter slip by as they neared Canal Street. He had no idea where they were going or 
why he was here. His mobile rang. Boyd. He flipped it open. 

“What are you doing?” Boyd demanded. “Ted called me.”

“I’m being taken for a ride,” Brian teased.

“Are you crazy?”

“Need you ask?”

“Brian, I don’t trust this guy.”

“I can take him,” he said, offering the reverend’s nervous face a slight smile. 

“Please get out of that car.”

“Calm down, Boyd. I’m fine, I’ll call you later.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Me either. The overpowering aroma of Declaration by Cartier is choking me. And I used to 
like that scent.”

Flynn glared at him and Brian told his lover goodbye as he ended the call, curious to see 
where this ride would end.

Current Mood:  curious

October 2nd, 2005
 
 
07:02 am - BURN, Chapter 33
Hope you Burniacs are having a great weekend. Our cool weather failed to arrive. Otherwise, 
not so bad. Big B

********************************************

Brian sucked in his lower lip to keep from laughing when the limo pulled up to a pair of tall 
iron gates. The barricade was painted heavenly white, and topped with angels blowing brass 
trumpets. ”Is Saint Peter waiting on the other side?” he quipped as the gates swung open at 
the push of a button on the dash, and the car drove past. 

“Those gates were made for the Church by a fine Christian artist who donated them out of 
gratitude for my help in leading him into the light of the Lord,” Flynn’s smug, porky face 
beamed with pride. Brian looked back as the gates swung shut behind them. What kind of 
church had a gated drive? Were they expecting a horde of sinners to invade? “We have a 
school attached to the church,” he seemed to read Brian’s mind. “Grades K through 12, the 
highest standards of Christian education. We have to ensure the children are safe while on 
the premises. The gates open during picking up and dropping off hours and when school is 
not in session.”

Brian suspected those high standards did little to educate the children about the simple fact 
of evolution or the value of diversity. Sex education probably consisted of three words: 
“Don’t do it!” Education about substance abuse was probably equally prohibitive (“Just say 
no!”) and uninformative. What did parents think would happen to these kids they kept safely 
within a bubble when that bubble popped and they found themselves surrounded by truth 
and temptation? Did they believe that just being “good Christians” would overcome the 
hormonal surges and natural curiosity about life? Did the parents equally censor the media 
and the Internet and the books they came into contact with? Tunnel vision was a scary 
affliction for Brian. He felt constrained just entering these hallowed grounds. 

A huge white cathedral seemed to be built around a dreadful looking bell tower with five 
increasingly larger bells visible within. A tall neon cross topped the tower, and two stone 
angels, whose grimacing expressions seemed to testify to their agony at hearing those bells 
at close range, hovered on either side of the tower like large hummingbirds at a sugar 
feeder. The design excess of the tower was so alarming, Brian hardly noticed the church. 
When he looked at it, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Stained glass windows 
portraying floods, flaming swords, hordes of locusts, Jesus suffering on the cross, and then, 
as antidote to this tableau of misery, a startled looking lamb with a large cross superimposed 
over its body. Some glassmaker seemed to have a wry sense of humor that completely 
eluded the good reverend. Even the lamb looked like it just got a glimpse of an approaching, 
randy shepherd. 

“This is how a church is meant to look, Mr. Kinney!” Flynn bellowed and Brian chuckled.

“I prefer St. Mark’s Cathedral in Venice, but that’s just me.”

“Catholic?” Flynn indicted with the same venom he would give to the word “homosexual”.

Brian shrugged. “Fallen.”

“Failed by that papist worshiping religion, not an uncommon plight for your kind. Full of 
perversions, priests fondling boys. Were you fondled by a priest, Mr. Kinney? Did that lead 
you into this life you find yourself living? You were abused as a boy?”

Brian blinked as they parked behind the church. Low, flat, uninspiring buildings flanked the 
cathedral on either side. This was no doubt the school and a block of administrative offices. 
It was a business, after all. “That’s not the way it works, Flynn. Read a book sometime, one 
out in general release, not cleansed by the Christian censors. You might learn something.”

The driver opened the door for Flynn as Brian got out the other side of the car. He breathed 
in the fresh air, free of the miasma that was the reverend’s cologne. But the thick fragrance 
seemed to stick in his lungs and he coughed a little, wishing he could hack it out of his 
system. In the distance, childlike voices were singing a hymn. That sound was the only 
divinity he experienced in this so-called place of worship.

They went in through a side door. The hallway was constructed from exposed cinder blocks 
painted eggshell white. The linoleum floor was tan and scuffed. Children’s drawings of 
religious themed subjects were the only art in evidence. The drawings were taped up on the 
walls at irregular intervals. Fluorescent overhead lights turned the whole milieu an acidic 
shade of yellow. A headache began to throb behind Brian’s eyes, born of tension and too 
much scent, exacerbated by the terrible lighting. He rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and 
fingertips as they paused before a perky secretary who greeted her boss with a syrupy, 
“Good morning and bless you, Reverend Flynn.”

She gave Brian a nervous glance but her smile never wavered, instead it just grew wider. 
Cheshire cat, Brian thought to himself. She was the Cheshire cat. “We’ll be in a meeting for a 
bit, Mrs. Martin. Please hold my calls.”

“Of course I will! Your usual, Reverend Flynn?”

“Yes, please.”

“What may I get for you, sir?” She chirped to Brian and he said,

“You have a couple percodan? No? How about a couple Advil with a Scotch chaser?”

“We don’t have alcohol here, sir,” the Cheshire cat kept grinning as her startled eyes shifted 
to her boss. 

“Then I’ll take a couple of Advil with a bottle of water. I have a headache.”

Her boss nodded and she scurried off, her dress such a bright field of flowers that Brian felt 
his hay fever spark just from looking at her. The good reverend’s office was not austere like 
the common areas of the building. Huge, it had a cathedral ceiling, white walls, a crimson 
carpet that gave Brian the creeps, and behind the desk a life-sized painting of Jesus with his 
arms outstretched in welcome. The painting’s eyes seemed to follow Brian, reminding him of 
one of those comic horror movies from the forties where the villain watched the goings on in 
a parlor through the removable eyes of a portrait. Was there someone standing behind the 
portrait of Jesus, spying on their conversation?

Brian avoided the chairs in front of the huge, overly ornate desk where Flynn occupied the 
throne behind it. Instead, he plopped down on a white brocade couch. The couch was across 
the room from the desk, so Flynn had to come out from behind his fortress, a move that 
obviously annoyed him, and that was calculated by Brian. He perched on one of the 
matching wing chairs facing the couch. He was so wide that he looked trapped by the arms 
of the chair, and so short that only the balls of his feet touched the floor. His secretary 
entered with a mug of steaming coffee or tea for him and Brian’s water along with two green 
Advil gel caps. 

“You’re not slipping me a mickey disguised as Advil, are you?” Brian teased. “Will I wake up 
in some homo de-programming center in Guatemala?” He popped the pills as her Cheshire 
grin finally failed her. She stared at him in horror. 

“That will be all, Mrs. Martin,” Flynn called her out of her trance and she gratefully escaped 
and closed the door. “Was that really necessary, Mr. Kinney?”

Brian laughed. “I’m afraid it was.”

“You like to shock people, don’t you?”

“I don’t care one way or the other how people react to me. I just live. If that shocks some 
people, so be it.”

“You must have had something go very wrong in your life to cause such an obviously 
intelligent and very handsome man to go so far off the path of righteousness.”

Brian smiled. The Advil hadn’t yet begun to work. Flynn’s fragrance was drifting his way 
again. He wondered if the carpet were red so it wouldn’t show the stains when someone 
opened a vein to avoid the stench of this man. ”I don’t accept your view of righteousness, 
Mr. Flynn. So right off the bat, we have no common ground to discuss what path I’ve taken. 
If you mean the gay thing, it’s been definitively proved that sexual orientation is not a 
choice, it’s genetically wired.”

“A convenient excuse. Even if that were so, and I don’t believe it is, some say a tendency 
towards alcohol abuse is genetic. And yet a person intent on living a righteous life can fight 
that impulse and overcome it. The same is true with your affliction. I’ve helped many a lost 
soul leave that path of sin and perversion that you follow and find happiness and salvation. 
Most are married now, with families, as normal as can be.”

Brian laughed. “Yeah, I used to see those day trippers in the baths and the backrooms, or 
trolling for male hustlers, getting their ashes hauled and then heading back to the ‘burbs and 
wifey and kiddies and respectability, as if they never stopped off in Gaytown on a regular 
basis. Not their fault, really. Society, your kind of people, impose so much hate on us that 
some men just aren’t strong enough to buck the imposition of societal norm. They live lives 
of quiet desperation and self-loathing. Their wives are generally miserable and they raise 
kids in a state of confusion and uncertainty. What a happy result.”

Flynn glared at him. “The Bible teaches us…”

Brian held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Don’t even think about quoting the Good Book. I’m 
not here for a bible lesson. What do you want, Flynn? Let’s cut the horse shit and get to the 
real reason you brought me here. I have work to do.”

The reverend smiled and then leaned forward to broadcast his earnestness as he said, “Mr. 
Kinney, I want to save your soul.”

**********************************************************

The refinery was the part of the business that Boyd hated most. His family operated the 
biggest independent sugar refinery in the state, if not the nation. After the cane was crushed 
at the mill and raw sugar was extracted from the plants, the raw material was shipped to 
this refinery to be turned into the fine, white crystals people were accustomed to seeing.
Boyd had never liked anything about the refining end of the business. He hated the looks of 
the plant that squatted across five acres like a low, ominous chemical dump. He hated the 
smell of the place, there was nothing sweet about cooking raw sugar. And he wasn’t overly 
proud of the end product that contributed to obesity and diabetes and a host of other 
modern ailments. It wasn’t as if they were refining heroin, but it was pretty addictive stuff 
that came out of this place in nice little bags for the grocery stores or that was dumped into 
railroad cars as bulk sugar to be shipped to commercial food processing companies. 

He knew he was being self-righteous. He cashed the checks that came from the refinery just 
like everyone in his family. If he really had a moral objection to refined sugar, shouldn’t he 
avoid the income from it?

“These are the centrifugals, Boyd,” the plant foreman said in a voice loud enough to be 
heard over the mechanical clatter of the machinery. Boyd found the heat in the refinery 
stifling and the hard hat he had to wear didn’t help. “These babies separate the crystals from 
the remaining liquid,” the foreman explained and Boyd nodded.

“I know how the process works, Girard, from the carbon filters to the evaporators to the 
conditioning silos and every step in between. I’ve been around this business my whole life. 
That’s not why I’m here. I’m not escorting a Girl Scout group through the refinery to show 
them how sugar is made.”

He was stopped several times along the way to shake hands with workers and to answer 
their questions about how his father was doing. As they walked past the docks where 
machines dumped bulk sugar into the railroad cars that pulled right up to the building, Boyd 
inhaled the relatively cooler air of the bayou. He took off his hard hat and ran his fingers 
through his wet hair. “Damn, it’s inhumanly hot in there.”

“You get used to it,” the foreman said with a grin. “You wanna know hot, I’ll tell you hot. 
Come on over here, Minus, shake hands with the boss,” he called out to a distant figure.

“Minus?” Boyd repeated as he saw a man emerge from an outbuilding that had a flat cement 
roof. Smoke billowed into the atmosphere through a tall stone smokestack that topped that 
roof.

“Minus Arceneau,” the foreman said as the man approached. “He’s been here for years. Only 
man I know who can stand the heat of those furnaces we use to burn the cast-off cane. As 
you know, we load up that ash and sell it to fertilizer and mulch companies. They use it as 
filling. Like your Papa says, don’t waste a leaf of the cane.” Most of the cane was burned at 
the mill where the cane was crushed. But there was a small crushing unit at the refinery for 
those small independents that wanted a one-stop shop. 

Minus wore navy blue coveralls, like all of the workers, with Coulter Mills written in a red oval 
on the back. But his clothes were so layered in ash that they were as gray as his coated skin. 
Boyd couldn’t even make out his features, other than preternatural grey-blue eyes that 
burned beneath the ash like a live ember. “Shake hands with the boss, Minus,” the foreman 
said and Boyd held out his hand, carefully showing none of the reluctance he felt about 
touching this human cinder. But the ashy man refused to take it. He looked up at the 
foreman and said,

“He ain’t no way the boss, and I ain’t shaking his hand.”

“Minus, this is Mr. Coulter, the boss’s son. He’s filling in for him while the boss is recovering 
from heart surgery.”

Boyd dropped his hand to his side, relieved. It became obvious to him that Minus was minus 
many things, such as a normal IQ. Eyelashes, hair and eyebrows were also missing. Two 
fingers on his left hand were gone. His left earlobe had been fused to the side of his head. 
Boyd didn’t want to stare, but he couldn’t look away. “He done put the boss in dat hospital, 
shaming him the way dat he done.”

The foreman looked as uncomfortable as Boyd looked confused. “Uh, you don’t need to talk 
that way, Minus. Now go back to the foundry and get some work done.”

“It’s my quittin’ time. My work be done.” He skulked off and Boyd gave the foreman a 
questioning look as they went into his office in an attached building. While it wasn’t fancy, it 
was air-conditioned and Boyd soaked up the cold air as he accepted a Coke with gratitude. 

“What’s his story? Why is he so hostile?”

“You can’t go listenin’ to Minus, no one does. He ain’t been right in the head since his Mama 
died in that fire and he lost those fingers and all of his hair tryin’ to pull her out. Never grew 
back, neither the fingers nor the hair,” he chuckled at his little joke and Boyd frowned. It 
really wasn’t funny. 

“When did that happen?”

“Oh, you was a boy. The Arceneau family was never no good, never worth a dime. Minus 
wiped up around here for pennies, didn’t have the brains to go to school. Your papa took pity 
on him after the fire. He asked Minus what he might like to do and Minus wanted to burn 
cane. Imagine wanting to be around fire after what he went through. Anyway, your papa let 
him work at the big foundry in the mill until he got a little enthusiastic with the ovens and 
caused some problems. So he put him out here with that little operation and no helpers he 
may hurt. He’s been fine since then. People just stay clear of that old boy. If he ain’t talking 
about fire like it’s a curvy woman, he’s beatin’ the Bible at you. He don’t cause no real 
trouble, though, and your papa has a soft spot for ol’ Minus. So Minus would do anything for 
your papa.”

“What kind of name is ‘Minus’?” Boyd insisted and the foreman smiled.

“Cajun, son. You oughta know that by now. We Cajuns, we got our own kinda names.”

Boyd smiled. That was a fact. “Why is he angry at me?”

“I don’t know. I’m guessin’ he heard the gossip about the uh, you know, that uh…”

Boyd smiled. “That I’m gay?”

The foreman looked relieved. “Yeah, that. Ol’ Minus, he ain’t the broadest thinker in the 
world. Don’t think black men should work alongside white men and don’t think women 
should work at all. Don’t like Jews or anyone who don’t believe exactly like he believe, and I 
guess you could say he just don’t like much at all. Except Jesus, fire and your papa.”

“Interesting combination,” Boyd said with a shake of his head, surprised by his father’s 
generosity with this tragic soul. “I need to get on the road soon, my partner’s back from New 
Orleans this evening, but I wanted to ask you about these new quotas the government has 
just put in place and how you think they might affect the refinery business.” 

“That fucking NAFTA,” he said with a shake of his head. “Limit what we can grow so those 
fucking Mexicans can send their low grade shit up here to our tables.”

Boyd smiled. “But its those same rules that keep the sugar prices up, and from what I’ve 
been able to discern so far, both the mill and the refinery are working to capacity and in fact 
you’ve had to ship the raw goods elsewhere because you couldn’t refine it all.”

“Because the mill come close to busting quota.”

Boyd frowned. The mills had strict quotas they had to observe in order to play their part in 
keeping the production of sugar within USDA guidelines. Sometimes that meant farmers had 
to leave cane in the fields when the quotas were reached. “We didn’t bust quota according to 
what I’ve seen. We need to do a better job of educating the growers about what the quota 
will be so they don’t end up wasting cane.”

“They won’t listen to you none, those stubborn farmers. Ain’t got no sense. Grow a buffer 
against hurricanes and the like and then end up burning the fields because they can’t mill it. 
Minus makes as much burning cane as he does on this job, I tell you what.”

Boyd sighed. He hated this business. He glanced at his watch and thought of Brian. “I need 
to get home. By tomorrow evening, I’d like to see your production projections though the 
end of the year. I need to see how close we’re going to come to turning business away and 
how much. Thanks for your time and for the Coke,” they shook on it, and Boyd started 
towards his car. It was twilight on the bayou and he liked this time of day best. The cypress 
trees turned black in the shadows and drifted black lace, instead of moss, across the land. 
The water turned vermillion instead of muddy green when the sun dropped below the surface 
of the horizon and the temperature cooled down to a sizzle. 

He took out his mobile and was about to punch speed dial and see if Brian was home, and 
then call Madam Dhue to check on his kids, when a voice said, “Sinner! You change your 
ways or you gonna be made to pay!”

He saw Minus standing near the factory dock and he shook his head and walked on to his 
car. Some fights were just not worth having. This was one. The poor old freak. “Where the 
fuck are you?” Brian’s voice was petulant when he answered and Boyd smiled and got into 
his car, turning over the engine and turning up the air conditioning.

“On my way. You home?”

“Alone. Where are the kids?”

“With the Dhues. All night.” 

He could hear Brian smile. “I’ll put the champagne on ice.”

“And take off everything except your smile.”

“Hurry. My smile is lonely.”

“Ten minutes,” Boyd promised, hoping he could shave it to seven. 
Current Mood:  aggravated
October 4th, 2005
 
 
04:31 am - BURN, Chapter 34
Ran posting for Big B, and SWEATING! It's a hot one! BWAHAAAA! Have fun, horn dawgs.

*******************************


Boyd made it home in seven minutes flat. He got lucky on road conditions and he avoided a 
well-known speed trap, as he pushed the limit of how fast a country road could be safely 
driven. After parking in front of his house, he ran up the stairs of the mill house. His 
excitement built with each step he took that brought him closer to Brian. It was crazy. They 
had been together too long to feel this intensity. Brian had only been away for one night, 
and even during that separation they got off together over the phone. 

And yet…he was dying to touch him, to smell him, to feel Brian’s hands on his body, to taste 
him, to look at him, to bury his nose in his silky hair and in his curly pubes. He wanted to 
choke on his fat cock and swallow his hot semen and scrub his tonsils with his tongue. He 
wanted to shoot all over his fine skin and watch it turn pink where his jizz landed and then 
lick it off, a pearl at a time. He wanted to rim him, fuck him, be fucked by him, just join their 
bodies and never let him go. 

“Brian?” He was stripping off his shirt and tie as he entered the house. Music was playing, 
something international, throbbing, playfully sexual. The lights were low. Boyd tripped over 
his own shoes as he tried to kick them off while he called out to Brian again.

“Are you blind?” Brian was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, cradling a bottle of champagne. 
As promised, he wore nothing but his smile. His studied cool was in contrast to Boyd’s frantic 
heat. Boyd stood there, his shirt off, one shoe still in place, the other gone, his fly open and 
pants slipping down his hips. He was flushed from his run up the stairs and his struggle with 
his clothes. His hair was tousled by this impromptu striptease. 

Brian looked at him and laughed. “Miss me?”

Boyd groaned and shed his shoe, his pants, his underwear, walking over to him, naked, at 
last. He braced his weight on the back of Brian’s chair as he leaned over to kiss him. Brian 
pressed the chilled champagne bottle to the warm skin of Boyd’s back while opening his 
mouth to his kiss. Boyd lowered himself to straddle Brian’s thighs, their hard cocks meeting 
in the middle as Brian popped the champagne and held the foaming stream over Boyd’s 
open mouth and then his own. The golden wine flowed down their chins and torsos and Brian 
leaned over to lick it off of Boyd’s nipple, as Boyd rubbed it into Brian’s pecs. 

They slugged down another round and then Brian held it over them, causing it to fall like 
expensive rain from a generous god. Brian sucked it out of Boyd’s hair and glued them 
together with the nectar of the grape. It shrouded their cocks with tingling foam and Boyd 
grabbed them both in his fist, using the lubricant of the champagne to glide his grip as he 
pulled. Brian leaned over to kiss him, feeling the wine drip into their open mouths as their 
tongues shoved against each other. 

They both shot from the motion of Boyd’s fist and Brian poured the champagne over the 
combined cum that pooled on his abdomen. Boyd leaned over and licked off the blended jizz, 
bubbly and sweat, finding the flavor tart and appealing. He coated his tongue and fed some 
to Brian, who sucked it in with a groan. They kissed and touched and teased until Brian was 
erect again. Boyd raised himself to insert the firm phallus of his lover up the tight 
circumference of his ass. Brian pushed. Boyd lowered himself. The cock disappeared in 
Boyd’s body. Brian grabbed Boyd’s dick as if to use it as an anchor, yanking it hard as he 
fucked him. His champagne-dampened hair flopped into his eyes so he closed them against 
the sting. No pain was so great that it could stop him from fucking Boyd. 

Boyd flattened one hand on Brian’s chest, another against his shoulder as he rode the 
moving target of Brian’s cock. “Fuck me,” he pleaded, unable to squeeze out more than a 
guttural whisper as his body concentrated on other tasks. “Fuck me!”

Brian leaned over, resting his forehead against Boyd’s sternum as he felt his orgasm build 
and shatter him with the force of a briefcase bomb, safely contained in Boyd’s shelter. Boyd 
came too, and they sat there for a minute, both of them trembling from the sheer exertion 
of their coupling. 

“Damn,” Brian finally whispered without raising his head. “We aren’t normal.”

Boyd laughed, collapsing against him. “Who wants to be normal?”

“We’re filthy.”

“Isn’t that how we like it?”

“Come on,” Brian eased him off his lap and held his hand, bringing him to the bathroom with 
him. The rest of the champagne went down easily, passing from one man to the other as 
they soaked together in the tub. Boyd was nestled between Brian’s spread legs, his back 
against his chest. Brian locked his ankle over Boyd’s and exhaled against the back of his 
head, lifting his hair on his breath. Boyd smiled and twisted to kiss him. “This is nice.”

“Yeah, nice. Who would believe we were going to hell because we feel the way we do about 
each other?”

Boyd smiled and let his fingers drift down Brian’s long thigh. “Whither thou goest…”

Brian laughed. “You quote that book to me and I’ll get out of this tub right now.”

“No, you won’t. I won’t let you. Why did you say that about hell?”

“A man tried to save my soul today.”

“Did he succeed?”

“He didn’t get very far with it.”

“With your soul?”

“The saving of it. It would appear that step one is leaving you. The other steps never got the 
chance to be counted.”

Boyd squeezed Brian’s knee and then leaned back to kiss him. “Thanks for not taking that 
first step.”

“To be clear about it, it wasn’t just you. It was all homos. You being my favorite homo, of 
course, but come on, what’s a guy to do with a deal like that?”

Boyd turned and flattened himself on the bottom of the tub, supporting his torso against 
Brian’s. “Don’t make me bust your chops.”

“Is that anyway to talk to a man who gave up salvation for you?”

Boyd reached up to smooth Brian’s hair back with his wet palms. “What does he really 
want?”

“Baby, he wants the church.”

“You mean the club?”

“Right.”

“Why the fuck does he want the property?”

Brian shrugged setting the empty bottle on the floor outside the tub, running his fingertips 
over the rise of Boyd’s firm buttocks. “I don’t know. He wasn’t real clear about that, but it 
may have something to do with wanting to piss in the Catholics’ punch bowl. The church was 
for sale a long time before I came to town. Why he didn’t buy it before me is his problem. He 
said they weren’t amenable to a deal. I suspect he was low on price. You snooze, you lose. 
He made me a generous offer.”

“And?”

“I told him if I sold it to him where would all the homos go to worship at the altar of the big 
hard cock?”

“You did not,” Boyd said with a laugh and Brian shrugged. 

“Words to that effect.”

“What was his reaction?”

“The little twerp went Marlon in the Godfather on me, sort of giving me the ‘offer you can’t 
refuse’ speech. He couldn’t pull it off. Fat enough, but it was like Porky Pig threatening Bugs. 
Th-th-th-that’s all folks! I left. My soul left with me, as unsaved as ever.”

“How did you get back?”

“The limo. Even without him in it, it still reeked of his stench. Reminds me, avoid the Cartier 
counter if you ever decide to buy me cologne. Damn him for ruining a good brand for me. I 
had to take a shower when I got home just to rinse off the residue and I threw my clothes in 
the washer. He reminds me of a decomposing zombie who uses too much perfume to cover 
up the fragrance of corruption.”

“What a lovely image.”

Brian shrugged and Boyd kissed him. Brian’s hands wandered over Boyd’s ass as the kiss 
deepened. Their blood shifted. Brian smiled. “Here we go again. Let’s get out of the water. 
Lousy lubrication.”

In the bed, they were more leisurely this time, the initial frenetic need for release having 
been satisfied. Long slow kisses took the place of fast deep thrusts. Hands explored, stroked, 
discovered rather than grabbed, yanked and squeezed. But as the heat rose, so did their 
rhythm, and by the time Brian brought Boyd up to his knees to enter him from behind, they 
were back to the feverish pitch of earlier couplings. For them, no matter how it started, it 
always ended rough, forceful. An observer might see them as combatants rather than lovers, 
but they both enjoyed the strength and power of a dynamic fuck. They weren’t looking for 
soft and easy, they were looking for intense and vigorous and they were never disappointed. 

When they collapsed together, Brian groaned. “I’m sore.”

“You’re sore?” Boyd taunted him. “I’m the one who got the thick nine inches up my tight ass 
more than once in what, under an hour?”

Brian grinned at him. “Given the fact that it’s tight, think of my poor nine inches and all the 
battering it took. Literally.”

“Yeah, I won’t be able to sit down tomorrow, so I’ll give that a lot of thought while pacing my 
dad’s office.”

“You could get one of those little inner tubes hemorrhoid patients use.”

Boyd slapped Brian’s hard pecs and his lover laughed. “I hate the mill and the refinery is 
even worse.”

“You never told me you had a refinery.”

“Yeah, it’s a huge part of the business. We have it all, except the cane fields. My family got 
out of the growing end of the business long ago.”

“Is it a big deal, refining sugar?”

“It’s a big process. And there are all kinds of grades from plantation white to bulk.”

“Plantation white sounds like heroin.”

“Sugar is heroin, Brian. It’s addictive and destructive. It’s probably killed far more people 
than all of the heroin dealers in history.”

“Are you cutting it with arsenic or something?”

Boyd laughed. “The plague of obesity in this country and others. A lot of it comes down to 
sugar.”

“A lot of it comes down to Kentucky Fried Chicken, MacDonald’s French fries and sitting on 
your ass in front of the television, too. I wouldn’t eat too much guilt over those white 
crystals, Boyd.”

Boyd turned on his side, tracing Brian’s gunshot scar with his forefinger. “You’re probably 
right. I can’t help what people eat. Brian, you shouldn’t underestimate Flynn. He’s a fanatic 
and fanatics are dangerous.”

“I can deal with him. Don’t worry.”

“I met a fanatic today. Different stripe. Weird little pyromaniac who works at the refinery. 
His name is Minus, can you believe that? He looks a little like Freddy Krueger, minus the 
knives for fingers. Minus a couple fingers altogether. He burns cane, both at work, and the 
residue the farmers burn off in their fields. You’ll see this mist of smoke hovering over this 
area when the cane burning commences. After the harvest. Apparently this guy, who isn’t all 
there mentally, is fixated on my father. The old man showed some kindness with him that he 
never bothered to show his own kids, and so this is his mindless dog.”

“Why would you put a guy with half a brain in charge of anything to do with fire?”

“I guess he can do that one thing well.”

“What makes him a fanatic?”

“He’s fanatically attached to my father and he hates me because I’m queer and I’ve caused 
my father pain with that queerness.”

“Nice. Always good to have a pyromaniac hate you. Hey, you think he could be related to 
that call we got about burning in hell?”

“I think that was probably someone related to Flynn’s organization.”

“Yeah, more likely. Who would name a kid ‘Minus’?”

“It’s a Cajun thing.”

“Whenever I ask you a hard question, whether it’s about who would eat alligator meat to 
why everything is blackened, you answer, ‘it’s a Cajun thing’.”

Boyd laughed. “It is!”

The phone rang and Brian frowned at the device. “Yes or no?” he said to his lover who 
shrugged.

“Go ahead. I need to take a piss.”

Brian watched Boyd’s retreating ass as he picked up the receiver. “Yeah?”

“Brian, it’s Lindsay.”

He sighed. He had almost forgotten that little drama. Dramas were coming too fast and too 
furious for him to keep up with them all. “Hi, Linds.”

“You busy?”

“Not at the moment,” he said with a smile.

“Is Boyd there with you?”

“He’s in the bathroom. Why?”

“I want to tell you what he did,” her voice became tremulous and Brian sighed.

“I know what he did, Linds. He told me himself.”

“Are you going to let him get away with that?”

“Away with what?”

“Talking to me that way?”

“Was he rude?”

She hesitated. “Not so much rude as…threatening.”

“Really? Did he say he was sending enforcers to your door to beat up you and Mel if you 
didn’t let me see Gus?”

“You think this is funny?”

“I think you’re being overly dramatic.”

“He threatened to sue us, Brian!”

“After you threatened to cut me off, using that piece of paper as your defense.”

She sighed. “I didn’t…”

“Come on, Lindsay. You always do. I’ve had that thrown in my face how many times? And 
the funny thing is, I did it for you, to keep you and Mel together because that’s what you 
wanted. You begged me to do it. I wanted my son to have a united couple to raise him. And 
even after that paper, I’ve paid for his upbringing and I’ve tried to be a father to him. So 
don’t even try to defend that fucking piece of paper, Lindsay. Boyd was right to challenge it. 
And I want to see my kid.”

“You’ve changed.”

“God, I hope so. Being 35, 40, whatever age and still acting like a 20 year old stud and 
backroom bandit would be so pathetic I’d rather be hit by a truck and left for dead.”

“You were happy as that stud and backroom bandit, Brian.”

“Sure I was. And I was in my 20’s. Peter Pan left the island of Lost Boys, Wendy. He settled 
down with Captain Hook. They domesticated the crocodile and Tinkerbell is their nanny. 
Times change. People change. I’ve changed. You and Michael and the rest of the gang needs 
to look in the mirror and accept that you’re all getting older too and you can no longer 
preserve some corner of eternal youth by keeping me in a box of your own creation, where 
I’m never allowed to grow up, just so you can feel young and superior. I found someone. For 
fuck’s sake, if you care about me at all, the way you claim to do, you should be fucking 
happy for me rather than trying to make me feel like I’ve lost my identity in his love. The 
fact is, I found my identity with Boyd. And I like who I am now. And I don’t give a flying fuck 
what you or Michael or anyone thinks of my relationship. You understand?” 

“Since when are you bucking for ‘father of the year’, Brian? Is this more about Boyd than 
Gus? You want to impress him with your parenting skills since he’s a parent? Sad to say, but 
you have no parenting skills, Brian, you never have and you never will.”

“What a nasty little thing to say,” Brian’s comeback failed to deliver the pain she caused him 
with that remark, the homerun she hit to his weak infield of insecurity. Boyd returned to the 
bedroom, sitting beside Brian on the bed. He could read the tension in his flexed jaw as he 
reached out to comb his fingers through his hair to soothe him. Brian brought Boyd’s hand 
up to his lips and kissed it. Then he said, “Lindsay, I want to see my son. I appreciate the 
fact my partner cared enough about me to try and make that happen. We’re united in this as 
in all things. It’s a few days out of Gus’s life. Stop being a selfish bitch and think about your 
son for a change. He needs a father. I’m the one you’re stuck with. Let me try to make that 
mean something.”

Her silence told her he scored with her and she mumbled something and hung up the phone. 
He did the same and sighed at Boyd. “Am I doing the wrong thing?”

“Do you love him?” Brian nodded. “Then no.”

“But she’s right. I’m not good at this father thing. I’m not like you.”

“Give yourself a chance. There are all kinds of ways to be a good father. Find your way.”

“With all we have going on right now, I feel guilty pushing the issue. Where will he stay?”

“We’ll bunk him in with the kids, here. They’ll have fun. We’ll move Jane into the B&B and 
she can come over every morning to take charge of things and then go back there to sleep. 
She’s on the dole, we may as well use her. You can spend as much time as you can with him 
and you’ll have backup when you need it. We’ll make it work.”

“It has to go like clockwork.”

Boyd laughed. “These are kids, Brian. People. Your life never goes like clockwork, why 
should theirs? Parenting isn’t about precision, it’s about trying to juggle and dance at the 
same time.”

“Now that image has erotic potential.”

Boyd leaned back, making a cross out of two fingers. “Too sore. Don’t look at me that way.”

Brian rolled over on his stomach and glanced across his shoulder at Boyd with a provocative 
smile. “Giving you any ideas?” He flexed and relaxed the hard muscles of his ass. Boyd 
smiled as he felt it start again. 

“You’re Chinese food, Brian. I crave you, I try all the variations of you and an hour or less 
later, I’m hungry for you all over again.”

“Same about you and dim sum.”

Boyd winced at his pun and Brian grinned an invitation at him that Boyd had already 
answered.


Current Mood:  horny

October 8th, 2005
 
 
08:27 am - BURN, chapter 35
Hi Burniacs, posting for Big B. He's a lazy ass, sleeping late. Enjoy! RAN


****************************

Penetration.

Penis.

Penetration by penis.

“Don’t like it too much, Brian,” he thought to himself as he felt Boyd slide into his body. 
“Don’t let go of that much control.”

But arguing with himself was pointless. Boyd had given penetration a whole new meaning for 
Brian. No longer did he feel like he was doing a partner a favor by rolling over, something he 
could endure, maybe even like a little, but something outside his preferences. With Boyd, 
nothing they did seemed to violate his view of himself. There was no struggle for primacy. 
They were both prime in this relationship.

Yes, Brian preferred being on top, feeling Boyd’s body open up to him, banging him into 
oblivion and carrying himself with him, but this was good too. This sublime surrender of self, 
this delicious pain that morphed into an explosive burst of pleasure was that much better 
since it was sourced from deep within his own body and ignited by Boyd. 

Boyd knew just how to play it.

He knew instinctively that feminizing Brian’s role in the act would be a mistake and would 
ruin it for his partner. There was never any verbal domination, just the union of two bodies 
that seemed created for the purpose of becoming one. Everything fit. Only when Brian felt 
the warm blast of Boyd’s semen rush towards his colon did he allow himself to let go. The 
sheets took the onslaught of Brian’s ejaculation and he let it spread against his belly as he 
lowered himself to the bed, reluctantly allowing Boyd to withdraw from him.

Boyd rolled him over, kissing him, and then rested his face against the long, elegant slope of 
Brian’s neck as he whispered, “When we’re too old to fuck, we’ll talk about this night and say 
‘Remember when we did it four times in a row without a real break’?’’ 

Brian laughed. “We’ll probably bump it up to six or seven in retrospect.”

“You think we’ll still be together?”

“Who else would want us by then?”

They both laughed. “I’m getting a towel.”

Boyd came back from the bathroom and they wiped up the traces from the linens and from 
their flesh. By morning, the remaining wetness would dry to a fine powdery stain. Brian 
reached for a joint and lit it, passing it to Boyd, who inhaled and held the smoke in as he 
passed it back. The phone interrupted their comfortable exhaustion. Boyd glared at Brian. “If 
Alexander Graham Bell were alive, I’d have him hit.”

“We don’t have to answer it.”

Boyd glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Pittsburgh.”

“Shit, the lesbians again, I guess.” Brian reached over him and lifted the cordless receiver 
before lying back. “ Brian.”

“You or your boyfriend call us again, I’ll have you arrested for harassment.” Melanie’s voice 
had the sting of a viper.

Brian smiled. “That would be a unique exercise of power that you don’t have.”

“You fixed it so you’ll never see Gus again.”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it, Melanie.”

“I know it isn’t ridiculous and I know that for a fact. You have no rights to that kid.”

“I have one right that you can never take away from me. I’m his father. And if you try to 
keep me away from Gus there will come a day when he’s older and he learns what you did 
and he will hate you both and you’ll lose him completely.”

“We’ll take that chance. When he understands what a slime you are and always have been, 
he’ll understand our desire to protect him from you. I’m sure you won’t be sending any more 
money for his care and you know what? Fine. Fuck you. It’s not worth the interference.”

“Melanie,” Brian said quietly. “Just so you understand. I will never cut off funds that are 
spent to give my kid a better life just because you two are a couple of cunts. I care about 
him too much to be that vindictive. And if you think you can cut me out of his life without a 
fight, then you don’t know how big a slime I can be, but you’ll find out.”

“Good luck, Mr. Runs a Gay Club in Decadent New Orleans. The courts in this God fearing 
land should really embrace you as a father. You aren’t Boyd Coulter, Brian. Don’t kid 
yourself. And you never will be. Fucking Boyd doesn’t convert you into an upstanding 
member of the community or a caring father or a decent person. Not that he’s so great, not 
after what he said to Lindsay. But you aren’t even as good as he is. You’re a pathetic whore 
and I can get almost all of gay Pittsburgh to testify to that fact from personal knowledge.”

“I’m going to hang up now, Melanie, before I say something I’ll really regret.” He tossed the 
phone down after ending the call and stood up, retrieving a discarded pair of jeans and 
pulling them on. Boyd watched and finally said, 

“Brian…”

But Brian held up a hand to stop him. He wanted to be alone and he didn’t want to talk to 
anyone right now. Even Boyd. He walked into the living room and stood at the window in the 
dark, staring out at the misty bayou beyond the glass. The world looked blurry out there in 
the darkness. As if the trees were melting into the swamp that was melting into the horizon. 
Suddenly he realized it wasn’t the world that was blurred, it was his vision. His eyes had 
filled with tears and he quickly blinked them back. No fucking way was he going to get soggy 
over that bitch’s threat. 

He heard Boyd in the kitchen. He didn’t turn around and he appreciated that Boyd wasn’t 
infringing on his space right now. “I’m leaving a drink on the counter for you,” Boyd said. 
“I’ll be in the bedroom when you want to talk, or not talk. I’ll be there.”

Eventually Brian wandered over and downed the neat Scotch. He turned off the low lights 
under the counters that threw a slight gloom into the area. He started towards the bedroom 
when he heard a sound. He stopped, listened. It was from the vacant space downstairs. Not 
vermin, too heavy a noise for that. Curious, he opened the door to the stairs and a faint, 
chemical smell drifted up from below. Familiar and yet unexpected. What was it? Pungent, 
almost pleasing. But equally off putting. 

“Someone down here?” He hit the lights. The front door was open. Did Boyd fail to pull it 
shut? It caught in the wind, waving back and forth as if unsure if the ghostly arm that moved 
it was coming or going. A little tremor of fear gripped his gut and tingled along the irregular 
ridge of his scar, as if warning him of danger. “Hello?” He took a couple steps down the 
stairs. 

“What are you doing?” Boyd’s voice behind him startled him and Brian gripped the rail as his 
heart began to pound.

“Don’t sneak up on me! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry, but I heard you call out. What is it?”

“I heard a noise. You left the front door open.”

“I never leave the door open, Brian,” he said, taking in the swinging portal. “I know it shut 
behind me. I heard it snap into place,” he tightened his grip on Brian’s arm. “Holy shit, look!”

Brian followed his pointed finger to the far wall of the shadowy work area. Spray painted on 
the wall in the fresh enamel that provided the strong scent were tall red letters that formed 
three words: “BURN IN HELL!”

“Son of a bitch!” Boyd pushed past Brian and trotted down the stairs, eluding his lover’s 
attempt to stop him. He wore only his briefs as he ran out the open door and into the night. 

“God damn it, Boyd!” Brian ran after him, not intrigued by the idea of confronting some 
fucking maniac, unarmed, in the dark. This town was just fucking unlucky for him. Outside, 
Boyd stood there, hands on his hips, frustrated, alone.

“There’s no one here. They got away. Probably came by boat. I can’t go chasing through the 
swamp barefoot and half naked in the dark.”

“I’m relieved to hear you say that, Mighty Mouse. Come on, let’s go in. We have to get that 
shit off the wall or cover it up so the kids don’t see it. Should we call the police first?”

They exchanged a look. They shared an opinion of how much good that would do. “I have 
some cans of black industrial paint in the storeroom,” Boyd remembered. “I was going to 
paint that rusty sliding door to the loading dock before I lost interest. We can at least 
obliterate it.”

“Sure, we can obliterate the lettering but what about the sentiment, Boyd? Even Melanie 
couldn’t get down here that fast. Is it the reverend Porky Pig? Is it the creep who called us? 
What about that firebug you met today? Someone is closing in. They invaded our space. Are 
we going to do nothing but erase the evidence?”

Boyd held his lover’s gaze. “What do you want to do?”

“Call Bo,” Brian said and Boyd nodded.

“Good idea. Before we paint it over, let’s call Bo.”

“And then I want you to accelerate your plans to get the shit out of Canard Rouge. Put that 
fucking mill on auto pilot. Enroll the kids at that school in the Marigny early. I’ll work out a 
plan with Sebastian that will let us live in the house while it’s being remodeled. It’s not as if 
it isn’t liveable. It’s a beautiful place, as is.”

“You think we’re safer there?”

“Yes,” Brian said definitively. “Yes, I do. Now go put on some pants and let’s call Bo.”

They went upstairs. 

Watching from the dark security of the storeroom, the intruder chuckled to himself. If they 
had tried to come in to retrieve that black paint, he would’ve greeted them with an inferno of 
cleaning solvents, paint and other flammable articles he found in this one room. As they 
reacted in horror and vain attempts to put it out, he would’ve escaped through the back 
door, blocked that exit behind him, come around and locked the front door to the burning 
room. Trapped in the windowless, blazing room, they would’ve died horribly and in complete 
terror. It would’ve messed things up, too soon for that, but sometimes a man had to do what 
a man had to do. Their retreat changed his sudden plan for mayhem, so he calmly opened 
and spilled all the black paint on the floor and walked out the back, leaving his larger fun for 
another day. 

***********************

Bo scratched his stubble of beard with his fingertips as he wandered from the painted wall to 
the storeroom, and paused there. “Look at this,” he said. Both Brian and Boyd had dressed 
and were following Bo as he made his initial viewing. He gestured to an array of paint 
thinner, cardboard boxes, industrial strength cleaning liquids, and oil for the machinery that 
had been arranged in a pyrotechnic pyramid in one corner. 

Boyd shrugged. “I don’t remember stacking it quite that way, but all that shit has been 
stored here for years.”

“It’s a stack of dynamite awaiting a fuse, Boyd,” Bo told him. “That shit would go up like a 
keg of gunpowder if someone ignited it.”

Brian frowned. “Then why didn’t he?”

“Maybe you scared him off, I don’t know. First order of business after I take some photos is 
that you get this shit out of here. If he’s gonna burn this place, at least make him bring his 
own fuel.”

“That’s not what I was hoping to hear.”

“Stop!” Bo instructed Boyd as he started over to the pyramid. “Watch that paint on the floor. 
Walk around it and look at this.”

Brian followed his lover and they looked at what appeared to be an irregular tread mark on 
the cement floor. “What is it?” Brian asked.

“A footprint. One of his shoes picked up some paint. Come on,” Bo followed the direction of 
the print out the back door and lit the area with a flashlight. The paint grew fainter as the 
intruder walked down the three cement steps to the dirt and the marshy ground failed to 
hold a print as he fled. “Those are work boots,” Bo said. “But so what? Just about everyone 
who works the docks and the rigs and the plants around these parts wears them steel-toed 
work boots. Safety issue. Still, smacks of being a working man, not a huge fella, or either his 
feet ain’t as big as his body. Too big to be a woman, I suspect. Or either a woman with big 
ass feet.”

Bo took photographs of everything and then they went upstairs where Boyd got them each a 
cold beer as they sat in comfort. “You don’t want to involve the constabulary I take it,” Bo 
said with a smile and Brian chuckled. 

“That would solve so much.”

“In that case, we dump that storeroom time bomb tonight. I just don’t want it there. I 
suggest you have that whole lower floor cleared out, Boyd. Just strip it bare. And I want you 
to install both an alarm system, and a series of motion detectors that will flood the perimeter 
with light if someone invades your space.”

“You know how it is around these parts, Bo. So many critters wander by from the swamp. 
The damn lights will be going on and off like the flash of the paparazzi when some starlet 
shows her ass.”

“They can set them to trip only at a certain height. So unless the intruder’s a midget or a 
bear comes out of the bayou, you won’t be bothered.”

“I suppose Sebastian isn’t a likely suspect,” Brian said with a grin. Boyd elbowed him, as Bo 
looked confused.

“Ignore him. Sebastian is one of the little people. We’ve hired him to design the interiors for 
our house in New Orleans.”

“I won’t even pursue that line of inquiry,” Bo mused. “So who have you pissed off lately, 
Kinney?”

Brian feigned wounded pride. “Why me? Maybe Boyd pissed someone off. It’s his damn 
house.”

Boyd smiled. “Or we both pissed someone off by falling in love.”

“That would be every eligible lady in these parts,” Bo quipped. “Two prime contenders off the 
marriage market does tend to make the ladies grumpy.”

“Even if one of us was never even in that market?” Brian said as Boyd winced. He regretted 
his marriage for many reasons, but because he got two great kids out of it, he couldn’t just 
write it off as a complete mistake. Brian had scrawled some names on a sheet of paper that 
he pulled out of the printer. 

“Here are my suspects.”

Bo looked it over. “This is helpful. Porky Pig? The firebug? The Jesus freak caller? The 
lesbians?”

“The last one is kind of a joke.”

“It all sounds like a joke to me.”

“Porky is my name for your brother in law, the Reverend Flynn.”

“Fitting. And the firebug?”

“Minus Arceneau. Works at the refinery,” Boyd translated. 

“Minus? Why Minus? That boy ain’t right in the head, I’ll give you that. Never has been. 
People say it all comes from when his mama died in that fire, but I never saw a sign that 
Minus had all his brain working before that fateful night. But why would he want to hurt you? 
Your Daddy is the only thing that kept Minus off the street or out of the state system.”

“Apparently he does love my father, but he thinks my queerness has humiliated him and 
maybe even caused his illness.”

“Interesting that he’s aware of your being gay. Minus ain’t the type people gossip with, but 
then I guess anything that goes on with the Coulter clan is big news in these parts and the 
shine that came from that murder rap was pretty bright.”

Brian glanced at his lover. “Jesus, I got the hot young ingénue in the big family in town 
that’s always played by someone like Troy Donohue in the old movies. I got Rodney 
Harrington from Peyton Place. Wasn’t that his name?”

“You’re about to get a black eye, Sandra Dee,” Boyd warned and Bo laughed. 

“Ok, boys, let’s focus. The Jesus freak caller?”

“We got an anonymous phone call the other day from someone threatening us and the kids 
for the way we live. Thing is, the guy said ‘you will all burn in hell’, which echoes the slogan 
on the wall.”

“What did he sound like?”

“A cracker,” Brian responded. “I took the call.”

“Can you be more precise?”

“A pissed off cracker?”

Boyd laughed. “Forget it, Bo. Brian hasn’t yet broken the code of regional accents. He can’t 
tell a Cajun from a Creole. Louisiana from Alabama. It’s all cracker to him.”

Bo shook his head. “Listen to me. I know Flynn is ruthless and I would put nothing beneath 
him, including smoking you out if he had a goal in mind.”

“He does. He wants my club. He told me so.”

“Ok, good. He has a lot of crazy people who are very faithful to him. So he’s staying on the 
list. What does ‘lesbians’ mean?”

“That’s just my dark humor. My son’s mother and her partner are giving us a hard time 
about my seeing my kid. It’s not serious. They don’t have the money or the local connections 
to whack me and they wouldn’t threaten Boyd’s kids. Just me. You can scratch that off.”

“I’m leaving Flynn on here for now. I rather hope it is Flynn. He would try to run you off in 
terror, but I don’t know that he’d actually go so far as kill someone for greed. Don’t know 
about Minus, but when a crazy person has a grudge, it’s not good to discount them. Not 
enough to go on with the caller. Put a recording device on the phone and next time he calls, 
trap it.”

“We hope there won’t be a next time.”

“One more thing. Get the hell out of this house. It’s too remote, too easy to invade, too easy 
to block off your exit from the building. You still own your ex-wife’s house?”

“We can’t stay there,” Boyd protested. “It would be terrible for the children. Too many 
memories. And Brian and I don’t want to live in a house I shared with my wife.”

Brian nodded at that and Bo said, “That house on the bayou is also too remote and easily 
breached. What about your folks home? It’s a fortress.”

Brian laughed. “Let me be there when you ask the parents if we can move in.”

“That wouldn’t work, Bo. What about the B and B? We like it there. We could take over the 
whole damned house. Put the kids in rooms, our nanny in a room and we could have the 
suite. It’s in town, it’s as safe as it gets in Canard Rouge. It’s nice, right, Brian?”

He shrugged. He had many happy memories in that house, where he and Boyd became a 
couple, where he fell deeply in love, the good canceling out the fear and isolation he also felt 
while staying there. “The boys would be thrilled to have us.”

“Do it,” Bo said.

“But I still want to accelerate our leaving this fucking town,” Brian insisted, taking his lover’s 
hand and squeezing it for emphasis. Boyd nodded his agreement and Brian made a mental 
note to get with Sebastian tomorrow. He was dead serious about this. 

While they talked and pondered their next move, a small, weathered rowboat rocked on the 
ripples of the bayou, its cargo a selection of fuses, accelerants, candle lighters, oily rags and 
one man with paint on his boot who watched from afar, and waited. 

Waited. 

Waited.


Current Mood:  anxious

October 12th, 2005
 
 
10:23 am - BURN, Chapter 36
They didn’t sleep.

All night, they heard sounds that weren’t real, smelled smoke that wasn’t there, wondered 
why they had become targets when they never intended harm to anyone else. How could the 
fact of their love, if that was the motive, twist someone so badly that death was the barter 
for ending their relationship? Or how could greed over a patch of land, if that was the 
motive, be enough of an incentive to kill? 

The next morning they packed. 

Boyd packed all of the papers he had stored at home that could be considered important. He 
decided to move them to the safe in his father’s office. He packed up photographs he 
couldn’t replace, books his grandfather had given him that had meaning in his life, toys the 
children cherished. It struck him how little in this house full of high-end electronics, fine art 
and expensive furnishings was truly irreplaceable. The fine china, the CD and DVD 
collections, the sterling flatware, the Baccarat stems, all were replaceable. His laptop held 
data he needed, so it was packed. The orbitals, the expensive speakers, extra burners, laser 
printer, all were fungible.

He looked around as Brian brought another box from the kids’ room. “I think this is the last 
of Mac’s clothes. What are you looking at?”

“I’ll send a mover over to put the rest of this crap in storage. We can pick through it when 
we get settled in New Orleans, or use it as temporary furniture. It’s really just a bunch of 
expensive junk. If I still had Jared’s work here, I’d move it out. But it’s safe where it is. 
Amazing how we collect crap over the years and it seems so important, but when faced with 
what do you really want to keep, it’s never a Barcelona chair, is it? It’s a photo of Belle and 
Mac when we went snorkeling in the Keys. Or that shot of you on the porch of the house on 
the bayou. Or the tattered teddy bear I had as a kid.”

“You mean that mummified blue thing?”

Boyd smiled. “Shut up. Don’t defame Buddy.”

Brian smirked at him and headed for the door. “I’ll load this in the car while you wax poetic 
over your lost youth, Boyd.”

“You have no romance in your soul.”

“That’s not what you said last night,” Brian flung over his shoulder as he walked down with 
the box wondering how he was going to shoehorn it into one of their two SUV’s. Both were 
already brimming with boxes and bags. This wasn’t how they were supposed to transition 
their residence; running like rats from a sinking ship. It annoyed him to be forced out of 
their home by a psycho. But the risk was too great, especially with kids in the house. If they 
were willing to take that chance with their own safety, how could they make such a decision 
for the children? He deliberately ignored the graffiti on the wall as he walked through the 
lower floor to his car. He jammed the box inside and closed the cargo door, convinced he 
would be lucky to get his skinny ass in the driver’s seat. He felt certain nothing else could 
ride along. 

“Going somewhere?” Fergus, the Barney Fife of Canard Rouge, startled him. Brian chirped 
the lock on his Range Rover and cast a baleful glare at the comical cop who once had 
designs on him. Just remembering that moment made him queasy. 

“Is that against the law?”

“You and Boyd split up?”

“Right, Fergus. Here’s your chance. Want to run away to Cozumel with me?”

“I’m sure that’s funny where you come from,” Fergus said with a glare as Boyd came down 
with another box. Brian took it from him.

“No room at the inn in my truck. This will have to go in yours.”

Boyd opened the passenger door, since the rest of the vehicle was packed to the limit. “I 
think it will fit on the seat if I move this. What are you doing here, Fergus?”

“I’m delivering something, Boyd.” He handed him a rectangle of heavy white paper and Boyd 
looked confused.

“What is it?”

“You’ve been served,” he said with a grin that held all the warmth of an alligator’s perpetual 
smile. With that, he got in his car and left as Boyd unfolded the paper. Brian waited tensely. 
Could the lesbians move that quickly? 

“What?” he finally asked. Boyd looked up, his fine skin paling beneath the ruddy glow of 
exertion.

“Custody suit.”

“Jesus, why would they sue me for custody? They already have custody!”

“Not you, Brian. Me.”

“Huh?” Brian was confused. 

“My former in-laws are suing me for custody of the kids.”

“That’s utter bullshit!”

Boyd handed him the papers and leaned against his car, suddenly exhausted. Just the threat 
was enough to cave him. Brian glanced over the annoying legalese and then shook his head. 
“It’s bullshit, Boyd. No court is going to take kids away from a high achieving, devoted father 
and give them to some drunk ass Cajun grandparent!”

“Let’s get out of here,” Boyd said quietly. “One crisis at a time.”

**********************************************

In the diner, they waited for their soup course, a dark, rich French onion brew with a layer of 
crispy sliced baguette on top, covered in a veil of melted gruyere and parmesan. Brian 
reached across the table and squeezed his lover’s hand. “Remember what Lisette said. It’s a 
bullshit case, blackmail. He knows he has no chance of winning. He’s just trying to extract 
some payola out of you. She said there are no grandparent rights in this state and if they 
were serious about it, they’d never be able to show you failed as a parent or that they were 
adequate substitutes.”

Boyd nodded, lacing his fingers through Brian’s. Some people stared, whispered, but most 
had gotten used to them by now. “Logically I know that, Brian. I’m a lawyer, too. But 
emotionally, I can’t help but be afraid. It’s ironic. I was prepared to open up a can of 
whoopass on the dykes to ensure you got your fair access to Gus. I was prepared to defend 
whatever claims they tried to throw in the way. But I never thought someone would sue me 
and try to threaten my own children. I feel so vulnerable.”

“You’re not.”

“You think not? Let’s not even obsess about the gay angle. That’s out there, we know how 
the current political climate feels about gays and children. At least against the dykes we 
were all equally disadvantaged by that fact. But look at the rest of it.”

“What am I looking at?”

“Some maniac is threatening us and we feel sufficiently worried about him that we move out 
of our home and into a bed and breakfast. Great place to raise kids. Why are we being 
threatened? Who knows. The Christian Right? The firebug who feels I’ve humiliated my 
family? And let’s not forget the controversy over the club and also the recent legal trouble 
with the murder charge and the kids being endangered in my home, where you even took a 
bullet.”

Brian sighed as he leaned back against the booth while their soup was delivered. Neither of 
them reached for it immediately, despite the tantalizing aroma. Neither of them were 
particularly hungry at the moment. “What are you saying? Are you saying I’m a liability? 
Because…”

“Stop,” Boyd interrupted. “Don’t give me the martyr speech about bowing out if I feel that 
you’re viewed as a detriment to my paternal qualifications. I’ve told you before. We’re in this 
together. We’re a couple now. We pass or fail together.”

“Yeah, Boyd, I’m sure you’d never look back and resent me because something I did or the 
way I’ve lived my life ended up costing you your kids.”

“Nothing you’ve done in your life should cost me my kids, Brian. If your life was viewed as 
being that dastardly, then it’s nothing to do with you, personally. It’s a condemnation of 
being a gay parent in this society and I’m not conceding that point. I’m not losing you to 
make it easier for them to grant me my rights. I’m not losing you, period. And don’t even 
think about dropping me off the cliff for my own good or something noble like that. I get 
your little mind games, Brian. It’s no good with me. I’ll hunt you down.”

Brian chuckled and broke the layer of cheese with his spoon. Steam escaped, increasing the 
allure of the aroma. “Okay, so we’re in this together. The fact that some psycho is 
threatening us is not within our control. What is within our control is doing everything we 
can to keep the kids and ourselves safe. I agree with Lisette. This is blackmail. Maybe you 
should just avoid the misery and pay the bastard something.” The soup was so good, he 
kept dipping his spoon for more, but Boyd hadn’t touched his own bowl.

“Do you know how wrong that is?” Boyd protested.

“Do you care? Would you rather spend the money on a bloodbath in court?”

“I think I would.”

Brian smiled. “You want to roll the dice, Boyd? Take the risk? If you do, I’m there. But make 
sure you know what you really want to do before you shake that cup.”

“I need to think.”

“Think. In the mean time, Lisette’s firm is digging up the dirt on your dear father-in-law. My 
guess is he has a few bones in his own closet and not the kind we like.”

Boyd laughed. Something about that statement tore through enough of his tension that he 
was able to take a bite of his soup. “One thing it made me understand.”

“What’s that?”

“Why the lesbians are so furious.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re threatening their control over their child, Brian. I know it’s different. I know we’re 
just trying to ensure rights you should have with your own son, but when you poke a stick in 
someone’s most sensitive spot, you should expect an angry reaction.”

“Meaning I should give it up?”

“Of course not. Meaning I just understand a little better why they reacted so violently.”

Brian shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be ugly with them. They’re making it ugly. You never 
said Bonnie’s father couldn’t see the kids. And it’s different. He’s not their father.”

“I know it’s different, Brian. Don’t get defensive.”

“Don’t wimp out on me over Gus, now that you may be in a fight of your own.”

“You think I’d do that?”

“It sort of sounds that way.”

Boyd started to speak, then sighed, pushed the bowl away, his appetite gone. “Let’s not do 
this. Let’s not have this discussion right now. We’re both exhausted. We didn’t sleep at all. 
We’re tense over the intruder. And now this. We’re not in the right place for this 
conversation, mentally.”

Brian shrugged and finished Boyd’s abandoned soup after his was gone. He wasn’t famished 
but he was nervous and it kept him busy as well as tasted soothing. Boyd was right. The last 
thing either of them needed right now was to start picking at each other. The rest of their 
lunch was quiet and afterwards, they went over to the B and B. The owners were thrilled to 
see them, explaining the accommodations they had set up as they helped them unload both 
cars. 

Boyd and Brian were taking the largest suite at the end of the hall, next door to the room 
where Brian stayed before. Belle would have Brian’s old room, Mac the room across the hall 
and Jane would be given the room on the other side of Mac’s. There were still two guest 
rooms available and the living quarters of the owners. After depositing boxes and bags in 
appropriate rooms, Brian and Boyd sat down at the dining room table with the owners of the 
B and B to discuss their concerns.

They were honest about the threats, and Jon said, “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ve got 
burglar bars on all the downstairs windows, intruder alarms, safety lighting all around the 
perimeter, fire alarms hooked directly to the fire house and a state of the art sprinkler 
system inside the house. We’ll be even more vigilant about those who come and go and who 
hang around the sidewalk. The children will have a fabulous backyard to run around in with a 
tall privacy fence and we’re just minutes from their school.”

Boyd smiled. “I appreciate all of that, I really do. Not sure how long this will take. As I said, 
we’ve hired someone to investigate the matter. Maybe he’ll turn something up soon. The last 
thing we want to do is to endanger anyone else.”

“Honey,” Peter leaned closer to speak confidentially. “We girls have to stick together. Almost 
all of them want to burn us out, if they dared tell the truth. But the Klan is dead in these 
parts. And that mentality just will not be tolerated.”

Brian laughed. “Teach them to fuck with some angry queens. Did the world learn nothing 
from Stonewall?”

Boyd leaned his temple on Brian’s shoulder. “I’m exhausted, Brian. Let’s go up and have a 
shower and a nap before it’s time for me to pick up the kids from the Dhues’ house. I need 
to call the office, too.”

“I’ll be right up. You go ahead. Save me some soap.”

Their eyes met and Boyd smiled and nodded, climbing the stairs with a more laborious gait 
than his age and fitness level would suggest. Brian watched him go and then said, “He’s got 
a lot on his mind. His ex-wife’s crazy-ass father is suing him for custody of the kids. He 
won’t win, but Boyd is terrified. I don’t want to worry him any more than he already is. If 
something odd happens around here, tell me, not him, okay? I don’t want to see him 
stressed.”

“Sure, Brian. And welcome home.”

Brian nodded, squeezing the shoulder of one of them as he left the room and followed Boyd 
upstairs. 

*****************************************

Minus was pissed. 

He didn’t like to have his lunch hour interrupted with chatter and other people. He took lunch 
late in the afternoon to avoid any chance of having to be sociable in the cafeteria. He needn’t 
have worried. Everyone avoided him like a plague rat, finding his physical deformities off-
putting when trying to eat, and his inflexible religious views spoken at such high volume 
were a bore. Plus the fact he always smelled like a chemical fire and the flakes of soot and 
smoke that clung to him had a way of drifting into their space. Like a malevolent version of 
Pigpen in Peanuts, Minus carried his world with him in a cloud of air borne debris. 

So when Bo sat across from him at the one occupied table in the cafeteria, Minus frowned 
and never looked up even when Bo spoke. “You know me, Minus?

“I reckon everyone knows you, Bo.”

“Maybe so, in this little corner of the world. How you been?”

“Comme ci, comme ca.” The Cajun pronunciation of the French was more “caumsee, 
caumsaw”. Bo took in the pathetic creature’s melted ear, missing fingers and strangely 
hairless head, reminded of a newborn baby born to a monster of unspeakable horror or to 
someone who lived close to Chernobyl. 

“Say see bone,” Bo responded in the vernacular. “Where were you at last night, Minus?”

“Ain’t none of your never mind, Bo,” Minus kept at his sandwich that appeared to be made of 
Spam and lettuce. Bo couldn’t think of the last time he saw anyone eating Spam. He 
sometimes used a chunk of it as bait when he was alligator hunting, because the big reptiles 
would eat anything, even the tin it came in. But between Spam and a dead chicken, the 
chicken seemed more favored. Even alligators had standards. 

“I reckon a man has nothing to hide, he don’t mind saying where he was at.”

“I reckon a man live longer, he mind his own bid’ness.”

“Is that a threat?”

The fire stoker’s ash gray eyes finally made contact with Bo’s face. “If I was gonna threaten 
you, Bo, you’d done know it by now.”

“You threatenin’ anyone, Minus?”

“Like who, then?”

“Anyone.”

“You with the po-lice?”

“No, I ain’t with the police, Minus, you know that.”

“Then what you askin’ me for? Why bother me? I ain’t never done you no harm.”

“What you wearing on your feet, Minus?”

“On my feet? I wear boots like any man.”

“Mind if I have a look?”

“Yeah, I mind. Why you wanna look at a man’s feet?”

“Not any man. Yours.”

“Why?”

“You hidin’ something?”

Minus suddenly leaned back and clumped one leg on the table top, the sole of his boot 
clearly visible to Bo. He then lowered it and raised the other foot to the table. Bo noticed 
both soles were clean. They bore no visible traces of black paint. In fact, they showed few 
signs of any wear at all. “New boots?”

Minus shrugged and devoured the last of his Spam. Bo said, “Minus, Mr. Coulter, Senior, 
would be very upset if something bad happened to his only son. Or to his grandchildren. It 
may be just the thing to send him over, what with his weak heart and all that.”

Minus narrowed those spooky eyes into slits, the soot forming black lines as his face creased 
in a scowl. It gave him the appearance of a comic book drawing. “You don’t know him.”

“Sure I do. Everyone does.”

“That queer son of his done broke his heart.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Didn’t have to. I know it.”

“How do you know it?”

“I know him.”

“Boyd is his son, Minus. You don’t have kids. You don’t know how strong that bond is.”

“Sometimes even a family tie needs to be cut before it strangles you.”

Bo thought of Minus’s mother and her tragic death that most blamed for his instability. Was 
that a family tie that was strangling him? Was her death more planned than tragic? “You 
strike a match in the direction of Boyd Coulter or anyone near to him and I will come after 
you with the law, Minus.” Sometimes threats worked best with men like this. Brutal, narrow, 
damaged men who lived according to their own code. 

Minus smiled and stretched his hands in front of him, as if inspecting them to see whether 
his missing fingers miraculously reappeared. Bo tried not to notice that the tips were a 
normal skin tone, because that proved that the man had eaten his entire lunch without even 
washing off the soot. The act of eating and then licking the mayo off his fingertips had 
removed a layer of grime. Bo repressed a twinge of revulsion. Even raccoons were smart 
enough to wash up before eating. 

“You don’t scare me none, Bo.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have right on my side.”

“Right won’t do you much good when you’re looking down the barrel of a sawed off, Minus.”

“You wouldn’t shoot me. You ain’t got the balls.”

“Don’t rest on that. You may be surprised. I’ve shot better ‘n you.”

“Going to work, now, Bo. Gotta earn my pay. Burn some stalk.” He stood and then paused 
and looked over his shoulder at Bo. “You still seeing that man-lady who lives with all them 
animals?”

Bo didn’t respond as he felt a fist tighten around his gut. Minus just smiled, nodded, and 
shuffled off to his inferno.


Current Mood:  worried

October 17th, 2005
 
 
06:46 pm - BURN, Chapter 37
Okay, he didn't waste his whole sick day getting well! Enjoy! Ran


****************************


Moody broke the still surface of the water in a classic swan dive. The azure liquid engulfed 
his naked body in a cooling embrace. Nothing beat the swampy humidity of a summer night 
like a swim. He glided beneath the surface from the deep end to the shallow in several 
smooth strokes. When he came up for air, he shook the water from his curls and blinked 
away the chlorine. This was an incredibly beautiful house. Even from the outside. He couldn’t 
even imagine what it was like to live in a house like this. 

Brian and Boyd, what a power couple they were. Beautiful, rich, obviously in love. What was 
it like to have everything on a silver platter. To have absolutely nothing to worry about? He’d 
never know. He was one of those guys who would struggle his whole life. Always had, had no 
reason to believe that would ever change. He didn’t resent Brian and Boyd, not exactly, but 
he did envy them. He wasn’t looking for some fated love, not ready for anything like that, 
and still enjoying the hunt too much to settle down, but he envied their security, their 
money, and their golden lives. 

They didn’t even seem to cheat on each other. There were very few fags Moody couldn’t get 
to with his youthful beauty, but both of these guys seemed impervious to his charms. He had 
to find a way in, to capitalize on their good fortune and make it his own. That’s how he 
survived, how he bettered himself. 

He heard a rustle along the path that led through the garden, from the pool to the house. 
Not the wind, something heavier. He hoped he wasn’t about to be busted. Too late to escape 
and the pool lights gave him away. He saw a shadow, a glimpse of a man, or something like 
that, and he felt his heart jump with adrenaline. “Who are you?” he said aloud, but the 
shadow retreated, and then it was gone. “Shit!” He got out, dried off quickly on a towel he 
brought with him and pulled on his jeans and his Nikes. He was shirtless and still a little 
shaky as he sprinted to the street and down the block, forgetting to turn off the pool lights 
before he left. He yanked his t-shirt over his damp mop of curls and dialed a number on his 
new mobile phone. He got a deal on one of those pre-paid things where you could just use it 
until your minutes were up and then you either re-filled it or it went dead. 

He was glancing over his shoulder as he walked towards his rented rooms, expecting to see 
someone shadowing him, but no one was there. At least, if they were, he never saw them. 
Finally a sleepy voice answered with a brusque, “What?”

“Brian, it’s Moody. Are you already in bed? It’s not that late.”

“What the fuck do you want?” For Brian, it had all been one long day with no sleep the night 
before. 

“I was just at your house, taking a swim.”

“God damn it, Moody, I told you to…”

“Wait,” Moody interrupted. “Listen to me.” Something in his tone quieted Brian. “Someone 
was there.”

“Meaning?”

“I saw someone in the shadows on the garden path. A man. Well, sort of.”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’? Either he was a man or he wasn’t.”

“You’re gonna think I’m ripped, and I’m not, but he looked like Freddy Krueger, Brian. 
Without the hat and the stripes and the knives for hands, but he had a weird face. I just saw 
a glimpse but it scared the shit out of me.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m just walking into the hotel where I have my rooms.”

“No one followed you?”

Moody looked back at the door. The man behind the desk in the lobby in this clean but low 
cost hotel didn’t even glance up from his newspaper as Moody walked in. “No.”

“Do yourself a favor, Moody. Go up to your room and stay in tonight.”

“Brian, I…”

“And stay the fuck away from my house.”

Moody sighed as they disconnected. Was Brian mad at him or the situation or both? He did 
what he said. He went up two flights to his room and turned on the small television before 
he got up and double locked the door. Nightmare on Elm Street was playing. Moody quickly 
changed the channel to something less spooky and tried to tell himself what he saw and 
what was really there were two different things. 

**********************************************

At the B&B, Boyd sat up in bed as Brian switched on the lamp and got out his address book. 
“What is it?” he asked with a yawn, regretting the interruption of a much needed night of 
sleep. Brian shook his head and then told him what Moody reported.

“Shit, you think it was Minus?”

“I don’t know. Could he get into New Orleans?”

“Why not? All he needs is a car. It’s only a couple hours. Less in late night traffic.”

Brian dialed a number from his book and frowned when he got voice mail. He then punched 
in a speed dial number and Ted sounded way too chipper when he answered. “Hi, boss.”

“Is Frank with you?”

“Uh…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t be coy, Theodore. It wouldn’t be possible for me to care less 
about your sex life. Put him on.”

Frank’s voice was more businesslike. “Hello, Mr. Kinney.”

“Brian. Listen, Moody, this dumb kid who’s attached himself to us, was taking an 
unauthorized swim in the pool at our house in the Marigny. He said he saw some prowler 
around there. Other than himself, that is. We’ve been getting some fairly serious threats 
from an unknown fanatic, Frank. Enough so that we’ve moved out of Boyd’s place and into 
the B&B. Ted knows the B&B, has the numbers. I don’t think the cops would do jack shit if 
we called them. We really don’t have anything to report. But I want you to go over there and 
have a look around. Make sure there’s no break in or any sign of…fire.”

“Fire?”

“Stuff to make a fire, anything like that. And Frank? Be careful. This guy, whomever he is, 
may be crazy. Don’t be a hero. Tomorrow, I’m coming into town and I want you to meet me 
over there. I want you to bring the best alarm company in the business with you and we’re 
going to wire that place like Fort Knox, both from intruders and to make sure it has the best 
fire detection equipment available.”

“I don’t like this, Brian. Angry Christians are one thing, but this is criminal.”

“I know. I should be able to meet you by ten, but I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”

“Do you want me to call you back tonight?”

“Only if you find something. And if you do find something, call the cops too.”

“Will do.”

“Bring Theodore with you tomorrow, but don’t take him with you, tonight. Trust me, he’d 
only be a liability if there’s any trouble.”

Frank chuckled. “Okay, Brian. I hear you.”

They hung up and Brian called Bo and reported everything to him. Bo said, “I’m going to 
drive over and just see if it appears Minus is home.”

“Bo, don’t go over there alone. This guy may be a complete loon.”

“I won’t let him know I’m around. I just want to see if he’s gone.”

“Be careful.”

“Always. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

As Brian hung up, he glanced at Boyd who sighed. “So how do you like our Southern 
hospitality so far?”

“A bit Gothic for my tastes. The boys in hoods won’t be burning a cross on our lawn next, 
will they?”

“Would it surprise you?”

“Can’t say that it would.”

Brian turned out the light and pulled Boyd into his arms. “So much for pushing to have Gus 
visit me now, anyway. I wouldn’t bring my biggest enemy into this environment. I worry 
enough about your kids.”

“I know. But I can’t just leave them with Homer. They’ll be fine, here. Don’t you think?”

“Sure, Boyd,” Brian lied, hugging him close. “Sure they will.” What else could he say?

**************************************

Daphne finished her wine and smiled at Boyd’s sister and her lover, Petra. “I can’t wait to 
move in. You’re both sure?”

Lisette nodded. “The carriage house has been empty too long. It’s a great apartment, and 
we’re just so keen on our privacy and on having the right tenant that we never pushed 
leasing it. This works out for everyone, Daphne. You won’t be living in our pocket and we 
won’t bother you, but we’re all here if we need each other. It’s great.”

She sighed, relieved to have found a place to live and thrilled with the space. It wasn’t big, 
but it was beautifully furnished, safe and convenient. “I promise not to throw wild parties all 
night.”

Petra laughed. Daphne found the Russian doctor a fascinating creature, so cosmopolitan and 
old world elegant. “Darling, a party now and again would be a welcome change. We’ve 
become such a boring old couple of marrieds.”

Lisette laughed. “We work too many hours to be anything more than boring.”

“Speaking of work, I should be going. I have some appointments in the morning. Brian 
cracks the whip, as you know.”

“I’ll call a cab for you,” Petra invited. “I know your hotel isn’t far, but no girl should go 
walking alone in the Quarter after dark.” As she picked up the phone, Lisette said,

“I’ll get the lease papers drawn up tomorrow. I’ll call and we’ll arrange a time. You may as 
well move in tomorrow, I’ll give you the key now. I think I can trust you even before we 
make it official,” she handed her a set of three keys. “The first is to the side gate. All of the 
perimeter fences are kept closed and locked. Please don’t forget that. Petra and I have 
automatic openers on our cars to get into the garage below your flat. Since you don’t drive, 
the key should be enough. The second key is to your apartment and the third is to our back 
door. Just in case.”

“Thanks, Lisette. This is wonderful.”

“The place is pre-wired for cable and DSL, all you have to do is call and connect service. We 
keep the electric on at all times, so you can just call and switch billing to you. Otherwise, it’s 
all set.”

“The cab will be here any minute,” Petra said, and Daphne felt a huge weight had been lifted 
as her living quarters issue was settled. 

“How’s the club going?” Lisette asked. Daphne gave her a general answer.

“Great.”

“That’s good. Brian needs a break.”

“What do you mean?”

The lovers communicated with a glance and then Lisette said, “Nothing, it’s just that Brian 
and Boyd have had a lot on their plate, lately.”

“But they’re okay, right?” Daphne was suddenly concerned. “As a couple, I mean?”

“Oh yes, they’re okay on that front. I guess I’ve never seen two people more in love than 
they are. It’s wonderful. I just hope that love doesn’t abrade in the face of adversity.”

“Adversity can make a couple stronger,” Petra reassured her. “They’re made of better stuff 
than that.”

Lisette smiled at her. “I’m sure you’re right.”

The arrival of the cab separated them and on her way back to her hotel, Daphne wondered 
about that cryptic conversation concerning Brian. When her phone rang, the sound startled 
her and she fumbled it out of its pink case and said, “Hello?” a bit breathlessly. 

“Running a marathon?” 

She smiled. “Well, if it isn’t the ever missing councilman.”

“Missing?”

“Well, missing from my life. I’m sure you’ve been very busy.”

“I thought you wrote me off. Boss’s orders?”

“I thought you said no one told you who to date?”

“I did say that.”

“And?”

“So come out for a drink.”

“Where?”

“Where are you now?”

“In a cab, on the way to my hotel.”

“I’ll meet you in the bar downstairs as soon as I can get there.”

“Am I your late date? Because I don’t late date.”

He laughed. “I’ve been working all day and all evening, Daphne. I can print out my calendar 
if you’d like proof.”

She smiled. “I trust you.”

“Brave girl. See you in a few.”

She hung up, checking her watch to see if she’d have time to run up to her room and change 
into something more interesting, and to revive her hair. She didn’t expect to see Bellamy 
tonight. She didn’t expect to see anyone other than her new landlords. She paid the cabbie 
and sprinted across the lobby to the elevators, impatiently awaiting the arrival of a car to 
take her upstairs. Her enthusiasm over his call annoyed her a little. Who the hell was he to 
call this late and expect her to be available? As the elevator doors opened, she changed her 
mind. To hell with him. He’d have to take her as she was, in a short denim skirt with her hair 
piled on top of her head. She didn’t want him to think she got all girlie just for him.

But before she went into the bar, she detoured to the bathroom and put on lipstick and 
touched up her mascara and straightened her little pink cotton sweater and spritzed some 
fragrance and rearranged her curls. Rolling her eyes at her reflection, she walked towards 
the bar, searching for a touch of cool that she didn’t feel. What would Brian do? No one was 
cooler than Brian. She thought about that and tried to assume a Brian-ish look of utter 
boredom as she ordered a frilly pink Cosmo. Okay, she knew Brian wouldn’t be caught dead 
with a Cosmo, but whatever. A man drifted her way and offered to buy her a drink.

“I’m not interested,” she mimicked what she had heard Brian say so many times in Woody’s 
or Babylon, when he was approached. Quick and deadly. The man moved on. Now if she 
could just retain some of this Brian cool when Bellamy arrived. She sighed as she realized 
how slim the chances of that really were. Better not to think about Brian when Bellamy was 
around. She never really closed that loop with him. He still labored under the impression she 
wouldn’t be seeing Bellamy again. She squeezed the lime twist into her drink and sighed, 
wishing her life wasn’t so damned complicated as she waited. 
Current Mood:  crappy


October 22nd, 2005
 
07:28 am - BURN, Chapter 38
Ok, I tried ten times to load the large sized picture for The Invalid and the text and it won't 
let me. OVER IT!!! So enjoy, anyway. Frustratedly yours, Ran


*************************************



They slept in, which meant their schedules for the day were shot. But they had to do it, for 
exhaustion overcame business imperatives. Brian awoke first, squinted at the intruding sun 
that flooded the unfamiliar room, hobbled to the bathroom for a quick whiz and moaned 
when he saw the time on the clock face beside the bed. Boyd turned over, said, “What time 
izzit?”

“You’re tardy. So am I. We’re fucked,” he flopped back on the bed as Boyd got up and 
followed Brian’s earlier path to the bathroom and back. He shook his head as he glimpsed 
the time. He climbed in bed with Brian and spread his arm across Brian’s chest as he buried 
his face on his shoulder. 

“I don’t wanna go out there.”

“We could stay in bed all day.”

Boyd smiled against Brian’s warm skin. “I’m game.”

Brian let his hand drift over to ruffle Boyd’s golden hair and then slide down the back of his 
neck. “You up for a little poke and run?”

Boyd laughed and moved so that his hard on pressed the side of Brian’s hip. “You tell me.”

“I love you, I really do. You may be the one man in the universe who gets hard as often as I 
do.”

“Then we were meant for each other.” Boyd kissed him, a grungy, morning, no toothpaste 
kiss that neither of them minded. Sex was dirty and that was fine. They did it belly to belly, 
with Brian on top, after very little foreplay. They both wanted to fuck and there was no need 
to waste a lot of time with the preliminaries. Their excitement was already pumping. In the 
middle of the hard pounding, a knock at the door. Brian paused, looked over his shoulder 
and shouted, 

“Go away!”

“Brian, someone is down here to see you,” Jon said, and Brian responded, 

“Not now!”

Boyd moved under him, beckoning him back into the game and Brian moaned and gave his 
pelvis an upward shove. 

“Brian…” Jon was persistent.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m in the middle of fucking my partner, could you just fucking go away?”

Apparently, he did and Brian went back to the business at hand, lunging them both into 
orgasms. A few minutes later, showered, shaved, wrapped in a robe, his feet bare, Brian 
descended the stairs, his face set in a scowl. 

“Daddy!” His scowl melted as Gus flew across the room and flung himself in Brian’s arms. 
Brian hugged his son close, inhaling his familiar scent. He felt the instant connection of 
family as he got a strong hug from his son. He was always amazed by how much Gus grew 
and changed between visits. Beautiful, wonderful creature, this child was. After the initial 
shock, Brian looked past him to Lindsay who was seated on the sofa in the parlor. He shifted 
his son to his hip as he walked over. He leaned down to kiss her cheek. He felt her tense 
response. It hurt a little, although he understood. He sat down by her and Gus settled on his 
lap.

“How did you know we were here?” Brian asked.

“Teddy.”

“Why are you here?”

“We shouldn’t talk about everything in front of Gus.”

Gus looked from her to Brian and asked, “I stay with Daddy?”

“I don’t wish to interrupt,” a crisp British accent cut through the silence. Jane, the nanny, 
stood there in the archway leading to the dining room, wearing sensible khaki walking shorts 
and a pink Izod shirt. Petite and pretty, she exuded a sense of competency. “Boyd asked 
that I show up here this morning. I’ve been here since nine. Is this your little boy, Brian?”

Introductions were exchanged and Jane said, “Gus, would you like to go out in the backyard 
with me and see the fountain while your Mommy and Daddy talk?”

He looked unconvinced until Lindsay urged him to go. Brian patted his bottom goodbye as he 
climbed off his lap and left with the pretty young woman. “You really do have a nanny,” 
Lindsay marveled as Brian rearranged his robe. 

“Would I make her up?”

“She’s very pretty.”

“She’s in your club, Linds.”

“Really?” She shrugged. “I guess my gaydar isn’t working today.”

“Want to tell me why you’re here?”

“I don’t want an epic battle with you over Gus, Brian. He loves both of us. He needs both of 
us. Our fighting and squabbling over him is destructive. I know you love him and only want 
the best for him. Surely we can reach some accommodation.”

“And the Rottweiler you share your life with?”

She sighed. “Melanie is not so sure.”

“What a diplomatic way of putting it.”

“Brian, I’m taking a break from Melanie.”

“What does that mean?”

“I need some space, some time. We haven’t been getting along all that well since…”

“Ever?”

“Brian.”

“Am I wrong?”

“It’s not a separation, it’s not a break up, it’s just a break.”

“A vacation from terror?”

“Please don’t make fun of it. It’s serious.”

Brian said nothing and Peter gently intruded asking if they wanted coffee or other 
refreshments. Brian nodded on the coffee. He left and Lindsay said, “Why are you and Boyd 
staying here?”

Boyd came downstairs, dressed in a suit and tie, his hair neatly combed, looking nothing like 
the hard bodied, naked porn star he had been in their bed a short while before. He leaned 
over to kiss Brian, dropping his briefcase to the floor as he did so. He then gave Lindsay a 
tense smile before he sat across from them in a chair. “What’s this?”

Brian said, “Lindsay brought Gus down for a visit,” their gaze communicated their silent 
fears. “He’s out back with Jane.”

“Good, Jane’s reported. So this is progress, right?”

Lindsay was tense with him, not forgetting their encounter over the phone. He was so pretty, 
so polite, and so steel core. “I don’t want Gus to lose Brian.”

“Gus will never lose Brian,” Boyd reassured her. “Period.”

“Okay,” Brian intervened. “Lindsay just told me she’s taking a little break from Melanie, so 
let’s not dog pile on the lesbian.”

Boyd raised his brows in surprise. “Sorry to hear that.”

“I’ll bet,” she said.

“This isn’t personal, Lindsay.”

“It felt personal.”

“It wasn’t.”

Brian reached over to take Lindsay’s hand. “I’m sure it’ll work out the way you want it to. 
What are you going to do? You can stay in my loft if you want.”

“I’m staying with Gus.”

“I know. Gus can stay there, too.”

“We thought we’d take a little vacation. The gallery where I work was sold. The new owner 
doesn’t need me. Before I get another job, I thought I’d take a little break. So I came down 
here to try and understand why you find the south so fascinating.”

“You can’t stay,” Brian quickly responded. She looked hurt.

“I won’t impose on you.”

“That’s not the point. You can’t stay down here.”

“Why not?”

He looked at Boyd, who sighed. “Because we have some lunatic fixated on us, either because 
of Brian’s club or my family or just the gay issue, not sure. But he could be dangerous. We 
don’t know who he is, but he’s threatening.”

“What do the police say?”

“We hired private help. There’s nothing concrete for the police to investigate, not yet. Brian’s 
just concerned about getting you or Gus caught in the net with this crazy person.”

“Then why were you pushing so hard for Gus to visit?”

“This just happened.”

She leaned back with a sigh. She then fixed her stare on Brian. “Why do you stay here? It’s 
a cesspool of hatred and bigotry.”

He shrugged. “For every bad thing, there have been ten good ones. For every prejudiced or 
hateful person I’ve met, I’ve met ten loving and accepting people. I love the pace of this 
region, the food, the ambiance, the genteel decadence, the architecture, the large gay 
population in New Orleans, the music, the edge. And I love Boyd Coulter. I’ve never been 
more alive than I am here, even when I’m scared shitless. I encountered just as much gay 
hatred in Pittsburgh as here, if not the same level of threat. I feel at home, here, Lindsay. In 
New Orleans, at least, not so much this burg. I want to stay and I want to stand up to the 
Christians and the firebugs and the loons and I want to make my life here, with Boyd and 
our family. I don’t expect you to understand, but you have to accept it, because it is what it 
is.”

Boyd walked over and kissed him on the lips. “You two talk. I have to go to the mill. I’ll call 
you later.”

Brian watched him leave. Lindsay shook her head. “He’s beautiful, but…”

“No ‘but’. He’s the best part of me. End of story.”

She accepted the finality of that, never having seen such absolute determination in the guise 
of Brian Kinney when it came to loving another. He told her about the custody suit that was 
filed and how that imposed even more pressure on his lover. She said, “I came at the wrong 
time. You two have an overflowing plate.”

“This for you, Daddy!” Gus ran in with a bright red Gerber daisy plucked from the carefully 
tended garden just as Peter brought in a tray with coffee and beignets. Brian took the flower 
and Peter grimaced.

“Honey, we look at the flowers and smell them, but we don’t pick them,” Peter counseled. 
Gus looked from him to the vase of colorful summer blooms on the entry table and said,

“You picked them.”

“They came from the florist, oh never mind. It’s just a daisy. I brought some orange juice for 
the boy.” He left as Jane came in, got the juice, put a beignet on a plate and walked Gus 
away with her, explaining they would have a little picnic on the wicker furniture in the 
conservatory. 

“She’s good,” Lindsay admitted, pouring coffee for them both. Brian twirled the daisy in his 
hand before he deposited in the vase holding a sprig of freesia that decorated the tray. He 
poured some milk in the steaming chicory brew and said,

“You see why you can’t stay?”

“No. I see that you have some trouble. I have some trouble, too. But we’re friends, Brian. 
Aren’t we? Still?”

He nodded. “So?”

“So, maybe I can help. Even if I can’t, you need to see Gus and he needs to see you. Jon 
said he had an extra room here for us. I won’t get in your way.”

“How can you afford this little detour?” he was blunt, but honest.

“I got some severance and the rooms here are very inexpensive. It won’t be for all that long. 
Brian, I want to fix our friendship. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to be cut off 
from Gus. I don’t want to fight.”

She looked on the verge of tears, so he pulled her into his arms, sighing as he held gently to 
her. One more complication. Just what he didn’t need. “You try to cause any of your 
insidious little troublemaking between Boyd and me and I’ll kick your ass to Pittsburgh,” 
were his jolting words of comfort. She leaned back. She looked wounded.

“I never, I…”

“Yes, you did, Lindsay. With Justin. I see that now. But you won’t get away with it with Boyd. 
He’s older, more savvy, more secure. We’re partners. You try to interfere in that, neither one 
of us will have it. That door is closed in your face, you read me?”

She sucked in her lower lip as she nodded. “I understand.”

“If things get, well, hotter around here, you leave immediately with Gus, right?”

“Agreed.”

“And thanks for bringing him down. I never wanted an epic battle with you, either. I just 
wanted to be in my son’s life.”

“I know, Brian. I do.”

“I’m going to go get dressed. I’ll be down in a minute. I need to go to New Orleans today. 
The two of you can ride in with me, if you want. You can go to the aquarium or whatever 
while I work for awhile.”

“That would be fun.”

He went upstairs, finding it difficult to believe that his very complex life just got more 
complicated. His mobile rang as he entered his room. Boyd.

“This is going to be touchy.”

“I told her all about the cow and the cabbage,” Brian said. He reached for his blue tooth 
earpiece so he could talk while he dressed. 

“Did she take delivery?”

“Who knows? She’s a woman. I can’t read women.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not my muncher problem, her muncher problem. I do feel nervous having her here, Gus 
here, with this lunatic leaving us love messages.”

“I know, me too. But I’m so relieved she may have seen the light about letting you and Gus 
develop a relationship.”

“True. Now we have only one custody case to preoccupy our minds.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Boyd. For you, for your fear. For your lousy stupid redneck in 
laws.”

Boyd laughed. “This is rich. I’m pulling into the parking lot at the mill, and on my father’s 
parking space where it says ‘reserved’, someone painted ‘for faggots’ and they misspelled 
‘faggots’ with one g.”

Brian smiled. “Open to any faggot? Or just the king faggot?”

“Must be the king faggot since it’s vacant.”

They both laughed. “Gallows humor. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. I’m beginning to believe spray paint is the new Mont Blanc pen. It seems to be the 
way everyone communicates.”

“You’re so weird, Boyd. I love that.”

“I love you, too. Later.”

They hung up and Brian went back downstairs after gathering his wallet, watch, and car 
keys. “I don’t have a car seat for the kid,” he said to Lindsay who was talking quietly to Jane 
as Gus wolfed down another beignet. His lips were covered in powdered sugar. 

“Not to worry, Brian,” Jane said. “I have one in my vehicle that you’re free to use. I’ll move 
it for you if you give me your keys.”

He tossed them to her and as she left, Lindsay said, “She’s incredible.”

“Only the best.”

“I need to pee,” Gus announced. Brian looked at his mother. 

“I’ll take him up to my room, you get yourself settled with the boys for your own space here 
and we’ll meet you in the car.”

She nodded, watching Brian walk up the stairs with Gus in tow, struck by how similar they 
were, father and son, the two men who meant the most in her life and who always would. 

Current Mood:  surprised

October 25th, 2005
 
 
04:26 am - BURN, Chapter 39
He really was too sick to do this, but he did, so I edited it. If you see him online, tell him to 
go back to bed! Ran

******************************



Brian was suddenly sick to death of the house in Marigny. He had spent way too much time 
there, first with the alarm company and Frank, and finally with Sebastian. Together, they 
walked the rooms and dissected the layout in excruciating detail. Every time the shrimp-
sized designer said, “I have a fabulous idea for this space!” Brian heard the cash register 
groan. He was glad to get away from the place for a couple hours, to huddle with his staff at 
the club site. By the time he met Lindsay and Gus for a pre-arranged late lunch, Gus was so 
tired he climbed up on Brian’s lap and promptly fell asleep. 

Brian didn’t blame him a bit. Sometimes he longed for a lap of his own, and not always for 
the usual reasons. 

Lindsay beamed at them as she said, “He had a wonderful time at the aquarium. And then 
we took a mule-drawn carriage ride around the Quarter, which he adored, and we did a little 
window shopping, which really isn’t his cup of tea. Poor little thing is exhausted.”

Brian shifted his son to the banquette beside him, tucking one of the velvet pillows strewn 
across the bench seat under his head as he smoothed his hair from his face. He missed Gus 
more than he realized. Seeing him now pulled at his heart. Being apart from him just wasn’t 
working. Boyd seemed to know that before Brian did. He wasn’t surprised. Sometimes he 
thought Boyd knew him better than he knew himself. He looked up at Lindsay as their crab 
Louie arrived. “So what’s the real reason you left Pittsburgh?”

She delicately toyed with her appetizer fork, prodding the fresh lump crab meat with the two 
tiny silver prongs. Lindsay’s upper class upbringing showed up in strange ways, like table 
manners and knowledge of cutlery. Brian had to learn a lot of these behaviors on his own 
time and make them seamless so no one would suspect he wasn’t raised with seven piece 
place settings. “What are you hoping for, Brian? A scandal? There’s no scandal. No other 
person, at least no one I know of. No big bang. I’m just weary. Can you understand that? 
You’re in the first blush of your relationship with Boyd. See how you feel ten years from now. 
The day to day drudge of being in a relationship with one person can be very mind numbing 
at times. And Mel isn’t the easiest person to live with.”

He snorted at that. “Master of understatement,” her comment about long term drudgery 
worried him. He had no idea how to be in a relationship long term. He feared exactly what 
she said. He couldn’t imagine feeling bored with Boyd, but would Boyd grow tired of him? He 
shook those thoughts out of his head. It was much easier to take their relationship one day 
at a time. Planning a partnership was pure panic for Brian. It had to develop organically, like 
a tomato plant, at its own pace. Water it, put it in the sun, and let it do its thing. Whether it 
would eventually bear fruit was anyone’s guess.

“I’m not either,” Lindsay admitted. “Easy to live with, that is.”

“Who is?”

“Maybe no one. Your threatened custody battle brought pre-existing problems to a head. I 
felt like we should be reasonable and sit down with you and Boyd and work out a schedule 
that works for all of us, especially for Gus. She just wanted to fight. I’m tired of fighting, 
Brian. With her, with you, with Boyd, with everyone. I just want some peace and quiet. And 
then the gallery changed hands. The perfectly horrible end to a perfectly horrible week. I 
needed to get away.”

“So you walked into my world of complete insanity. Rabid Christians, crazy firebugs, Boyd’s 
dad in bad shape, his having to run that fucking mill while his father is mending, his in-laws 
suing him for custody of his kids, our house here in design hell, the club under construction, 
perfect timing.”

“His in-laws are suing him for custody?”

“They won’t win,” Brian said with a steely glare at her that caused her to flinch.

“But why would they sue? Those are his natural children, aren’t they? What right do they 
have?”

“None, really, except for the fact he’s a fag which seems to endow them with rights they 
would otherwise lack.”

“I’m so sorry, Brian. No wonder Boyd was angry.”

“That angry call was before this happened. He was angry because you were trying to keep 
Gus away from me. He’s very protective of me and he believes Gus needs me as much as I 
need him. I agree.”

She reached over the table to take his hand. “I agree too, Brian.”

He withdrew from her and concentrated on his appetizer. “How long will you stay?” He asked 
and she shrugged.

“I’m not sure.”

“Here’s an idea. Look at your ticket.”

“I’m booked to return on Friday.”

“There’s your answer then.”

“I could stay longer if I could help in some way, Brian. With your house or with the children, 
or…whatever.”

He leaned back, trying to read her mood. “We have a nanny. The house is underway. What 
are you getting at, Linds? You make me crazy when you go at things from a lateral angle. 
Just hit me with it.”

“I want shelter. Time to think away from Melanie. I want to figure things out. And I don’t 
want to go home to Mother.”

“I don’t know what you want from me. I have a full staff right now, business wise. I wouldn’t 
let you and Gus stay in our house in the city, alone, even if it were furnished. Not until I feel 
better about the security there. I can’t afford to give you a paid vacation from your partner, 
Lindsay. So what do you want from me?”

“Brian, have you ever thought about how much easier our lives would have been if we just 
married each other? You could still have your boys on the side, I could have a lover, too, but 
we could have a normal outward appearance, be respected members of the community, with 
a family and a cover. Instead you’re the target of hate mongers and fanatics, Boyd is being 
sued for custody, Gus is living away from his natural father and we’re all pariahs to society.”

He put down his fork and pushed the remains of his appetizer away. “Are you on crack? 
Marry you? When did marriage ever become a part of the little fling we had in college? I’m a 
faggot, Linds. Was then, am now, will always be. And I have a partner. And I don’t want to 
live a lie and don’t find that kind of life the least bit compelling. I’m not afraid of zealots. I 
don’t care if people hate me for my sexuality. I’m not ashamed of being gay. Marry you? No, 
I never thought about how much easier my life could have been. I never thought about it at 
all.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she rushed to the ladies room as Brian stared after her in 
wonder, quickly answering his mobile when it intruded with a ring. Gus stirred, but didn’t 
waken. “Hi, how’s your day?” Boyd’s voice was like a soft whisper of autumn, cooling and 
fresh. 

“Better now that you called,” Brian responded, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just sent Lindsay away to the little girl’s room in tears because I told her that I never 
imagined for one minute that we should’ve married.”

Boyd was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Is that her game?”

“Don’t get your back up, Mr. Jealousy. She was being wistful about what might have been, 
not proposing to me. But I disabused her of the notion that it might have been. Because it 
never was. Not once did I think I should marry Lindsay or anyone else. She’s just on some 
kind of emotional spiral right now. Separated from her succubus, out of work, it’s just one 
more little drama we don’t need.”

“What does she think you should do about it?”

“Fix it, the way I should fix everything that ever goes wrong in her life.”

“I’m sorry, Brian. How can I help?”

“You’re helping now. Talking to you helps,” he reached down and smoothed his hand over 
Gus’s arm. The child didn’t flinch. He was sound asleep. “I’ve missed Gus so much, Boyd. I 
can’t tell you how good it is to see him.”

“I know. I’m really glad about that. He’s a beautiful child.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Like father, like son.”

Brian smiled. “You could be prejudiced.”

“I could be. But I’m not. My kids come back today, after school. I’m picking them up and 
introducing them to Jane. I thought we might all go over to Alligator Annie’s for dinner. 
Lindsay, Gus, the rest of us.”

“Okay, we’ll be leaving here soon. The alarm system is being installed tomorrow. Frank will 
be there to supervise. I’ll walk you through some of the ideas Sebastian had for the place. 
He’s pimping for your gallery rehab too, Boyd.”

“He’s definitely on my short list. Oh shit, did I just say ‘short’?”

They both laughed and Lindsay was icy and composed as she returned to the table, annoyed 
to find Brian laughing when she had been so upset. He didn’t let it bother him. “How are 
they treating you today?” he asked.

“I kicked a little CFO ass today. The financials look twisted to me. I’m calling in outside 
auditors. Because we don’t trade the company publicly we don’t have to make all the filings 
corporations do, including audited financials. I think my old man has been lax about that. So 
I called in one of the big firms. The CFO’s reaction to that makes me uneasy. The last thing 
we need right now is cooked books.”

“That’s those spread sheets you were looking at in bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“I will. See you this evening. Be careful driving home. I love you.”

“You too,” Brian said, with a smile. He put his phone back in his pocket as their main courses 
arrived. “What do we do about feeding the kid?”

“We can get him a kiddie meal on the road. He needs his sleep.”

Lindsay did ice as well as any glacier. “You need to step down, Linds. I’m not trying to hurt 
you, I’m just being honest with you.”

“Your brand of honesty is brutal, Brian.”

“Surprise. I’ve always been that way. Why pull a punch? I don’t see the value of bullshit.”

“There is such a thing as caring about people’s feelings.”

“I do care. But letting you yammer on about some impossible view of life isn’t helping you. 
It’s like saying wouldn’t it be nice if we all just got along? We’re people. We war, that’s what 
we do and have always done. We’re hairless apes. Don’t expect more from humanity than 
it’s wired to deliver. You won’t be disappointed. And don’t expect me to bat my eyes at you 
and tell you ‘if only we had married’ is a scenario with some appeal to me. I love you, in my 
own way, Linds, but frankly the thought of being married to you, or to any woman, makes 
me want to puke. It’s instant panic.”

She finally smiled. “You never know when to stop, do you?”

“That’s one of my charms.”

She shook her head. “All of my lesbian circle in the Pitts are bought into Mel and me as a 
couple so I’m inundated with opinions about this trial separation. My parents couldn’t be 
happier about it, of course. The boys don’t really identify. I need some distance. I was 
hoping a couple weeks down here, away from it all, would give me a fresh perspective.”

Brian nodded. “Fine, Linds. You want a couple weeks? You got it. I’m happy to have Gus 
near me for a couple weeks. I’ll be glad to pay for your room at the B&B for two weeks. Take 
this time and think it out. But if you make one move towards undermining my relationship 
with Boyd, you’re out on the next plane. And if the firebug strikes again, same thing. I won’t 
risk either one of you on that little bit of insanity.”

“I have no reason to undermine you and Boyd, so kindly stop saying that.”

“Sorry, but you’ve done it before. With Justin. I don’t want to talk about it, water under the 
bridge, but let’s just leave it there. I said what I had to say.”

“Brian, is this firebug for real?” She wanted to shift the focus from her own behavior.

“I think so, yes. Real enough to run us out of Boyd’s house in Canard Rouge.”

“Could it be his father-in-law, trying to make trouble so he can say the kids are 
endangered?”

Brian shrugged. He hadn’t thought of that. “Interesting. I don’t know. All crackers sound 
alike to me.”

Gus suddenly came to life, sitting up and stretching. He looked confused and then spotted 
Brian and climbed up on his lap again, facing him, his cheek resting against his chest as his 
eyes closed. “Makes it hard to eat, cowboy,” Brian said and Gus snuggled closer to him, 
unbothered by that fact. “Why is he being so cuddly?” Brian asked the boy’s mother. She 
shrugged.

“He missed you.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“Want me to take him?”

“No, he’s fine,” Brian decided a little awkwardness in eating was worth the bonding. “You 
think he looks like me? Boyd does.”

“Exactly like you. That old picture you gave me of you when you were three? It could be 
Gus.”

“I guess so. That’s not so bad, is it? I’ve done okay with this face.”

She laughed. “So nice to see your vanity never falters.”

She looked up as she saw his bemused expression become partly cloudy. She turned and 
glanced over her shoulder to see what had caught his eye. She smiled. “Oh! Isn’t that…”

“Trouble,” Brian said as he watched Daphne and Bellamy being escorted to a booth in 
another part of the restaurant, blissfully unaware of the stony glare of her boss.

***************************************************

Moody wanted a swim but he knew better than to go back to Brian and Boyd’s house, and 
anyway, he feared “Freddy”. The other pools he swept were all part of occupied property, 
including two boutique hotels. After finishing his last pool, he returned the truck to the pool 
service and was walking through the heat to go back to his hotel and change for his other 
menial job. God, how he hated this hand-to-mouth existence.

“Have you been saved?” An earnest looking young man pushed a religious pamphlet at him. 

Moody avoided it, quipping, “I prefer to be left behind with all the other sinners, thanks.”

The persistent Christian fell into step with him. “Jesus loves you.”

“I know, but he also gave me the clap. You mean Jesus Rodriquez who lived in Queens, 
right? Hot looking latino with a mean samba?”

The Christian looked confused. His short-sleeved polyester dress shirt was a sick shade of 
green and his tie was too short. The collar seemed to squeeze the sweat out of his face. On 
closer inspection, Moody saw he was very young, aged by his outfit and a really bad haircut. 
“Uh, would you like to hear about Reverend Flynn’s youth program?”

“Does it involve a steady diet of buggering?” Moody was enjoying this now. “Because if so, 
yes, I would.”

The Christian kid went from confused to cold. “You people will burn in hell.”

“What people? New Yorkers, you mean? Shit, hell’s an improvement over Brooklyn.”

“Repent!”

Moody was bored with him. “Suck my cock.”

“Pervert! Abomination!”

Moody smiled and then suddenly, swiftly, grabbed the Christian by the too-tight collar and 
slammed him up against the ornate metal work of an overhang shading the sidewalk. He 
held him in a vise as he leaned in and seethed, “Don’t make the mistake of thinking queers 
are weak or are sissies. You get the fuck away from me or I’ll send you to your reward, you 
hypocritical, mind fucked piece of shit!”

The Christian nodded, his eyes wide with terror, and Moody released him and left him 
standing there as he walked on to his hotel without looking back.
Current Mood:  cranky

October 29th, 2005
 
 
09:59 am - BURN, Chapter 40
Feeling better! Hope you like it. Brian


********************************


Daphne looked up with a smile as the waiter brought a glass of chardonnay to Bellamy and 
also to her. “From the gentleman,” he said, motioning towards Brian’s corner. Daphne’s 
smile froze as Bellamy noticed first the attractive blonde woman and then the handsome 
man who held up his own wine glass in a salute. The man then motioned Daphne over with a 
gesture. Bellamy watched her get up and asked,

“What are you doing?”

“He’s my boss, Bellamy. I think I’m about to get fired.”

“Your boss? I thought you said your boss was gay.”

“He is gay. So?”

“That blonde is no transvestite.”

Daphne gave him a look guaranteed to wither any living organism. “Gay men can’t have 
friends who are female? Hello? Your mother and father?”

“I’ll go over with you,” he started to get up.

“No. Thanks, but no. I’ll be back.”

He sat down again, watching her cross the restaurant to Brian’s table. He rather liked that 
she wouldn’t let him come along for cover. He appreciated her spunk. She may be tiny, but 
she was fierce in her own way. Daphne greeted Lindsay with a little hug and then sat down 
beside her as Brian said, “Having a nice little late lunch?”

“Brian, I…”

“Take your time. Enjoy. Have a dessert, maybe two. Take all the time you want. Might as 
well. You don’t have anything else to do with your day. No job to get in the way, or anything 
like that.”

“Brian please. Listen.”

“I’m listening.”

“I haven’t seen Bellamy since we…talked. And then he called me the other night and we met 
for a drink. And I guess the thing is, he feels very strongly that no one should tell him who 
to date.”

“I agree. I’m not telling him whom he should date. I’m telling you whom you should not 
date. I was very specific about that and I told you why. You chose to disregard that order 
from your boss. Fine. Free world. But I can’t have someone on my payroll that I can’t trust 
to follow a simple instruction. I don’t really care if you believe I’m right about the potential 
conflict issues this liaison creates. That’s my call, not yours. And even if I’m wrong about it, I 
still gave you a direct order that you failed to follow. That’s insubordination in my book, 
Daphne. I told you from the beginning that our past friendship wouldn’t change the way 
things are in our working relationship. You made a choice. Maybe it was even the right 
choice, but now you have to live with it. I hope we can still be friends, but you aren’t 
working for me as of now. I’ll give you two weeks of severance because I’m a nice guy. I 
won’t hurt your reference. You can say you quit voluntarily to go back east or whatever. As 
the man with the bad hair says, ‘Daphne, you’re fired’.”

“Brian…” Lindsay started to intervene but she stopped when Brian cut her a look of absolute 
finality. 

“Brian, I’m sorry, I…” Daphne dissolved into tears. She rushed to the ladies room, and Brian 
sighed. He was two for two for sending women to the john in tears today. Lindsay followed 
after her, saying to him,

“I don’t know the facts, but you were a little harsh.”

“You’re right. You don’t know the facts.”

When he was alone, Brian reached down and stroked Gus’s hair, silently hoping his son 
might grow up to understand women better than he did. Gus smiled at him, perfectly happy 
with his breadsticks and butter. Brian looked up to find a tall man in a good suit standing 
there. “How do you do? I’m Bellamy Beaufort,”

“Brian Kinney,” he stood to shake his hand. He looked for signs of his mother in Bellamy’s 
handsome face and found a few. “This is Gus. His hands are a little greasy right now, or he’d 
shake.”

Bellamy smiled. “Yours?”

“Yes.”

“Beautiful child. May I join you?”

“Please,” they both sat down and Bellamy spoke first. 

“Mr. Kinney, I understand where you’re coming from in your concern over Daphne seeing me 
socially. You’re right, as an owner of a business in New Orleans, it’s quite possible that you’ll 
need council approval for something or other and I can see why you fear that my seeing her 
could influence that process, for the good or for the bad. You don’t know me. You have no 
reason to know whether I can be easily swayed or bought or compromised. But let me 
educate you to a few things about me, Mr. Kinney. I have the advantage of being the 
principal heir of a very wealthy and wonderful man. He made sure I would never have to 
depend on the kindnesses of strangers or even upon my own ability to earn a buck in order 
to live a very comfortable life. That makes me immune to greed. I grant you, not all men 
born into wealth are immune to that disease, but for some reason I am. I have more than I 
can ever need or spend. I’m also an ambitious man with a strong ethical streak. New 
Orleans, Louisiana in general, has had more than its fair share of governmental corruption. I 
want to change that. I see bigger things for myself on the horizon and I have every intention 
of getting what I want. Am I being clear?”

“I’m listening.”

“The long and short of it is, you couldn’t bribe me if you tried. You couldn’t turn my head 
with a sexy young girl like Daphne. I know a lot of sexy young girls. You couldn’t influence 
my vote with that connection. I vote my constituency and my beliefs. You live or die by the 
strength of the issue, Mr. Kinney. And if there is any risk in this situation, the risk is all mine. 
The press could say, oh sure, Beaufort supported that vote because he’s banging a chick that 
works for the business owner. My scandal, not yours. But I don’t fear it. There’s no truth to 
it. You’re overthinking this situation.”

“This is the way I see it, Councilman. You may well be right. But this is my business to run, 
and if I tell an employee not to do something and she does it anyway, I don’t need that kind 
of grief. If she’d do it in this instance, what else will she disregard in the future?”

“I hear that. But this is her personal life, not a true business issue. My track record with 
women isn’t good, Mr. Kinney. I have neither the time nor the interest in long term 
relationships. If you were telling Daphne not to go out with me because I’m a bad risk, 
romantically, I could understand that. But don’t tell her not to go out with me because it 
could hurt your business. It won’t.”

“What you’re saying is the relationship with Daphne is likely to be over before a vote or issue 
even arises?”

Bellamy shrugged. “I don’t believe in prognostication.”

“Unlike your mother.”

Bellamy’s green eyes grew guarded. His smile was fixed. “What do you know about my 
mother?”

“I know she’s one of my favorite people in New Orleans. I know she’s a very wise and caring 
woman. I know that you’re lucky to have her.”

Bellamy chuckled at that. “You obviously don’t know her at all.”

“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know her, Councilman.”

“We were talking about Daphne, not my mother, Mr. Kinney.”

“And now we’re talking about your mother. I’ll make a deal with you, Councilman. I’ll 
consider giving Daphne a second shake and let her learn this lesson on her own. Dating a 
player is a very bad lesson to learn. I know. I used to be a player myself. Different team, 
same shit.”

Bellamy was amused by Brian’s blunt style. “And if that’s the put what’s the take?”

“You and Daphne join me and my partner, Boyd, and your mother, for dinner. On me.”

Bellamy shook his head. “You should stay out of things that you don’t understand.”

“One dinner. That’s the deal. Interested?”

“And you’ll get off her back about our seeing each other and let her resume her job?”

“Yes. She has one more chance. Probationary.”

Bellamy extended his hand across the table and Brian shook it. “Deal. Call my office and get 
on my schedule. Here’s my card.”

The women returned to the table and Daphne’s tear-swollen eyes fixed on the unlikely sight 
of Brian and Bellamy shaking hands. He introduced himself to Lindsay, and then took 
Daphne’s arm. “Let’s go finish our lunch. You have a job to get back to and so do I.”

“But…” she looked at Brian, who nodded.

“One last chance.”

“Brian, thank you, I promise…”

“Come on, Daphne,” Bellamy persuaded. “Once the court grants your motion, shut the hell 
up. You can only make it worse.” He led her away. Lindsay smiled at Brian.

“What happened here?”

“Politics,” he said. Gus suddenly proclaimed a need to pee. That seemed to take up a lot of 
his day, peeing. Brian took him to the bathroom as Lindsay glanced over her shoulder at 
Bellamy and Daphne who made such a lovely couple that it caused her to smile to see them 
together. Suddenly she felt very lonely. Daphne and Bellamy, Brian and Boyd, everyone 
seemed involved in something interesting except herself. If only…but she cut that thought 
off, not wanting to reopen that firestorm.

*******************

Dinner at Alligator Annie’s took two cars. The two little boys rode over with Jane while the 
girls rode with Boyd and Brian. “I want ‘gator toes, Daddy,” Gus insisted upon arrival. He 
never forgot his first exposure to the place. Lindsay looked appalled but Brian nodded. 

“You got it.”

After they ordered, Jane took the children to the unofficial alligator museum and gift shop to 
look around while they waited for their food. “She’s wonderful,” Lindsay observed. “She’s 
very matter-of-fact with them, but they seem to mind her without question. And she has an 
excellent instinct for keeping them occupied.”

“I think we lucked out,” Boyd agreed. Brian added,

“Don’t you think she looks like Wednesday on the Addam’s Family? And if so, should we be 
worried?”

Boyd peered at her and shrugged. “Yeah, she does look a little like Christina Ricci. But that’s 
a good thing, she’s fabulous.”

“Did you find Gomez kind of hot in those movies, in a sick sort of way?”

“Completely. Raul Julia was always hot, ever since the ‘Kiss of the Spider Woman’.”

Brian smiled. “Jail sex. That was good. So sad the way he died. What a waste.”

Lindsay watched the give and take between them, so easy, so natural, and so fond. 
Something in her contracted. Brian was truly in love. That deep down “this is it” kind of love 
that rarely exists and that she never foresaw in his future. Part of her was happy for him. 
But part of her felt jealous and left behind by him. Not because she realistically saw a future 
for the two of them, but because she never thought she’d be in a place where her own 
romantic life was in shambles but Brian’s was sailing. It had always been a comfort knowing 
that no matter how bad things got, she still had it better than he did regarding love. She 
watched Boyd reach over and fold down the back collar of Brian’s shirt in an automatic 
gesture of grooming. Brian smiled as he leaned over to kiss his cheek. 

“That midget of ours is going to bankrupt us,” he said.

“We can’t let that happen,” Boyd declared. “We have to set a budget and stick to it.”

“In his view, budget means starting point.”

“Only if we let him. You can be the creative and I’ll be the banker. You test his ideas and I’ll 
bring down the hammer.”

“It seems wrong somehow to bring down a hammer on such a little guy.”

Boyd laughed. “Only figuratively.”

Gus walked over to them, waving a plush toy alligator as long as his arm. “I want this, 
Daddy!”

“You don’t need that.”

“Please?”

Gus walked up to him, walking the toy up Brian’s arm and “kissing” his cheek with it. Brian 
sighed. “Okay, but just the one thing.” He handed a couple bills to Gus and said, “Give these 
to Jane to pay for it.”

He ran off, hugging his prize close and Boyd shook his head. “Now Belle and Mac are going 
to find something they just have to have.”

“He’s a visitor. It’s a souvenir.”

Boyd chuckled at that. “Right.”

Their food arrived and the conversation was usurped by doling out appetizers and protecting 
kids’ clothes from ketchup and tartar sauce. It was noisy, it was messy, it was distracting 
from the worries that hung over them and for that, Brian was grateful. He liked Jane. She 
had just the right balance of staying involved with the children but not imposing herself on 
the adults. She wasn’t subservient, but she was respectful of their privacy. At one point, 
Lindsay engaged her in conversation, so Brian said to Boyd,

“I heard from Bo.”

“About?”

“Minus. Seems there was an investigation of the fire where his mother died. To most, Minus 
was sort of a pathetic hero, getting burned and disfigured trying to save the old woman from 
the blaze. They blamed the fire on a faulty space heater. He was asleep in the back of the 
house and the heater was in her room, that’s his story. By the time he was awakened by 
smoke, she was engulfed in an inferno. He pulled her out, but she was a crispy critter by 
then, and he was badly burned by doing so.”

“You said to ‘most’ he was a hero. What else?”

“The fire inspectors were curious about the acceleration of the fire. Minus said there was 
turpentine in her room because she was an amateur painter. People in town said she would 
sell these awful primitive paintings of the swamp to tourists from her front porch. Nothing 
you want to feature in your gallery,” he smirked at his lover who winced.

“Go on.”

“She used turpentine to clean paintbrushes. But there was enough turpentine in there to 
clean a street sweeper. They let it go, however. People like your father, pillars of the 
community, intervened in Minus’s behalf, feeling he had suffered enough and he shouldn’t be 
defamed on top of his other losses.”

Boyd shook his head. Justice was loosely defined in rural Louisiana. “What would his motive 
be? Did she have money?”

“Barely enough to replicate that shack somewhere else.”

“Then what would be his motive?”

“The lack of an obvious motive was one reason they let it go.”

“I remember it vaguely. My Dad talking about how tragic it was, that this boy, who was not 
quite right in the head, had now lost his only champion. Daddy was never a bleeding heart. I 
didn’t understand why the story bothered him so much.”

“Maybe Minus is your long lost bro’.”

Boyd choked on a curl of fried alligator and then beamed at his lover. “You are so sick. The 
Arceneau clan was never renowned for their beauty, even without the signature melted skin 
look. My dad had a definite type for his extra-marital flings. Blonde, big boobs and living in 
the city, not withered, old, swamp woman.”

“Really? Maybe he ran into my Dad in those same watering holes. They preferred similar 
victims.”

Lindsay looked over at them as they shared a cynical laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“Just sharing a little nostalgia about our daddies,” Brian said with a smile. 

“That’s MY Daddy,” Gus suddenly proclaimed ownership over Brian and Belle rolled her eyes 
at him. 

“They’re both our daddies now, Gus.”

“You can’t have my Daddy,” Gus informed her and she shrugged.

“I already do.”

Jane intervened before it turned ugly and Gus hugged his alligator and stared at his father, 
as if to imprint an invisible brand that marked Brian as private property, available only to 
him on the paternal front. He then looked at Boyd and said, “I have Boy’ as my Daddy too?”

Boyd smiled. “I’d be happy to be your associate Daddy, Gus.”

Boyd’s own son glared at him and warned, “Oh no you won’t.”

Brian and Boyd looked at each other and smiled. Obviously, this blended family thing would 
require a little more work. “It’s nice to know young guys still fight over us.”

Boyd laughed at that and elbowed him to shut up. Brian’s mobile rang and he covered one 
ear so he could hear. “Put Lindsay on.” Melanie’s charming voice demanded. He passed the 
phone to Lindsay as he said, “It’s your succubus.”

She took the phone and left the table. Boyd shook his head at Brian’s antics. “You are such a 
jerk.”

“News meet flash.”

“What’s a suckabus?” Mac demanded and his sister heaved a dramatic sigh at his stupidity. 

“Remember on Southpark when that woman was gonna marry Chef only she turned into a 
monster? That’s a suckabus.”

“You’ve watched Southpark?” Boyd demanded and Brian chuckled. Busted. Belle’s look of 
pure innocence wasn’t going to wash this time. He leaned back to enjoy the show, a fitting 
end to a day that was a series of conflicts with what is laughingly called the weaker sex. 
Current Mood:  energetic
November 2nd, 2005
 
05:08 am - BURN, Chapter 41
Burniacs, for Brian. Enjoy, Ran

*****************************

Boyd watched Brian undress. He propped himself up on a couple pillows and enjoyed the show. 
Brian was talking as he did so, about Daphne, about Lindsay, about the house, about Minus. His 
speech was just a casual recapping of their day. He was completely unaware of the focus of 
Boyd’s gaze which made it that much hotter for Boyd. He loved to watch each part of Brian’s lean 
body come from cover. Nothing escaped Boyd’s admiration, from the long, narrow feet to the 
graceful neck and everything in between. 

“What?” Brian suddenly paused, letting his belt hang open.

“What?” Boyd repeated.

“What are you staring at?”

“You.”

“Why?”

Boyd’s gaze traveled up Brian’s torso to his face. “I love your body.”

Brian chuckled. “And here I was allowing myself to think that it was my mind that you most 
admired about me.”

“Not at this exact moment.”

Brian turned to face him as he slowly opened his fly. “It’s not as if you haven’t seen it before.”

“So? There’s always something new to admire, some angle I didn’t catch, the way the light 
reflects on your skin, something.”

“You’ve achieved the impossible. You’ve made me feel awkward about getting undressed.”

Boyd grinned at him as Brian stepped out of his pants and threw them over a chair. He wore 
black low rider briefs. Boyd demanded, “Leave them on.”

“Skipping dessert?” Brian teased, walking over to the bed. Boyd hoisted himself over to the side 
and rubbed both hands up the back of Brian’s thighs to his ass, holding onto it as he pressed his 
cheek against his crotch. Brian reached down to separate Boyd’s thick, blond hair with his 
fingers. “Cotton mouth it,” he said to Boyd, who looked up with a smile before he pressed his 
tongue to the outline of Brian’s cock, sucking in the fabric sheath. Brian felt the wet warmth of 
Boyd’s mouth moisten his briefs and warm his cock. He pushed forward with a moan. Boyd 
manipulated him in this way until Brian was fully erect and the crotch of his briefs turned soggy. 
He then reached up to lower them down Brian’s hips. Brian stepped out of them, his eyes closing 
as Boyd made contact with his raw flesh. 

Boyd knew just what to do, for how long, how hard, how fast, how deep. When the blow job was 
this perfect, there was never a risk of familiarity robbing him of the edge. “Give me that dessert 
now,” Boyd said hoarsely as he stopped for one second to deliver his message. “I’m hungry.” He 
slid his mouth down on Brian’s tension and Brian let go with a hiss and a shudder. Boyd coddled 
his cock until the pulsation stopped. Brian then joined him in the bed, kissing him, tonguing the 
ghost of himself. His hands roamed Boyd’s firm torso and gripped his hard biceps.

“I love the way you feel. You have a great body. You have a great face. I’m so shallow. I love 
looking at you.”

Boyd laughed. “Then we’re both shallow because I love looking at you, too.”

Brian kissed him again, withdrawing slowly so that his tongue lingered on Boyd’s lower lip as he 
pulled back. He raised himself to the flat of his hands to peer down at Boyd and then smiled as 
he said, “I’m in the mood for some heavy fucking.”

“You’re kidding,” Boyd teased. “What a rare event.”

“I know. What do you say we capitalize on it?”

“In a moment of irony, I’m also in the mood for some heavy fucking.”

“Imagine that.”

They both laughed and Brian trailed his lips down Boyd’s neck, his collarbone, his sternum, 
taking the time to trace each nipple, and then down to outline the dips and mounds of his 
abdominal muscles and finally to relish the reddish gold cushion of hair upon which rested his 
erection. He took the cock flesh in his fist and steadied it as he went down on him, his eyes 
closing in bliss at the sensation of cock against the roof of his mouth and the taste of cock 
against his tongue. Not just any cock, but Boyd’s cock, the best cock. He stopped short of letting 
him get off as he reached for the lube. Within seconds he was pushing his way inside of Boyd’s 
body, bracing his weight on his arms as Boyd nimbly flung his legs over Brian’s shoulders for 
maximum penetration. 

Boyd bit his lip against the painful pressure of this invasion and waited for the contact with his 
prostate that merged discomfort into pleasure. The male clit, that’s how he thought of it, 
secondary only to the excruciating excitement he felt in his cock as he reached down to pump it 
against Brian’s belly. Watching Brian, seeing his muscles cord and strain with the exertion, 
noticing the sweat as it glowed against his skin, seeing his handsome face go from grimly 
determined to lost in a zone, to infinite pleasure, this was fucking for Boyd. 

They both got off with a shared battle cry of release and then Brian went heavy above him, 
gasping, his face hot against Boyd’s neck and shoulder. Boyd turned slightly to bury his nose in 
Brian’s damp hair, inhaling his scent. “I love you,” he breathed into his hair and Brian smiled 
against his neck.

“All the boys tell me that when I just fucked them senseless.”

“Not funny.”

“Okay, I love you, too. Better?”

“Much.”

Brian rolled off of him to study his profile. “I have a dilemma.”

“What’s that?”

“You know we’re going to do it again. Do we act like we’re done for the night and shower and 
then go at it and have to shower again or do we just stay really nasty and go for it and then 
shower?”

“I vote for nasty.”

“Me too.”

“See how easy it is to solve a problem when we work together?”

Brian laughed and pulled him into his arms, covering his mouth with his own.

************************************

Downstairs, in the master bedroom of the B&B, Jon looked up from the Tab Hunter 
autobiography he was reading in bed and glanced at his lover, who was watching Letterman. 
“They’re at it again.”

Peter muted the sound to amplify the telltale squeak from the bed directly above theirs. He 
glanced at the clock. “Short recovery time. Ah, youth.”

“Maybe it was a mistake to give them the blue room. If we gave them the yellow room, it would 
be at the other end of the house.”

“Are you complaining? Just picture what that has to look like.”

They shared a thought and a sigh. “Nanny cam,” Jon teased as Peter laughed.

“Pervert.”

“Were we ever like that?”

“We were never that pretty, honey.”

“I meant that active.”

“Oh god yes. We used to fuck like minks. Age is cruel.”

Jon sighed. “We still have our fun.”

“Weekly,” Peter said with a droll grin.

“Still beats the average for heteros.”

“As if that’s a valid measurement. Want me to put some porn in the DVD and we can get funky 
together?”

Upstairs the tempo of the bed noises picked up speed and Jon said, “Who do you think is on 
top?”

“Definitely Brian.”

“Yeah, I agree. But Boyd is pretty butch too.”

“Still, Brian.”

They both pictured that image and Jon said, “Who needs porn? We have that as inspiration.”

“Let’s make a deal. We get a free pass if either of those boys decide to tumble for us.”

Jon laughed at that. “The chances of either of those boys tumbling for some old queen is so 
ludicrous that I think we can safely agree to that pass. So long as neither of us initiate it. I don’t 
want to watch you chasing the guests around the dining room table.”

Peter smiled and reached for him. “Have you seen their legs? No way could I outrun them. Come 
here, you. Let’s try it without Viagra.” Jon turned off the television and the reading lamp because 
after a certain age, sex was sometimes better in the dark. 

**********************************

With the house quiet, the lights out, everyone asleep or engaged in joint pursuits, someone 
watched from the curb. Someone took in the motion detectors, the alarm system, the 
neighboring views, the number and placement of the windows, the exits from the structure, the 
vulnerability of the house. Someone calculated and pictured the quaint period building alight with 
flame, the expensive exterior paint bubbling and peeling, the boards beneath the paint singed 
and black, the windows blowing out as the glass gave way to the heat. Someone got an erection 
thinking of the humanity inside, trapped, baking, fluids expanding inside their bodies, eyes 
exploding, skin adhering to surfaces, lungs collapsing with smoke, children screaming, adults 
unable to help. An extra child had joined the mix. A bonus. Death, death, death. 

He moved on, anxious to find a private place to take care of that erection, not wanting to lose the 
fantasy. The conflagration wouldn’t happen tonight. But he was getting tired of waiting. 
Impatience was his failing. Not tonight, he thought with miserable resignation as he slunk off into 
the shadows. 

***********************************

Away from the swamp, with the full moon illuminating the crescent of water where the Mississippi 
emptied into the Gulf, Lady Pearl awoke with a gasp. She sat up in bed, the suddenness of her 
movement causing her cat to scurry from the opposite pillow. Pearl switched on the bedside lamp 
and rocked slowly back and forth as she waited for the nightmare to recede. Surely that was all it 
was, a nightmare, not a vision. It didn’t come to her the way the visions usually did, while she 
was awake, a mental special delivery that began as a blurry image and slowly clarified into an 
omen. This was a dream of fire, of terror, of people she knew in peril, of pain and loss. 

She finally felt strong enough to get up. She poured herself a glass of wine with a shaking hand 
and carried it out to the terrace. The warm humidity was soothing, helped by the grape. The 
room next door didn’t contain her favorite couple tonight. In fact, it was empty. She stared up at 
the moon as the distant serenade of jazz softened her fear. She began an ancient chant of 
protection, muttering the words in a low, urgent monotone. Not to protect herself, but to protect 
others she cared about, others who were in danger. Who, she wasn’t sure, but someone.

She sat on one of the chairs, a sigh escaping as she told herself it was about her house, the fire 
that destroyed it, seeing it again while walking with Brian. All of those links produced a 
nightmare just like everyone experienced from time to time. There was nothing predictive about 
it. Nothing ominous. Just scary and intense, the way nightmares were supposed to be. 

Suddenly, she was drawn to her feet, to the railing overlooking the street, to stare down at a tall, 
dark man in the shadows. She felt him look up at her. “Gris perle,” he called up to her. French for 
“gray pearl” the nickname his father had for her. He never called her “mother”, not since he was 
a small boy. “It happened again.”

Bellamy stepped into the low light of the hotel’s doorway. She motioned for him to come up. She 
pulled a peignoir over her gown and fluffed her hair, a bit of vanity, before he knocked. He 
greeted her with a formal embrasser, kissing the air on either side of her face. Pearl inhaled the 
familiar scent of her own clan, and realized again just how tall Bellamy was, how like his father. 
He released her immediately and she poured him a glass of wine, which he accepted. She 
motioned him out to the terrace. Some conversations were easier in the dark. 

They sat at the small table and he finally said, “You need to make it stop.”

She smiled. “If I could make it stop, you think I wouldn’t have stopped it for me years and years 
ago? It’s no gift, Bell. I told you that. It’s a curse.”

“I don’t want it, I don’t believe in it, I don’t like it.”

“If you didn’t believe in it, it wouldn’t bother you. You do believe because you’ve seen the truth 
of it too often to ignore. Am I right?”

He scowled into the dark void. “You cursed me with this.”

“Just as I was cursed by generations before me.”

“Some curse. You make your living off of your so-called ‘curse’. How is that a curse? It’s your 
bread and butter.”

“I had it anyway. Why not use it to my advantage? It would plague me with or without my using 
it. As you know. I was a young, inexperienced black girl from the bayou. How many shots at life 
do you think I would be given? How many chances to escape a life I didn’t want? A marginal 
existence in the small, tired home of some man I didn’t love?”

“So you parlayed that and your looks into the Beaufort millions.”

She laughed at that. “You have the Beaufort millions, Bellamy. I had a wonderful friend who was 
very kind to me. Who gave me a beautiful child. But why are we going over turned earth? That’s 
not why you’re here. What did you see?”

He went back into the bedroom, poured himself another glass of wine and returned to the terrace 
with it. “It happened the way it always does. I was going over some papers. The television was 
on, the late night news. Typical. All of a sudden I went into a fugue state. Everything around me 
receded. This is always the way it is. I saw flames.”

She nodded and put her hand on his arm. For once, he didn’t withdraw. “Go on.”

“A building was burning. Not your house. Another structure. People were trapped, screaming, 
endangered. I don’t know who they were, there were no faces, just the sense that I knew them. I 
could smell the smoke, the acrid scent of chemicals. I could feel the heat. And then it passed.”

“Did you feel that you were being threatened?”

“No. I wasn’t the focus of it. But people I know, and yet, I don’t know who. I came out of it with 
that sick and helpless feeling. That I know about something but not enough to do anything to 
help, to change it.”

“Yes, I know that feeling very well.”

“Can you clarify it for me?”

“No, only you can do that. I had a nightmare from which I recently awoke that was also about a 
fire and people in peril. Possibly at the same moment you had your vision. That confirms it’s an 
omen, and not a dream.”

“Who was in your…fire?”

“I don’t know. Like with you, it was vague.”

“Now what?”

“Visions of peril often become more intense and specific as the time of the event approaches. 
Perhaps one or both of us will have enough detail to be of use.”

He shook his head. “I don’t go around telling people I have visions, gris perle. Witchdoctors 
seldom have successful political careers.”

She smiled. “You tell me, I handle it from there. Witches have no such fears.”

“I don’t want this curse. I can’t pray it out, or take drugs to stop it, analysis did nothing to fix it, 
mind over matter never works. I hate it and I want it to stop.”

“You’re talking to the wind, Bell. Stop wasting your voice.”

He glared at her. “This is your fault. Your freaky genes.”

“Yes, I know. Your vision is strong, Bell. It gets stronger with age. You notice other powers that 
didn’t appear before. Be careful. You’re an ambitious man. Don’t be seduced by your own ability 
to influence events.”

He scoffed at that. “I promise not to tie mud and chicken bones together and curse my enemies 
with it.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” she said with all seriousness and he stood. 

“I have to go. How do you know Brian Kinney?”

That surprised her. “What about Brian?”

“How do you know him?”

“I met him here. He’s a lovely young man. Why?”

“He engineered a dinner with you and me and his partner and Daphne. I just wondered why he 
was trying to intervene in things that don’t concern him.”

She smiled. “Because he’s an Irish mystic, he just doesn’t know it yet. He wants to work his 
Celtic magic to heal the rift between us. We walk a common path, we bayou witches and Irish 
mystics. All part of the clan of the hidden world. He means no harm.”

“He’s butting into my life. I don’t like that.”

“Your lives are intersected, I’ve seen that from the beginning. There’s no point in struggling 
against the concluded.”

“One dinner, that’s it.”

“Bell, who is this Daphne to you?”

“Just another girl, gris perle,” he said and left her there, wondering, feeling his frustration but 
unable to help him rid himself of a plague she had carried for all of her life. 

Current Mood: awake

November 6th, 2005
 
02:27 pm - BURN, Chapter 42
This may be a little shocking to some of you, given the way this story has been slanted, so I 
apologize in advance if it bothers you. Brian

****************************



Moody gave the handsome blond man in bed with him a slight shove. He grunted in response, so 
Moody shoved harder. “Get offa my leg.” He hated this part of it, after he got off, after his cock 
stopped screaming for more, when he looked at the guy he was with and thought, “What the 
fuck?” Always hot, always the stud, never with anything to say later. At this point in the game, 
he just wanted out. He took a quick shower in the tiny bathroom of the trick’s apartment on 
Rampart and dressed. 

“You want to stay over?” the guy raised himself on one elbow, staring at him from the bed. He 
looked like a Calvin Klein model without the Calvin’s. Oddly enough, it sounded better than it 
was. 

“No, we’re done,” Moody said and walked out into the late night of the Quarter. The clubs no 
longer beckoned. He was tired and in a few hours, he’d have to be up for one of his day jobs. He 
made his way through the usual drunks and thrill seeking tourists and scary locals, and ended up 
in a little slice of timeless serenity bordering the Moon Walk. 

The Café du Monde offered café au lait and beignets and nothing else all hours of the day to the 
weary traffickers of the Quarter. Moody got a small order and was headed for a table when he 
saw her looking out over Dumaine Street without really seeing anything. He walked over and 
gave her a big smile. Her hair was tied back, away from her pretty face. She wore no makeup 
with her jeans and tank top, taking years off her age, bringing her closer to his. He sat down 
without an invitation and she sighed. 

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Relax, I’ve had all the happy, happy, joy, joy I need for now.” That wasn’t entirely true. Moody 
was always loaded up and ready for a prime opportunity. She rolled her eyes. 

“How lucky for someone.”

“He thought so,” Moody beamed at her.

“You really are Flexible Freddy aren’t you?”

“I like to leave my options open.” A waiter brought over his beignets and asked if she wanted 
more. It was also a silent inquiry if she was being annoyed. 

“I’m fine,” she said to both questions and he went away. “Moody, give it up. I’m seeing someone 
and the last thing I need is more trouble.”

“Tall, dark and handsome. I remember.”

“So why don’t you get the 411?”

“He must be doing something wrong. You’re here, you’re alone, you look depressed.”

“I’m not depressed and it has nothing to do with him.”

“Well then, what?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Why not? I’m a good listener.”

She laughed at that. “As if. Nothing gets through that mop,” she tapped his dark curls.

“Don’t let the curls or the big blue eyes fool you. Underneath all this is a true scholar.”

She laughed. “Now that is great camouflage!”

He shrugged. “Why are you always hatin’ on me?”

“You make me nervous.”

“In a hot way?”

“In an annoyed way.”

“Ok, game down, girl. Straight up, you and me, just having a little talk, no games.”

She sighed. “I got fired today.”

His eyes grew wide. “Why?”

“It’s a long story. Stupid. He took me back, but it really made me think.”

“About what?”

“About my priorities. All through college you spend so much time partying and dating and having 
boyfriends and then all of a sudden, you’re out of school. You have a real job, you’re paying your 
own bills and it’s time to balance the fun time with the work time. I love being here. I love what 
I’m doing. I love working for Brian and I’ve learned so much from him. And yet I almost blew it. 
Over a guy.” She shook her head and Moody looked confused.

“Your boyfriend got you in trouble?”

She gave him a skeletal explanation. He nodded when she finished. “Well?” she prompted him. 
“You have an opinion about everything. What do you think?”

“I think Brian doesn’t have the right to tell you who you can and cannot date.”

“See here’s his point, Moody. He thinks he does, and he thinks he has good reason for doing so, 
and whether he’s right or wrong, he’s my boss and I deliberately disobeyed an order. If I had 
guts, I would have said that I’m going to date him anyway and I’ll resign if you want me to. But 
no. I snuck around behind his back.”

“Okay, that’s true, I guess. But he forgave you? You gave up the boyfriend?”

“No. He made peace with Brian, Bellamy did. That’s the other thing that bugs me. I let him fix 
things. It should have been me. Brian must have zero respect for me about now and I hate that. 
I think I’m pretty good at what he has me doing. I don’t want to lose my credibility with him.”

A vampire came in and sat down at a nearby table. They could see that he was a vampire by his 
chalky pallor, black cape, slicked back hair and then there was the fangs. “Hey, Chaz,” Moody 
said and the vampire grinned, pried off his fangs, put them in his pocket, and said,

“Hey, Moody. Whassup?” The vampire looked at Daphne and his grin got bigger. Moody 
shrugged.

“Nothing’s up. How goes the vampire tour business?”

“So good it’s killing me. You looking to make a few extra bucks? I could use another guide.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I don’t look much like a vampire.”

The man shrugged. “That’s what makeup’s for. Call me tomorrow.”

“Ok.”

“Vampire tours?” Daphne asked.

Moody smiled at her. “You know, the usual haunted spots of the Quarter and also those places 
made famous by Anne Rice’s books. The vampire tour business is big here. People pay to be 
walked around and shown certain sites and listen to spook stories.”

“You’re a regular little entrepreneur, aren’t you?”

“When it rains, it pours. I had no job, then I got one, then two, maybe three now. Not one of 
which I want.”

“I’d get scared going to haunted places. I get the creeps pretty easily.”

Something distant came into Moody’s expression. “Reality is a lot scarier than spook stories.”

She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “Are you okay?”

He shook it off and forced a smile. “Sure. Walk you home? You really shouldn’t walk the Quarter 
alone at night.”

“What makes me think I’d be safer with you?”

“You wouldn’t be, except I gave you my word and my word is gold.”

“Okay,” they left the vampire sitting there, sipping café au lait, and propping his sore feet up on 
the opposite chair. When they reached the house where Daphne lived above the garage, she 
smiled at him. “Thanks for the escort.”

“Sure,” he leaned down to kiss her in a friendly way, and she felt his thick lashes brush her 
cheek, his soft lips drift towards her mouth, the Ivory soap smell of him filling her senses. His lips 
connected with hers and suddenly she was kissing him back, her hand coming up to nest in his 
thick hair, her body arching slightly against his. He felt slim and taut and young, brimming with 
sexuality and energy. His tongue tasted sweet and knew just how far to push. His hands went to 
her waist, holding lightly, as his cock lengthened against her pelvis, testing the weight of his 
jeans. 

Little sparkles of heat and excitement went off in Daphne and tickled her nervous system from 
top to bottom and back again. And then reality crashed in with a cold shower. “No,” she pushed 
him back, surprised at herself. Confused. He reached for her but she said “No” again, and ran 
inside the gate and up the stairs to the carriage house. When she reached the door, she gasped 
as he pushed her up against it, having followed her with the stealth of a cat. 

“I thought your word was gold!” She chastised him, more angry at her own body than at him. 

“It is, but the rest of me is wood,” he said with a moan, restarting that kiss and deepening it. She 
circled his neck with her arms, sucking in his tongue. She pressed up against him, feeling his 
heat. He was so beautiful, so seductive, so raw and so not in control of his own feelings. The door 
gave way and once inside, they sank to the floor together, cushioned from the wide plank floors 
by a rich oriental rug. 

His hands roamed everywhere, reaching under her blouse and the waistband of her jeans, while 
his tongue kept working her mouth. His dick was a steel cylinder between her thighs. He rolled 
her shirt up, opening the clasp of her front-hooked bra and dropped his face to her breasts. His 
tongue rolled over her nipples and then flicked them like the sensory tongue of a snake, while he 
reached down to rub himself through his jeans. She covered his hand with hers. She could feel 
the length of him and his warmth was already seeping through the denim. 

She opened the buttons of his fly and gripped him, pulling gently, the delicacy of the female 
touch on his cock more nerve wracking than satisfying to Moody. He closed his fist over hers, and 
yanked. “Like this,” he whispered against her mouth. “Hard, fast.”

He let her pull him off, shooting against her naked belly. Then he lowered her jeans and buried 
his face between her legs, using his tongue and his soft, persistent lips to take her to a new 
plateau of pleasure. By the time she came with a loud cry of release, he was ready again. He 
kicked off his jeans, and pulled off his shirt, before he snapped a condom in place. He lifted her 
legs around his waist so he could penetrate. Daphne watched his beautiful face in the warm 
distant glow of the Chinese urn lamp on the table in the hallway as she met his lunges with a 
welcoming grind of her pelvis. He was stroking her just where it mattered, inside and out. By the 
time he ejaculated, she had gotten off twice more. 

Moody collapsed beside her, not wanting to burden her with his weight. They both stared up at 
the ceiling and didn’t speak. She looked over at him, wondering what the fuck she had done. He 
met her stare and smiled. What a smile he had. It was a registered weapon. “That was ace,” he 
grinned and she shook her head as she returned her gaze to the ceiling. 

“That was a disaster.”

“Really? Is this?” He leaned over her, barely contacting the hard tip of her nipple with the soft tip 
of his tongue. She squirmed in response. “Is this?” He let his tongue drift to her belly, tracking 
the middle, before diving into her belly button. “How about this?” He followed the landing strip 
down to the center of her universe and Daphne gasped and raised her hips as he began teasing 
over-sensitized flesh with ever smaller, ever firmer concentric circles traced by a tongue from 
hell. She closed her eyes and reached down to grip his head in both hands. “Don’t you dare 
stop,” she said with a groan. He didn’t. 

*************************************

Breakfast at the B&B was a noisy affair, until Jane restored order. She convinced the owners and 
the children that everyone would be happier if the kids had their own table on the sun porch 
where she would supervise their meal. 

“Give her a raise,” Brian leaned over to say to Boyd. His lover laughed. Brian wasn’t much of a 
morning person and was even less a morning person with children. 

“What are you going to do today, Lindsay?” Boyd asked with a cordial smile. Her sigh was 
dramatic. 

“I really don’t know, Boyd. What is there to do here?” She let her gaze drift to Brian who shook 
his head. 

“Don’t look at me. I’m taking Gus out on the boat with Bo and Homer. We’re hoping to see a 
‘gator or two.”

She bolted to her feet in horror and Brian chuckled. “Sit down. We’re fishing, Lindsay, fishing. For 
fish. He’ll be fine.”

“You’re fishing?”

Brian shrugged. “I plan to get a little color. Relax. The guys can show Gus how to fish. I’ll show 
him how to piss off the side of the boat, it’s a bonding ritual.”

Boyd laughed. “I wish I could go. Damned job.”

“We’re taking your tackle instead of you.”

“I thought you had to go into town to work on your ad campaign?”

“I am. This afternoon. It will be too hot on the bayou by then anyway. But first I want to spend 
some time with the kid.”

“Of course,” Boyd leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Have fun. Don’t fall in. Call me later. I’m going 
to round up the kids and drop them at school.”

“Is there ever a fall here?” Brian called after him and Boyd looked over his shoulder to answer,

“This is it. It’s five degrees cooler. Bundle up.”

When they were alone, Lindsay frowned across the table at Brian, who ignored her mood. “I don’t 
know if I like the thought of Gus going out on that swamp.”

“He does. It’ll be fun for him. He’ll wear a life jacket the whole time, Lindsay. I’m not an idiot, 
and Bo and Homer are more responsible than any two people I’ve ever met.”

“What if you do see an alligator?”

“Baby needs a new pair of shoes,” Brian said with a smirk. 

She glared at him. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Lindsay, I don’t know. This is supposed to be time for Gus and me, right? Entertain yourself. 
Lock yourself up in your room and read a book or ponder your future with your succubus. Look 
up self-lesbian-divorce online. Figure it out. Now I’m going to go get dressed. Have a nice day.”

She watched him head upstairs in his robe. Nice day, indeed. Easy for him to say. She slumped 
back in her chair, picking at her lemon ricotta pancakes as she reflected on what she viewed as 
his rudeness.

“Shall I get Gus dressed for his fishing expedition?” Jane intervened, holding onto Gus’s hand. 
Lindsay nodded. “Fine,” Jane responded. “I have some lovely insect repellant with SPF to protect 
him from both the sun and the bugs. Come on, Gus, let’s get you ready to catch big fish with 
your Daddy.”

He grinned at that and Jane said to Lindsay as they walked on, “If you’d like some company, 
there are some beautiful ante-bellum mansions in the area open to visitors, Lindsay. Maybe we 
could drop in on a couple of them.”

“I’d love that!” Lindsay said with a smile, her mood elevated instantly by the invitation. Jane 
nodded, well aware that being the perfect nanny meant keeping the parents happy, too. 

******************************

Moody awoke on a mattress topped with a cushy featherbed. His body was covered in soft linen 
sheets trimmed in lace, while a white wicker ceiling fan stirred the air above him. Coffee was 
percolating in the distance and the sun filtered in through gauzy window treatments. It was a 
beautiful room with fresh flowers in a vase on the bedside table. He never wanted to get up. 
Until,

“You have to leave!”

Her voice cut through his butter with a warm knife. Shit. He squinted at her, sitting up so that 
the sheets fell down to reveal his smooth torso. “Why?” She looked cute in her little red dress 
and little red shoes with some red clips holding her hair back. She was cute. She was more than 
cute. “Come here, my little chili pepper.”

She rolled her eyes. “Moody, get up. I have to go to work, therefore you have to leave.”

“But I smell coffee.”

“I’ll put some in a go cup for you. You can keep it.”

His smile turned warmer. “I had a great time last night, Daphne.”

“It was a huge mistake. A horrible mistake. A weak moment. A stupid ass thing to do. It will 
never happen again.”

He sat up on the side of the bed and reached for her. At first she resisted, but then she just 
stared at him as his hand moved up the back of her bare thigh, under her skirt, and a fingertip 
crept under the elastic of her panty leg. “Let me at least start your day off right. Then I’ll go.”

“Did you hear what I just said about disaster, Moody?”

Her brain was telling her to be firm, but other body parts seemed to have a separate memory of 
how hot he was last night, how he made her come and come and come like no man ever in her 
entire life, and no mechanical device, either. He was demonic. He was evil. He was…incredible. 
He let that finger follow the elastic to the crotch and then he did a slight turn with it and began to 
gently but firmly remind her again of what he had done before. Daphne stood there, her toes 
curling inward in her red sandals, her eyes closing and one hand resting on his bare shoulder as 
he delicately flicked her into a standing orgasm. He withdrew his finger and grinned at her, 
rubbing her moisture across his erection. 

“Can’t you be a little late one morning?” he pleaded with that smile in place and she sighed, 
trying not to look at the thick, swollen missile he had pointed at her target. 

“Did you hear what I said about my being on thin ice with Brian?”

“This is something Brian would dig,” he reassured her as he lowered her panties and then 
reached for his last condom before lowering her onto his lap. 

“Fuck it,” Daphne thought to herself. This was the last time, anyway. May as well get the full 
benefit out of blowing him off, so to speak. Anyway, he was so…so….something! She felt him slip 
between her thighs and the rest of her day’s challenges paled in the persistent rhythm between 
her legs. 

Current Mood:  hot

November 8th, 2005
 
05:18 am - BURN, Chapter 43
I'm not sure if Big B meant for me to POST or just edit, but I'm assuming POST and it looks good 
to me, so here it is. Enjoy! Ran

**********************************



Brian’s skin was coated with insect repellant and sweat. He leaned back, bare-chested, letting the 
sun bake his exposed flesh. He wore shorts so his legs would brown, and just enough block to 
avoid the worst ravages of skin cancer. Bo and Homer both wore what Brian thought of as old 
man’s fishing gear: floppy cloth hats, long sleeved plaid shirts and khaki work pants. Gus was 
pretty much an orange life vest with legs. But he was having a wonderful time with the two older 
gentlemen, and Brian was surprised by how much he enjoyed watching his son fish. Almost as 
much as he enjoyed the sinful pleasure of a cold beer this early in the day.

The bayou was lazy, the olive green surface of the water occasionally rippled by a critter living 
beneath the water line. Dragonflies and less elegant bugs buzzed by and the sun warmed reptiles 
that banked in the mud to absorb the heat. “Don’t like the looks of that sky,” Homer said, 
drawing Bo’s attention to a urine yellow band of color on the distant horizon. “Yellow mean 
hurricanes.”

Brian had learned that the people of this area tracked hurricanes with great interest. Growing up 
in Pittsburgh, hurricanes were something foreign and exotic that happened in sunny climes. 
There was no danger of his home being flooded or blown apart by this twist of nature. Not so 
with these people. They lived in uneasy peace with the gods of storm. “Should we go back?” he 
cast a nervous look at Gus who was holding up a worm from the bait bucket, watching it curl 
around his finger. 

Bo chuckled. “Son, we have a ‘cane in our future, it has to start somewhere. Last I heard there 
was nothing bigger than a tropical storm out there in the islands. They come over from Africa, 
and we have plenty of warning when they plan to give us a visit.”

“Not that people listen,” Homer said with a shake of his head. “Stubborn coon ass bayou people.”

“Listen to you. How many ‘canes you rode out, old man?” Bo nailed him.

“As many as you. But I told Madam, next time, we leave. Tired of sitting there in the heat and 
dark, watching the waters rise. Boy, you give me that worm and your hook. I done told you that 
you can’t put it on there your own self. You’ll cut your finger for certain. Come on over here.”

Gus reluctantly let Homer bait his hook and then turned to his father. “Hurt the worm, Daddy?”

“Getting a hook stabbed through it? What do you think?”

Bo frowned. “Stop that, Brian. Gus, worms don’t have much of a brain, not like you do in your 
head. They only have a little speck of a brain and so they don’t have the ability to feel pain the 
way people do. They don’t know how to do much other than eat dirt and die in the sun.”

Gus took that in and then went back to Homer and let the man help him cast his line. Bo turned 
to Brian. “You have a mean streak.”

“You just now noticed that? Any news on your mutant search?”

“Nothing I haven’t told you.”

“How’s old man Coulter, Homer? Boyd is sick of the plant.”

“Doctors say he’s making some progress but he sure seem sick to me. Weak as a pup, none of 
his old fire. Taking some time. It’s nice that Boyd picked up the problems at the plant. Take a 
load off the old man’s mind.”

“Yeah and puts the load on Boyd. He’s not staying here long term, Homer. They need to find 
another solution.”

“Brian, that’s the family’s business, not mine. I don’t mix in with that kind of thing.”

“Pee, Daddy.” Gus suddenly announced. Brian sighed.

“Again? You just did.” Gus seemed to find the game of arching a stream of urine over the side of 
the boat to be great fun. Brian wryly thought that he liked having his hand on his dick as much 
as his old man liked having his own hand on his own dick, only Gus hadn’t yet figured out the 
best stuff to do with it. 

Gus nodded at his question. Brian motioned him over and took a firm grip on the back of his life 
jacket as his son stood close to the edge. No sudden wave or disturbance or loss of footing was 
going to pull his son over the side with Brian’s firm grip. Brian quipped, “Some fish may see that 
thing and think it’s a worm and jump up and bite it, Gus.”

His son gave him a horrified look as Bo and Homer chuckled. Gus quickly finished the job and 
returned his “worm” to cover, glaring at his father as he went back to his line. “You’re mean,” he 
grumbled and Brian laughed.

“Just looking out for you. For the continuation of the family line.”

“Lookee there, Gus,” Homer distracted him. “See that movement in the water? Like a big letter 
‘s’?”

Gus watched the water break and nodded.

“That’s a snake. A water moccasin. They bite you, you get really sick, even die. Never touch a 
snake that swims in the water.”

“Or that doesn’t, for that matter,” Brian added. “Unless of course we’re talking about the elusive 
one-eyed trouser snake.”

“You’re in rare form today,” Bo said with a laugh and Brian shrugged, focusing on the distant hulk 
of an offshore oil rig. 

“Do people live on that thing?”

“Live and work. Boats bring ‘em to shore, take ‘em back out, every once in awhile. Like that SOB 
that was Boyd’s father in law. He worked the rigs until alcohol sidelined him.”

Brian looked surprised by that. “He got canned for alcoholism?”

“You can’t be drunk and work on heavy machinery.”

“Does Boyd know that he was fired?”

“Suspect so. The man claimed some injury caused him to drink and he got a crooked lawyer from 
Lafayette and sued the oil company. Ended up settling it and lives on disability from them. He’s 
one of those.”

“Useless waste of flesh,” Homer agreed. “That whole clan. Now he thinks he can go up against 
the Coulters and get Boyd’s kids from him? That’s almost funny if it wasn’t so hard for Boyd. It’s 
all about the money with him. He don’t want those youngun’s. He wants some cash.”

“What about the gay factor?” Brian pressed and Bo smiled at him.

“Some of us ain’t completely backward on that point, Brian. Look at the choices. Some alcoholic, 
useless old coon ass or you and Boyd? Where would you put those kids? It’s a shakedown, pure 
and plain. Boyd hired that fancy lawyer from New Orleans and the blow back has begun. It may 
cost him some to defend it, but he’ll make the old boy bleed. I hope he doesn’t pay him a thin 
dime. Extortion is extortion and those kids have been through enough.”

“I second that.”

“Daddy! I got sumpin’!” Gus shouted as his float bobbed in the water. Homer and Bo both helped 
him reel it in, and pulled a speckled, pinkish fish out of the water. It was about the size of Gus’s 
forearm. Gus squealed with pleasure and Brian nodded proudly.

“The one nibble of the day goes to the Kinneys.”

“It’s a red snapper, boy,” Bo said as he pried the hook out of its mouth. “Good eating. But this is 
a young one, Gus. Not fully grown. I say we throw him back in and let him live his life and get 
big. What do you say?”

“Can I bring him home and put him in a bowl?”

The men laughed. “No, son,” Homer told him. “These are wild fish. They need to live in the 
bayou. Here,” he handed him the freed, flapping fish. “Throw him back.”

Gus seemed to hesitate for a second, holding his slippery trophy long enough for Brian to take a 
photo with his camera phone and then he threw the snapper back into the bayou and it 
disappeared beneath the murk. “With that, can we go back? I have work to do and it’s close to 
lunch time for the munchkin.”

“No!” Gus protested, but the vote was in and Homer fired the engine and started back to the 
bank. Gus meandered over to his father to see the picture on the phone and grinned at the sight 
of him holding his fish. 

“So this is what you fellows do out here?” Brian asked. “Drink beer, throw a line in the water, 
shoot the shit and go back empty handed?”

“Have a problem with that?” Bo asked and Brian smiled.

“Not something I’d want to do every day, or week, or month, but no, I guess not. It was nice, in 
a male ritualistic bonding kind of way.” He closed his arm around his son and snuffled his soft 
hair, hoping he wasn’t giving away too much of the simple pleasure he derived from being in this 
company. 

********************************

On the drive back to town, Brian called and told Lindsay and Jane they could continue their tour, 
and that he would care for Gus. Boyd met them at the diner for lunch, leaning over to kiss Gus 
on the forehead, and giving Brian’s shoulder a squeeze before he slid into the other side of the 
booth. Orders were placed and he listened to their adventure and admired the photo of Gus with 
the fish. When Brian shared what Bo and Homer told him about his father in law, Boyd nodded.

“I know that, Brian. He’s a scumbag. His disability was a well-known scam. He stops drinking 
every once in awhile, goes to the meetings, but he always falls back on the bottle. He’s damaged 
goods.”

“Then what is there to worry about with the kids?”

“Probably nothing, but it’s still a hassle I don’t want them to go through. My attorney is filing a 
ton of discovery requests that will make him spend some bucks on his lawyer, just to respond, 
and we’re also filing a dispositive motion after we put them through that ordeal.”

“What’s a dispositive motion?”

“A motion that if granted would dismiss the case in its entirety.”

Brian slid his foot over and up Boyd’s shin, under the table. “I love it when you do that butch 
lawyer thing.”

Boyd grinned at him. “I am a butch lawyer. So why aren’t you going to New Orleans?”

“I decided that I’m the boss and they can meet me here. That way I can spend more time with 
him, and frankly I don’t want to make that turnaround drive.”

“Good plan.”

“Can you come over to the B&B later? Take a break? Gus takes a nap in the late afternoon.”

Boyd sighed. “I wish. I have a meeting with those outside auditors to go over the audit plan. 
That’ll take awhile.”

“Boring.”

“Tell me about it.”

The food arrived; popcorn shrimp for Gus and shrimp scampi with spinach fettuccine for the 
adults. Brian’s mobile rang and he grimaced and answered. Moody’s voice. He said,

“Someone vandalized your house. I came by to clean the pool and someone wrote ‘burn in hell 
queers’ with red paint on the front door.”

Brian sighed as he glanced at his lover, and then at Gus, who was happily dipping a ball of 
shrimp into a pool of ketchup. “Thanks, Moody. I’ll handle it.”

“Sorry. What an asshole.”

“I know. Once the alarms are installed, it won’t be so easy for that to happen.”

He hung up and called Frank. He explained the situation, told him to pressure the alarm company 
to speed up the installation and instructed him to get the door re-painted. Boyd looked grim.

“Why can’t they just leave us alone? Who are we hurting?”

“Do you think your father in law could be behind any of this? Trying to make it look as if you’re 
placing your kids in danger?”

“I don’t think he’s that clever.”

Brian reached across the table and touched Boyd’s face, spreading his long fingers along his 
cheek. “I love you and nothing they say or do can change that.”

Boyd covered his hand with his own as he responded, “That was an incredibly direct and 
wonderful thing to say, Brian. I love you, too, and I feel the same way.”

Brian smiled and withdrew, glancing at Gus, who was completely uninterested in their exchange, 
although a few other diners noticed it and whispered. “Sometimes it has to be said just like that. 
Straight up.”

Boyd nodded. “Straight up.”

Suddenly the horror of the hate seemed unimportant. They weren’t alone in this struggle. They 
had friends, they had protectors, but most of all, they had each other. Everything else was 
outside the perimeter, and that was where they intended to keep it.
********************************

On the way to Canard Rouge, Ted couldn’t help but notice how quiet Daphne was. Usually, he 
couldn’t shut her up. Today, she wouldn’t say anything. “Is something bothering you?” he finally 
asked and she sighed.

“Nothing we can talk about.”

“Okay,” he was relieved. He didn’t want to be her Dear Abby, but he felt like he had to ask. She 
skipped a beat and then,

“Ted, have you ever dated one guy and you really like him and find him fascinating and you risk 
a lot just to go out with him, and yet he tells you he never wants to settle down and that he’s not 
a one-girl kind of guy, and then you meet someone completely inappropriate and have wild sex 
with him?”

Ted rolled his eyes. “Yes, Daphne, in my wildest fantasies that happens all the time. In reality? 
I’m lucky to have one guy at a time. What are you telling me?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not fair.”

She pressed both fists to her forehead as if she could shove the memory of last night and this 
morning out of her brain. “I am such an idiot and a total slut!”

He laughed. “Never thought of you as the slutty type.”

“I am. Believe me, I am. I’m going out with this gorgeous, brilliant, rich, ambitious man, who 
hasn’t yet tried to bed me, by the way, and then this street urchin comes along and BAM! We’re 
all over each other. All night. And even this morning.”

“This morning? Street urchin? Where did you meet this stud?”

She wrinkled her nose. “You so don’t want to know.”

“I’m fascinated. This is very much like homo behavior, not cute, nice girl behavior.”

She glared at him. “You think fags have a lock on making one night mistakes?”

“Guess not, huh? So what’s the problem? You haven’t pledged fidelity to the first guy, right? 
You’re a free agent.”

“I know, but…I like him. A lot. And this was just dumb.”

“Give yourself a break, Daphne. You’re young and pretty and single. You’re entitled to your fun. 
You were safe, right?”

She grimaced again. “Shut UP, Ted! I’m not that stupid. He knows Brian.”

“Who does?”

“Well, both of them, really. But this guy, The Mistake, knows him. He’s bisexual. I think he hit on 
him but you know how Brian is now. He’s being good.”

“Isn’t that the most amazing thing? How do you know about this?”

“He told me. When we took a breath.”

“Ok, look. If there’s a living, breathing queer or bisexual in the Quarter, and he crosses paths 
with Brian Kinney, chances are he’ll hit on Brian. That’s Brian’s power over queers. So what? 
Brian didn’t tumble.”

“It’s just too close. I’m on shaky ground with Brian. I don’t want to totally lose his respect.”

Ted laughed. “Daphne, if Brian disrespects you for having a night of hot sex with one of his 
rejects, he’s turned into the biggest hypocrite on record.”

“But if I screw things up with the first guy, who is powerful in this town and who Brian didn’t 
want me to date because of that, and he gets punitive towards Brian in retaliation, then I just 
proved up his case about why I shouldn’t have gone out with him to begin with.”

“Whoa. You’re not planning to tell guy number one about hot sex night, are you?”

She shrugged. “Not really but…I’m not much of a liar. If he asks me something, you know, I 
don’t know, Ted. It could come out.”

“Dating a bisexual man is usually a bad bet, Daph. If they like dick a little, they like dick a lot. 
Most bi men I’ve known go back to dick.”

“I’m not dating him! Gaw! It was a one night thing!”

Her mobile rang and she retrieved it from its ornate case and said, “Yes?” She was clearly 
annoyed. With herself. Moody said,

“Where are you?”

She tried not to, but a smile escaped. This was a voice she didn’t expect. “In a car with Ted on 
my way to meet with Brian.”

“I just talked to Brian.”

“About?”

“Business.”

“You didn’t…”

He laughed. “What am I? Twelve? I don’t need to brag, Daphne. Not his business what we do.”

“Why are you calling me?”

He hesitated. “I…I dunno.”

“When you figure it out, let me know.” She ended the call with a scowl and a moment later, it 
rang again.

“I figured it out,” he said.

“And?”

“I want to see you tonight.”

“I have a date.”

“With tall, dark and handsome?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “Okay, then. Have fun.”

“Moody?”

“Yeah?”

“Call me later.”

She could see his killer smile across the great wireless expanse as he responded, “I will.”

Ted shook his head as she returned the phone to her purse. “You’re playing with matches, little 
girl.”

She slumped down in the seat, staring straight ahead, wondering if she was the one who would 
get burned. 

Current Mood:  amused

November 13th, 2005
 
02:32 pm - BURN, Chapter 44
Ok, Burniacs, time to free your minds and take a big step into the unseen. HA! Brian

***************************


Gus was napping. Jon and Peter were out grocery shopping. Lindsay and Jane were on their way 
back to Canard Rouge. So Brian, Ted and Daphne were able to meet with little intrusion. They 
took over the dining room and Brian went over the advertising schedule Daphne came up with 
along with her media placement suggestions, and made some edits. She had done her 
homework. He was pleased with her work product.

“So, did you reschedule my meeting with the ad agency?”

“Yes, just as you wanted.”

“Ted, we need a temporary office. Short term lease. It’s too chaotic at the work site. Can you 
find a place in the Quarter? Doesn’t have to be fancy, or large. Just somewhere you guys can go 
in and use as a central meeting point and I can use it when I’m in town. Will you find that?”

“Sure, Brian.”

“Daphne, you set up that dinner with the Councilman, his mother, you, and Boyd and me. 
Somewhere nice. Let the Councilman suggest a place. It’s his town.”

She nodded, looking down as she took her time to make a note in her daytimer, not wanting to 
meet his eyes. Of course, Brian’s intuition kicked in and he said, “Is there something wrong?”

“What could be wrong?”

Ted hid a laugh with a cough and Daphne shot him a castrating glare. Brian caught it. “Okay, 
what’s going on? Have you already fucked this thing up?”

“How could I fuck it up?”

“If you answer my question with a question again, I’m going to fuck you up. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Brian! Gaw! I’ll set it up, okay?”

“I warned you….”

“Brian, nothing’s wrong!”

He shook his head and moved on to another subject. When the front door opened, they all turned 
in that direction. Boyd walked in and his smile faded slightly as he saw Brian’s company. He 
threw his jacket on an empty chair and leaned over to kiss Brian on the lips. 

“I took a break, after all, but I see that you’re busy. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Three, two, one…” Ted counted under his breath, causing Daphne to giggle as Brian said, 

“We’re at a good stopping point. Why don’t you guys wander over to the diner and get some 
coffee or something? Just take a breather? We can pick it up in an hour.”

“Only too happy to oblige, guys,” Ted said with a grin. “Shall we, Daphne?”

They left and Brian grabbed Boyd in a tight embrace as Boyd chuckled, “That was smooth. If I 
were a good partner, I would’ve insisted that you go on with your meeting and that I would talk 
to you later.”

“If you were a good partner, you’d put your hand down the front of my jeans.”

They kissed as Boyd’s hand slipped inside the front of Brian’s waistband. He dove for his cock. 
Just as his hand closed over it, Lindsay and Jane came in. Boyd reluctantly withdrew. Brian 
moaned and rested his forehead against Boyd’s, as Jane said,

“So very sorry to intrude. I’ll just go check on Gus and then do a little reading until it’s time to 
pick up the other children at school.” She disappeared upstairs as Lindsay glared at them.

“Some things never change with you, Brian.”

“Isn’t that comforting? Come on, Boyd,” he took his hand and led him up the stairs, ignoring her 
disgust. In their bedroom, Brian pushed Boyd back on the bed and launched himself on top of 
him. Their legs entwined and hands explored as their tongues thrust and parried. “I’ve missed 
you,” Brian gasped and Boyd smiled as he skinned off Brian’s shirt. 

“I know. It’s been…well…hours.”

“Seems longer,” Brian loosened his lover’s tie and pulled it over his head still knotted, then 
unbuttoned his shirt. “Seems much longer.”
When they were naked, they curved their long, lean bodies in a yin and yang position, so that 
both cocks could be sucked at once. They timed it for a mutual orgasm, the explosions occurring 
within seconds of each other. They returned to a head to head position, huddled in a soothing 
embrace as they both waited for the undulations of pleasure to subside completely. 

“Tell me it wasn’t some hot auditor who heated you up,” Brian teased. Boyd laughed at that. 

“If only you had seen these guys. I’m sure they’re brilliant accountants, but…they’re definitely 
accountants.”

“I did a CPA once who looked like a young Roger Moore. It happens.”

“Not often.”

“This is true.” Brian kissed him, stroked a hand down Boyd’s laterals and said, “How long do you 
have?”

“Time for one more, but that’s it.”

“Works for me,” Brian moved over him, filling his hands with Boyd’s flesh as the embers stoked 
again. 

Later, watching Boyd dress after a shared shower, Brian dreaded having to leave this comfortable 
bed and the delightful feeling of pleasurable exhaustion to rejoin his comrades and talk business. 
He could use a nap. He just felt too good to move. Boyd grinned at him. “You just going to stay 
in bed, you big, lazy mick?”

“I’m considering it. Maybe I’ll have Daphne and Ted come up here and I’ll conduct the meeting 
from this bed.”

“There’s a thought. A bad one. Thanks for making the rest of my day more bearable, anyway.”

“Will you be late?”

“A little. I have to stop by and meet with that lawyer who’s taking over my practice. We’re trying 
to transition the files with as little pain as possible. But I’ll be around for dinner.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t let Jane forget Belle’s soccer practice.”

“Do you think Jane would ever forget anything?”

“Excellent point,” Boyd glanced in the mirror, adjusted his tie, and then walked over to kiss Brian 
one last time. “You look so hot lying there like that. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Brian whispered, spreading his fingers on Boyd’s cheek. “You love me.”

“This is very true,” Boyd smoothed Brian’s damp hair with his hand and then reluctantly backed 
away. “But I have to go.”

“Sure, just use me as your bitch and then leave me here, alone, in this seedy hotel.”

“Another of your fantasies hits the daylight,” Boyd laughed, then paused in the doorway. “And 
never forget which one of us is the bitch, bucko.”

Brian laughed as Boyd winked and closed the door behind him. 

*******************************

Daphne and Ted gave Brian a knowing smile when he came downstairs a few minutes after Boyd 
went out. His hair was slill damp from his shower, and he pulled on a wifebeater with his jeans. 
His feet were bare. He looked relaxed, even languid. He slumped in a chair, ignoring their 
voyeuristic expressions. Daphne suddenly blurted, “How important do you think sex is to a 
relationship?”

Brian and Ted telegraphed a look to each other and then Brian said, “To our tribe or to your 
people?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Two dicks versus one. When you double the dicks in the quotient, the sex factor goes up 
exponentially. Testosterone is the hormone that makes animals fuck. Even women get horny due 
to the testosterone hormone in their bodies. They’ve found that treating frigid women with 
testosterone increased their sex drive dramatically. So when you have two testosterone factories 
at work, sex is a very important part of the relationship. Why?”

She shook her head, sorry she said anything. Ted let her have that one, figuring she already had 
enough trouble with Brian. When his mobile rang, he was pleased that it was Frank calling. But 
after a warm greeting, Frank asked for Brian. Ted reluctantly handed him the phone. 

“I tried your cell number, Brian, but got no answer.”

“Sorry, I left it upstairs, I guess. What’s up?”

“What do you want your security code to be? The number you enter to activate or de-activate 
your alarm? And what do you want your code word to be if you have to talk to the company in 
the event of a false alarm?”

Brian walked away from the table, not wanting to share his choices even with his friends, 
although he ignored the fact that Frank was filtering that information. “Use one double-0 seven 
as the code. That’s my birthday, day first, then month, and also James Bond, so it’s easy to 
remember. And for the code word, how about ‘asleep’?”

“Asleep?”

“It’s a little joke between Boyd and me. We’ll both remember it.”

“You got it. The alarm will be working by this evening. Who should the emergency contact be?”

Brian gave him Lisette’s information. “Did you get that door painted?”

“Dora sent someone over. It’s done.”

“Thanks, Frank,” he returned to the table. “Here’s Theodore.”

Ted took it with a smile. Daphne said to Brian, “I haven’t heard back from Lady Pearl, yet, but so 
far next Friday is good. Bellamy is making a reservation. Eight?”

Brian nodded. “Fine.”

“What are you up to with this dinner, Brian?”

“Why am I up to something?”

“Please. Like I don’t know you.”

“Nothing evil,” he said with a smile. “Nothing evil whatsoever.”

**********************************


Bellamy had been in a foul mood all day. His staff knew to cut him a wide swath when he was 
visiting his dark side. And his dark side always descended after he had one of what he 
euphemistically called his “dreams”. But he was always awake when a vision hit him, and he 
knew exactly what it meant. It meant he was cursed. He thought about canceling his date with 
Daphne that evening, but decided not to do so. After all, he had the rest of the day to get past 
this and improve his mood. Plus the fact Daphne was a pleasant diversion, able to make him 
laugh and forget himself, at least for the time he was with her. 

Daphne. When did he move on her? So far, he was taking it slowly, the cat playing the mouse. 
But he wanted her and he wanted the moment to be right. Did she want the same? He thought 
so. Maybe tonight. But first he had to shake this mood. At lunch, he took the ferry to Algiers. A 
few tourists and even less locals were on board the modern sea craft that periodically made the 
trip from the Quarter across the muddy Mississippi to the islet known as Algiers Landing.

The elaborate Mardi Gras floats were constructed and stored in huge warehouses here. A 
smattering of other businesses and a few governmental buildings provided a handful of jobs. But 
most of Algiers was low cost housing, shotgun shacks, dilapidated housing projects, unpaved 
roads, unfunded schools and black people with little or no prospect of improving their lives. Drugs 
were a common commodity of trade in Algiers, and that meant that the usual turf battles claimed 
lives every day. No one in New Orleans much cared. Better to keep that kind of thing localized 
and on the other side of the river. 

Bellamy walked from the terminal, down an asphalt road that gave way to dirt, past a two story 
timbered hotel that he knew was really a whorehouse, and more than likely, a huge Petri dish for 
STD’s. When he was fifteen, he and a couple friends got their cherries popped in that house. 
Back then it wasn’t quite so disreputable, and they were careful to deploy condoms, terrified of 
the big, bad AIDS virus. He couldn’t imagine going to such a place now. Even then, he dreaded 
it, but didn’t want to lose face with his friends. 

He left his jacket and tie at the office, but his trousers, shirt, belt and shoes were enough 
evidence that he was a man of substance. Out of place in this desperate community. A gang of 
sullen teenagers stopped their game of basketball on a warped tarmac. They were shooting into a 
rusted iron hoop with a chain metal net as they paused to watch him. Peripherally, he sensed 
their attention, but he wasn’t afraid of them.

“He got a gold watch, dawg,” a youthful voice complained to his friends, explaining why Bellamy 
was a target. 

“No way, son, he be one of them.”

Bellamy paused, lowered his sunglasses and leveled a cold stare at the group. His gray-green 
eyes sent a silent warning. The boys shrank back. They lived close to the old ways in this insular 
community. They were raised with the legends and they knew enough to fear the Papa-doc, the 
one-in-seven man, the man from the bayou by way of the islands. The man who could shrivel 
your dick or make it impossible for you to eat or drink by leaving a simple bag of dirt and some 
chicken feathers at your crib. The man who could make boils and sores bubble up on your skin 
and sizzle like acid by blowing cigar smoke into your face. The man with a hidden power that 
went beyond guns and knives and needles. They feared these island men and women more than 
they feared the police or rival gangs, and so Bellamy passed unmolested among them.

He walked up to a ramshackle house at the end of a cove. As he approached it, warnings began 
to appear. A line of stones were placed in the road, several yards in front of the house, with a 
series of graffiti warnings about not going any farther. Juju dolls and gris gris bags littered trees 
and Christian crosses offered another form of protection. On the front porch of the shack, that 
listed to the left, were a series of stacked cages holding white chickens. A beaded flag was tacked 
onto the door. In the Quarter, these voodoo flags would bring several hundred dollars. This was 
an authentic relic from Haiti. But it was safe. No one had the nerve to steal the flag from this 
house. 

Bellamy sighed as he climbed the steps to the porch. Like so many similar structures in this land 
of floods and high water, the house was built on stilts, so the climb was significant. Before he 
could knock, the door opened. Once again he asked himself if the “power” was so strong and so 
beneficial, why then did so many who had it live in abject poverty? Why not use the power to 
achieve wealth and position? The only answer he ever got to that inquiry was that the ones who 
had it valued other things over wealth. He was never clear what that was. They all talked in 
circles, spoke in implications instead of clear directives. They left so much to the fertile 
imagination of their audience. 

A big, bare-chested man, close to Bellamy’s age, and wearing the fragile bone structure of 
Haitians combined with his bulk blocked the doorway. He wore only a pair of Nike warm up pants. 
A series of necklaces, each bearing a specific charm, gleamed against his muscular chest. “Well, 
if it ain’t the governor,” he said with a laugh. Bellamy glared at him.

“I’m here to see Maman, Antoine.”

“I know why you’re here, guv’nor. I knew you was coming. You ain’t got nothin’ over me, my 
man.”

Bellamy wasn’t here to compare dick sizes with this cretin. “Is she here?”

“You got the price of admission?”

“Antoine, zou!” A soft, French accented voice came from within. She was telling him to go away. 
The big man’s bluff was called and he didn’t argue with her. He knew better. He stepped aside, 
and Bellamy walked in. “Donnez-moi ma lait,” she instructed Antoine to fetch her milk and he 
skulked out of the room as Bellamy’s eyes adjusted to the dim light. The house was shotgun 
style, meaning each room led to the next with no hallway connecting them. This front room was 
packed with furniture people had given in tribute, some old, some new, the central item a flat 
screen television that was broadcasting a soap opera. She had muted the sound. Religious icons 
and other less recognizable symbols crowded every surface and the sweet smell of Cuban 
tobacco perfumed the atmosphere.

She was a tiny old woman with brittle silver hair, and thin ebony skin pulled taut over fine bones. 
Her white linen skirt and shirt hung on her body, two sizes too large, and the cigar she puffed 
was as long as her hand. Her feet were bare and propped up on a stool. She stared at him with 
eyes turned pale gray from cataracts. “Bonjour, Bellamy.”

“Bonjour, Maman.”

“Asseyez-vous,” she motioned for him to sit. He did so. 

“You’re worried?” Her English was perfect, but still bore the accent.

“Yes.”

“How is your mother?”

He shrugged. “Bien.”

“She hasn’t come to see me in a few weeks, now. I worry.”

“I’ll tell her. Maman, I want to block the dreams.”

“What do you dream?” She took the milk from Antoine and then motioned him away. He glared 
at Bellamy as he went. She offered no refreshment to her visitor and he expected nothing. 

“I dream of fire.”

“Fire. Cleansing fire? Fire of the spirit? Fire of passion? Fire of destruction?”

“How does one know? It feels destructive.”

“And who has it burned, this fire?”

“I don’t know.”

“Seems you need to clarify this vision, not banish it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Pussy, afraid of a little smoke,” Antoine had lingered near the door. Bellamy turned and threw a 
glare his way. Antoine felt something thick suddenly grow in his throat, stopping his ability to 
speak and impeding his ability to breathe. He grasped his neck with both hands, his eyes bulging 
as the old woman placed a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder and said,

“Arretez! Stop!”

Bellamy inhaled, leaned back, relaxed and Antoine hauled in a deep breath and staggered outside 
to the porch, muttering an insult at Bellamy as he went. The old woman glared at Bellamy 
through her foggy eyes. “You don’t toy with your brother.”

“He’s no brother of mine.”

“We’re all the same blood, all of us. Papa-doc, you have the power of the generations in you, the 
one generation in seven man, that’s you. No one can overcome that power, not even me. In the 
one in seven man, the power is absolute. The one thing you cannot do is to stop it. You can leave 
it dormant, under a rock, like a snake waiting to strike. You can ignore it until you want it, like 
your whore in a room somewhere, calling on her when you need her. Or you can use it, like it’s 
meant to be used, channel it and do good with it. Or evil, if you choose. But it won’t just 
disappear. It’s in your blood. You’re the one. Clarify your vision, Bellamy. Read the results.”

“I want it to go away. Let Antoine be the one in seven man. I don’t want it.”

“It chooses you, mon cher,” she said with a smile. “You don’t choose it.” She reached in a bag 
and withdrew three ju-ju dolls, their faces made from mud with beads for eyes and mouths, their 
bodies made from sticks, awaiting the cloth of the person intended to be the recipient of the 
magic. “Take them, use them when you clarify your vision.” She then handed him some calico 
bags tied with yarn, containing a combination of ingredients. He knew by the yarn color what 
each was meant to convey. “Gris-gris. Use it. Do your job, Papa-doc. Don’t waste my time with 
your empty wishes.”

When he took the icons from her, they felt natural in his hands, alive, not inanimate, coursing 
with unchanneled power. They were waiting for him to animate them like Dr. Frankenstein with 
his monster. He knew this meeting was over. He leaned down to kiss her bony cheek and left the 
shack. The heat of the day had caused him to sweat through his shirt. Antoine stood against the 
far railing as Bellamy walked out on the porch. He said nothing, his throat still sore. 

Bellamy smiled as he put his sunglasses back in place. He suddenly turned towards Antoine and 
faked a lunge in his direction. Antoine instinctively shrank from him and Bellamy laughed at his 
little joke and left him there. He headed back to the ferry, to his real world, with his pockets full 
of untapped magic. 

Current Mood: indescribable

November 20th, 2005
 
07:08 am - BURN, Chapter 45
LJ finally opened its door again! Big B was trying to post several times last night and could never 
get in. So since it's working this morning, I'm posting for him! Enjoy it. Ran

****************************




“What do you suppose your boss is up to with this dinner of his?” Bellamy asked Daphne as they 
walked from the jazz concert they attended at Preservation Hall to the café, for a late supper. 
They were interrupted several times by people who stopped Bellamy to greet him or even to ask 
for his intervention on a city issue. He was cordial to the ones who merely wanted to say hello. 
He coolly instructed the favor-seekers to contact his office. Daphne kept her hand in the strong 
crook of his arm, feeling invisible to those who sought his attention. She wondered if this was 
how it felt to be a rock star’s girlfriend? 

“He won’t tell me,” she answered his question. “He says ‘nothing evil’.”

“Evil? Strange choice of words.”

“Brian seems to have developed a relationship with your mother, which is odd for him, but Brian 
has developed all kinds of relationships since coming to Louisiana. Before he moved here, it 
seemed everyone in his life was gay. Now he has a lot of straight friends. Bo, your mother, 
Homer, and a new group of Lesbians, too.”

Bellamy smiled. “New Orleans is a blended town in many ways.”

Daphne wondered what it was about Bellamy that made her so nervous. She felt as if he were 
impossibly elusive, here but not here, accessible but unattainable. She was massively attracted 
to him, impressed by him, but she also felt unworthy somehow. He was so far over her in 
experience and maturity, and yet she was drawn to his aloof sophistication. And then there was 
Moody. She winced as she thought of Moody. All hormones, all hands and mouth and dick. 
Beautiful, maddening Moody. What was up with that? How could she be mixed up with two such 
opposite men? He glanced at her. He suddenly stopped walking and placed his hands on her 
shoulders.

“Who is he?”

She looked startled. “Who is who?”

“The other man. The back door man.”

Her eyes grew wide. “What do you mean?”

He placed a fingertip on her lips. “Don’t lie. The one thing you must never do is to lie to me. I’ll 
know if you lie. You owe me no fidelity, Daphne. We’ve exchanged no vows. So who is my rival?”

“Are you following me?”

He laughed. “I don’t follow.”

“Then…”

“There are some things I know. I don’t know why I know, or how I know, but I know. And I know 
a back door man has been in your life.”

“What does that term mean?”

“A down low visitor. A man who enters and leaves through the backdoor. A sexual partner, but 
nothing more.”

Daphne felt her face grow hot and she floated between anger at his inquisitiveness and 
embarrassment over her own behavior. “Do you see other people, Bellamy?”

“I see who I want when I want.”

“Then so do I. And I don’t feel I have to give you any more information than that.”

He smiled and let her go, resuming their walk. “I like you, Daphne. You’re very strong for such a 
young girl. I like strength.”

“Are you jealous?” She just couldn’t figure him out.

“Jealous?” he laughed. “No, jealousy is not my style.”

“Well then why did you ask?”

“Curiosity. Interested to see who draws you.”

“You draw me, for one.”

“Yes, but who else?”

“I like to keep my options open,” she said a Brian Kinney-esque thing that really had little 
relation to her life. But if it gave Bellamy pause, good. He was far too confident. 

A man came out of the shadows, and intercepted their path. He looked manic, frightened, 
perhaps on some kind of drug. He spoke to Bellamy in rapid French, and Bellamy answered him 
in the same language. Their conversation was too fast and too regional for Daphne’s high school 
French classes to translate. 

“You have to help me!” The man finally exploded in English, his terror evident in his tone. This 
was no simple political request. “You have to stop it! I have tribute! I have any tribute you want, 
sept-homme.”

“I can’t help you. Go see Maman in Algiers, ask for her help. Now clear the path.”

The man obeyed, moaning at his tortured plight as he slipped back into the shadows. Bellamy 
looked annoyed and Daphne said, “Sept-homme? Seven man? What does that mean?”

“Is that all you got from that?”

“I couldn’t keep up with your French. Who is mama?”

“Daphne, some things we don’t discuss, and this is one. Here we are, let’s enjoy a nice 
uninterrupted dinner.”

They went into the café where the wait staff fell all over themselves to make Bellamy happy, 
giving them a prime table and all the attention they could want. Over wine, that he carefully 
selected from the list, Daphne said, “Seven man?”

The candle light that glowed inside a crystal flute in the center of the table reflected in Bellamy’s 
eyes took on the flame, and he pressed his hand over hers and said in a low, calming voice, 
“Don’t ask me that again. Just forget it.”

She felt as if he had painlessly bolted her hand to the table and she stared into his burning eyes 
as her question faded in importance and they began to talk about other things, things that 
caused him no concern. 

****************************

Moody sat at a tiny table in the Old Absinthe bar on Bourbon Street, sharing a beer with a 
vampire. This was New Orleans. No one cared. All around them, fresh business cards were 
layered over ancient, yellowing cards. So many layers were affixed to the walls that the paint 
didn’t even show. They had become part of the décor, only no one remembered how it started. 
The vampire was telling him about walking tours, money to be made, and the reason it was 
worth it to invest the funds to get custom fitted fangs. 

“The fake ones make it so hard to talk, without having them fall out mid-sentence and let’s face 
it, this tour is all about the talk. You have to make them feel spooked. You have to link sites to 
the vampire books and to local legend. We can’t go to the old St. Louis Number One cemetery 
over by Louis Armstrong plaza anymore to see the tomb of the famed Marie Leveaux, the Voodoo 
queen of New Orleans. The housing projects that overlook it have turned into a war zone. Too 
dangerous.”

“What does voodoo have to do with vampires?”

“Nothing, but it’s not all about that, Moody. It’s about everything spooky. Voodoo is spooky and 
local. We have tie-in’s with certain businesses who give us a kickback for bringing in the tourists. 
For instance, the voodoo museum and shop down the street, here, is on the list. We always stop 
there. You know that voodoo church over on Rampart?”

“There’s a voodoo church?”

“It’s a real church part of the time, but they share it with the followers of voudon where they 
conduct their own services on certain nights.”

“No way.”

“Way. The real practice of voudon is a blend of Catholic and African ritualistic religion, evolved 
over the years into what it is now. Anyway, we stop there on non-service nights and we always 
stop at the bar around the corner for refreshments. It’s the site of many ghostly visitations for 
some reason. Must have been built on a vortex. Not that any of us have ever seen anything 
stranger than the usual New Orleans weirdo’s.”

“You don’t believe this shit, do you, Ray?”

“Oh hell no. But I make a good living from it. So can you. Easy work and with your looks, the tips 
will be even better.”

Moody leaned back, glanced at his watch, checked the display on his mobile to see if he had 
missed a call, which he didn’t. He said, “I dunno. It sounds like a lot of walking and a lot of 
tourists, two things I hate.”

“You do walk a lot, but look, it’s one tour a night, two hours on your feet. You’re young, you can 
manage.”

“I’m on my feet all day. It adds up.”

The Vampire Ray gave him a number. “Counting tips, you can take home that much for every 
tour you direct.”

Moody was impressed. “That much?”

“We sell out almost every night, man. Tourists come here wanting to see weird.”

“They can just stand on that corner there and see weird for free.”

They both laughed. “They want a story to go with it to tell back in Iowa.”

“What about the costume?”

“I can tell you where to go to get the fangs. All in, that’s the biggest cost. About three hundred. 
The rest of it is makeup and capes and black clothes. We’ll supply the cape and the makeup. The 
dentist we use will let you pay half when you go in and half when you pick up the fangs. You’ll 
make that cost up fast. You can wear the plastic ones while yours are being made.”

“I don’t think I look like a vampire, Ray.”

Ray took in his pretty face, blue eyes, curly mop and sighed. “You’re thin, that’s the main thing. 
The rest is illusion.”

“Let me think about it. I’ll tell you by the end of the week.”

“That’s cool. It’s late, I’m all in. My girlfriend will be wondering where the hell I am.” He put 
some money on the table. “I hope you join us. Later, dude.”

“Later.” Moody watched him leave and then finished his beer and walked out. The usual tourists 
crowded Bourbon Street, which was blocked off as a pedestrian mall after dark. College boys and 
girls, military people in uniform, badly dressed tourists from the heartland, and well dressed 
executive types all mingled and misbehaved. Shills stood outside titty bars and tried to lure 
people in with promises of sin. People carried elaborate mixed drinks in even more elaborate 
containers. Moody got cruised as he cut through the mob. Men cruised him, women cruised him. 
It was all good. 

A young, buff guy in a white sailor uniform that looked authentic, not for fun, locked onto 
Moody’s tractor beam. He was hot, close cropped hair, strong body, nice features. He winked at 
Moody when they made eye contact and Moody grinned at him. The sailor broke ranks with his 
compadres and fell in step with Moody. 

“Hey, beautiful.”

He was very, very drunk.

“You take ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ to the limit, don’t you?” Moody teased. 

“You inspired me to be bold.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Want to take a little stroll down to the Moonwalk?”

“The Moonwalk?” Moody laughed. “Are you shitting me? The Moonwalk is completely policed. It’s 
across from Jackson Square, for shit’s sake. You can’t do anything at the Moonwalk unless you 
want to get busted.”

“Well then…?”

“What do you want?”

He leaned close and whispered in Moody’s ear what he wanted. Moody shrugged. Sounded good 
to him. They made a silent agreement and Moody led him down a sidestreet, away from the zoo 
that was Bourbon, and into a narrow alley between two old buildings. The noise of the area faded 
to a low hum. The alley was dark and smelled of rotting trash. The bricks of the wall behind him 
felt cool against his skin as Moody leaned back and the sailor squatted in front of him and 
unbuttoned the fly on his jeans. Soon his cock was where he wanted it to be, down the guy’s 
throat, and Moody closed his eyes, letting the pleasure commence. 

Minutes later, he was on his way, alone, the sailor left to find his own way back to his buddies, 
his demons momentarily becalmed. Moody tried to tell himself it was coincidental when he found 
himself on Daphne’s street, walking towards Daphne’s address. His timing was perfect. Tall, dark 
and handsome was leaving there, walking in the opposite direction. Moody wondered if he left 
with a piece of Daphne, or not. He frowned. He didn’t like that guy. He was too damned entitled. 

He made his way over the fence in back, the elaborate protections built into the place were little 
impediment to him. He trotted up the stairs to the carriage house and knocked. She answered 
immediately, still fully dressed and primped, thus confirming to him that tall, dark and handsome 
didn’t score. She glared at him. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Guess.”

“Were you following us?”

“No, but I saw him leave.”

“I don’t want him seeing you hanging around here, Moody.”

“He’s gone!”

“I don’t want you hanging around here!”

He reached for her, kissing her. He felt her struggle for a minute and then he tasted her tongue 
against his, her body arched to his shape, and the need for words subsided. 

*******************************************

“Boyd, what the hell are you doing, bringing in outside auditors?” His father bellowed at Boyd 
over the phone as Brian glared at him from the pillow beside his. It had been a long day and they 
were just starting to relax together when the phone intruded. “And what the hell are you doing in 
that B&B?”

“You sound better,” Boyd said with a tired sigh. “Our deal was that I would run the mill so long as 
you completely stayed out of it and got well. Who told you? As for the B&B, I’m having some 
work done at my place,” he shrugged at Brian. He didn’t want to worry his father. 

“You and the kids could’ve stayed right here with your mother and me. Not like we don’t have the 
room.”

“And Brian?”

“He could stay at the B&B. Done it before. Or the house on the bayou.”

“Sorry, Dad, we’re a package deal.”

Brian chuckled at that as Boyd’s father groaned. “Back to the mill. Pull those auditors out of 
there.”

“Who told you?”

“I don’t give a good god damn who told me! I don’t want outsiders poking around in my 
business.”

“I found some inconsistencies in the books.”

“So what?”

“Don’t you want to know if your books are being cooked, Dad?”

“Those books are just fine. God damn it, Boyd! You’re there to sign the paychecks and maintain 
order, not clean house!”

“Then you don’t need me and I’m fine with that.”

“Just pull those damned auditors out.”

“As a principal shareholder in that mill, I want to know if it’s all on the up and up. Even if I stop 
working there while you're recovering, I’ll order an audit at the next shareholder meeting, so you 
may as well roll over and let it happen, Dad. It’s become inevitable.”

“Next thing you know, you’ll have those regulators down on us. We don’t want those regulators 
coming in, Boyd.”

“Why not? What are we hiding?”

“I didn’t say we were hiding anything, but…” there was an off line conversation and then Boyd’s 
mother’s voice came onto the phone. 

“Boyd, your father cannot do this!”

“He called me, Mom. I didn’t call him. Who did he talk to from the mill?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, but if he tries this again, just hang up on him. His blood pressure has 
skyrocketed!”

They disconnected and Boyd fell back on the pillow with a moan. “When do we move into the ol’ 
plantation home?” Brian quipped and Boyd glared at him.

“I’d rather go up in that blaze we keep hearing about.”

“Now, now. Is Daddy nervous about an audit? That should make you wonder.”

“It makes me queasy.”

“Why would your father let them cook the numbers?”

“I don’t know that he did. But I intend to find out. People get greedy, Brian.”

“Yeah, I know. And some of the greediest people are the ones with the most toys. Relax, tiger. 
You need to let go of it. God, I want you out of that mill.”

“That seems to be the common consensus.” Boyd cradled himself in Brian’s arms, trying to blot 
out the bad taste in his mouth left by that conversation with his father, but it was difficult. 

“Think about this instead,” Brian suggested, ducking under the covers to fill his mouth with 
Boyd’s cock. Boyd sighed and relaxed, unable to resist the perfect comfort that was his lover’s 
touch.

November 23rd, 2005
 
03:50 pm - BURN Chapter 46
Thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday here, in my email or on Randall's site. We 
had a perfect day. Just the two of us. Stayed in, kicked back. No complaints. Here's the next 
chapter, hope you like it. Brian

******************************



Brian awoke to hands on his bare shoulders. Little hands. Wet, sticky hands. Gus. He squinted an 
eye open to see his son’s smiling face beaming down at him. Boyd still slept contentedly beside 
him, unfazed.

“Let’s go fishin’, Daddy!”

Gus’s face was decorated with the same strawberry jam that made his hands adhesive. Brian 
groaned and thought to himself that with a full time nanny and a mother under the roof, why did 
the kid have to bother him this early in the morning? 

“We’re not fishing today, buckaroo. Who fed you?”

“I made a samich.” He seemed pretty proud of that fact. Brian looked askance. Boyd stirred, but 
refused to awaken.

“By yourself?”

He nodded. Brian could imagine how happy Jon and Peter would be with the mess he probably 
left in their pristine kitchen. “You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, Gus,” he glanced at 
the clock. It was barely six in the morning. Just now getting light. 

“I was hungry.”

“Then you should’ve told your mother to get her butt out of bed.”

“Where’s Justin?” He suddenly asked and Brian winced and forced himself to get up, pulling on 
his robe as he led his son into the bathroom and washed his face and hands at the sink. 

“Justin’s in Italy. Going to school.” What made him think of Justin all of a sudden, Brian 
wondered? They hadn’t been a couple long before Brian hooked up with Boyd. Why now?

“He sends me pos’cards.”

“Then you know he’s in Italy, so why ask me?”

“Mama says Justin was your boyfrien’.”

Brian frowned, thank you very much, Lindsay, he thought with a scowl. “A long time ago. I’m 
with Boyd, now. He’s my partner.”
“I like Boy’.”

“He likes you, too.”

“Are you a lezzban, Daddy?”

Brian, who had gone over to the toilet to have a morning piss, nearly lost the direction of his 
stream. He laughed. “A lesbian? No! Why do you think that, Gus? God forbid! Get that thought 
out of your head.”

“Mommy said if a girl lives with another girl as her partner than she’s a lezzban. So you and 
Boy’are both boys so you’re a lezzban, too.”

“No, Gus. Boyd and I are gay. There’s a difference, believe me. Christ, you poor kid. You have no 
clue about the whole Ozzie and Harriet world out there. Your whole world is Ozzie and Ozzie or 
Harriet and Harriet.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Boyd staggered in, his hair askew from the bed. He 
wore only a pair of previously discarded underwear as he took Brian’s place at the toilet. “Mornin’ 
Gus. Early bird today.”

“Me and Daddy is going fishin’.”

“Not,” Brian retorted. “Gus was just asking me if we were ‘lezzbans’, Boyd.”

Boyd chuckled at that, and wandered over to the sink, glaring at his reflection. He tamped down 
his hair and scrubbed a hand across his overnight bristle. “I hope you set him straight, so to 
speak.”

“So to speak,” Brian walked up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. This is what 
mornings were for. Sex, before work. Sex, before breakfast. Sex. Not kids. Sex. Boyd leaned into 
him, then moaned and stepped out of his embrace. 

“Little pitchers.”

“You calling my kid a pitcher?” Brian teased and Boyd smiled. 

“Like father like son.”

“Les go fishin’!” Gus insisted and the men shared a smile.

“Gus, if you go back in there with Mommy until both the big hand and the little hand are on the 
six on the clock, and don’t come back in here or go downstairs until then, we’ll go do something 
fun this morning before I go to the city for work. Okay? Not fishing but fun.”

“Okay,” he accepted Brian’s bribe. 

“Let’s hope the clock in her room isn’t digital,” Boyd quipped as Gus left them alone and Brian 
locked the door behind him. “And what fun thing do you propose to do in Canard Rouge?”

“I’ll think of something. Kids are easily amused,” Brian reached for him. “But right now, I have 
other thrill-seeking ideas in mind.”

“Amuse me,” Boyd challenged him, wrapping his arms around Brian’s neck as Brian pulled him 
against his body and kissed him on the mouth. Brian’s long fingers reached under the waistband 
of Boyd’s briefs and slid them off his hips and down his thighs. Boyd kicked them off, not 
breaking the kiss as he untied Brian’s robe and let it slip from his shoulders. Naked, they slowly 
migrated back to the comfort of the bed. 

The faced each other on their sides, tongues probing and hands roaming as their dicks stiffened 
against their respective bellies. Boyd eventually looped his calf over Brian’s hip, giving him 
access to his body. Brian pinned Boyd’s other thigh with his own as he positioned himself for 
penetration. “Yes”, he thought as he felt his cock find the tight enclosure he wanted so much. 
“Yes, this is what mornings are for. Mornings, afternoons, evenings, deep nights, this was it.” 

Boyd leaned back to watch Brian’s face, loving the way he looked when he felt the first bliss of 
penetration. He knew that outside this bed their world was a hurricane of issues, good and bad, 
but when they were like this, all of that turmoil receded. It became about the fucking, and 
nothing else. He reached out to bury his hands in Brian’s hair and bring his face down to his own. 
As they kissed and fucked, Boyd wanted to bottle this moment, this sensation, and keep it in his 
pocket, so he could have a taste of this absolute pleasure whenever his day went south. 

**********************

Daphne awoke, feeling warm, comfy and delicious. She stretched in her comfortable bed in her 
wonderful new apartment, and then sat up straight when her arm hit another body. She stared 
over at Moody, who was sound asleep, before she fell back with a groan.

Not again! What was wrong with her? How could she fall for his shit yet again? And why did she 
feel so damned good this morning? Justin said that bisexuals were fags without convictions. He 
said they always went back to dick. How then was Moody so convincing in the sack? More than 
convincing. Incredible. If he really wanted dick, he sure made a strong case that it was all about 
the pussy when they were in the middle of it. 

He looked like an angel as he slept, his impish personality quelled, and his delicate features and 
curly hair reminiscent of fine Renaissance paintings of the heavenly creatures. 

“Stop it!” She counseled herself. “Stop!”

He was a marginally employed, younger, aimless hustler. That’s what he was. Angel as if. He was 
still a teenager, not quite twenty, his confession of last night. A teenager! He didn’t act like it. He 
was mature beyond his age, but was he really? In some ways, but not others. Nineteen! It was 
an embarrassment! She took a shower, washed her hair, determined to take a cue from 
Broadway and wash that man right out of her hair, probably with the same success as Nellie 
Forbush. Wrapped in a short robe, her hair in a terry cloth towel turban, she was surprised by a 
knock at her door. She opened it to find Lisette, her landlord, on the other side. She was carrying 
a basket with the goodies inside wrapped in plaid calico. 

“I felt domestic and made some homemade biscuits this morning. We won’t eat them all, so I 
wanted to give you the excess. Enjoy.”

Daphne smiled. She knew she should invite her in, but…

“What is that? It’s irresistable. Oh, hi. I remember you.” Moody sauntered up behind Daphne, 
having pulled on his jeans but nothing else. He peeled back the flaps of linen to reveal the 
biscuits and smiled as he plucked one out and took a bite. “Fabulous!” he said with his mouth full 
as Daphne gave Lisette a stricken expression.

“Sorry, I…”

“No, not at all, sorry to have interrupted,” Lisette said with a slightly wicked smile. To Daphne, 
that look read, “You naughty girl.” She waved goodbye and left as Daphne shouted out a thanks 
for the biscuits and then shut the door and glared at Moody. He was leaning into the refrigerator, 
eventually removing butter and a jar of apricot preserves. 

“Did you have to do that?”

“You’re free, white and twenty-one,” he came back and then grinned. “Well, two out of three. You 
can entertain gentlemen callers if you want to. Do you have any coffee?”

Daphne glared at him as he sat down at the little wrought iron table and spread some butter on a 
biscuit. “Do not get so comfortable! You’re leaving!”

“What’s the rush? A guy could get a complex, the way you slam me and bam me and thank you 
m’am me.”

Daphne started the coffee brewing, for herself, not for him, and then grabbed the biscuit basket 
and put it on the counter. She placed one biscuit on a dish and returned to the table with it. “You 
are just a complication in my life. I so don’t need this.”

“Not what you said last night,” he reminded her with a sly leer. “You were all ‘oh Moody, you’re 
so fantastic, oh Moody, please don’t stop, oh Moody, do that again’!”

She glared at his falsetto rendition of her own words and crossed her arms over her chest in a 
hostile gesture. She resorted to Brian Kinney again. “It’s just fucking. Don’t try to make it 
something more than that.”

Moody shrugged. “There’s fucking and then there’s fucking. It doesn’t need to be anything else. 
Fucking is powerful enough on its own.”

“Moody, I’m seeing someone!”

“Tall dark and frigid?”

“Frigid?”

“He hasn’t moved on you, has he? No, I know the answer. He hasn’t. Maybe I should shake my 
tail for him. Maybe he’s on the other lineup.”

“He is so not gay. But what are you? Do you even know?”

He smiled and got up to pour himself a mug of coffee. He poured one for her, too, and returned 
to the table with them both. “I don’t care about labels, Daphne. I like men, I like women. If there 
were a third sex, I’d probably like that too. I’m flexible.”

“I don’t get it. If you had to pick between me and, say, Brian, who would you choose?”

“Why Brian?”

“Because he’s like the ultimate fag. Every gay man wants Brian.”

Moody laughed. “I guess that all depends on what kind of mood I’m in.”

“Come on, Moody!”

He stood and went over to retrieve the rest of his clothes, taking his time as he slipped into 
them. “This is a useless conversation. I can’t explain to you what makes a bisexual person tick 
any more than you can tell me why you prefer men over women. And I have to go to work. What 
you ought to be asking yourself is if tall dark and frigid is all that, why am I even here?”

“Believe me, I have asked myself that. Repeatedly.”

“And?”

“I don’t know why. I wish I did.”

Moody leaned over, kissed her on the mouth, then walked to the door and said, “Sometimes 
what you think you need and what you really need are two different things.”

He left her there, pondering his exit line as he trotted down the stairs and scaled the gate to the 
alley. He turned the corner. As he entered the street, he bumped into a man who was walking 
towards him on the sidewalk. The man grabbed Moody’s arms to steady him and then let him go 
with a smile. “So it’s you,” he said and Moody wondered what would come next as he met 
Bellamy’s ghostly green eyes. Would he hit him? Lecture him? Threaten him? Instead he just 
smiled and said, “Know the rules before you jump into the game, kid.”

What rules? What game? Moody was finding it difficult to summon his usual bluster. “Whatever, 
man.”

“You’re shedding,” Bellamy took a curly black hair off of Moody’s shoulder and extended it on his 
palm to the boy. “Take it.”

Moody stared at it. “You keep it, big guy. Souvenir. I got plenty more.”

“Never give a stranger a part of you. There’s power in this little cast off of yours,” he blew it off 
his hand, onto the curb. Moody felt an unnatural chill as Bellamy did so, but he quickly recovered 
and walked on after offering Bellamy a warning, 

“You better watch your back door, friend. You leave it open, all kinds of strays wander in.”

“But do they wander out?” Bellamy said with a smile, watching the kid retreat. “And if so, are 
they ever the same again?”

He walked up to the front door of the house and rang the bell, patiently waiting for someone 
inside to respond to his summons.

*****************************************

Frank accompanied Ted to look at the temporary office space he was considering for Brian. Given 
Brian’s recent concern about security, Frank wanted to be sure the space was appropriately 
protected. It was a small, street level storefront on a side street in the Quarter. It went from 
housing various retail establishments, all of which failed, to serving as a local campaign 
headquarters for a senator who was victorious in his quest. Unfortunately, his promises and his 
credibility vanished with him to Washington as fast as this space was abandoned to the locals.

Forlorn reminders of the election were still there; a box of pamphlets showing the Senator’s 
grinning face while proclaiming his statesmanship, a crushed campaign button that was ground 
into the wide plank floor, a torn campaign poster in the lone metal trash can that was never 
removed. Some red, white and blue confetti along with a couple crepe streamers suggested a 
victory celebration. The wide windows bore the scars of tape used to affix banners to the glass. 
Overhead were ceiling fans with a couple bedraggled and deflated balloons draped limply over 
the blades, and in the back was a washroom, a storeroom, and a formica bar that served as the 
kitchenette.

“I don’t like it,” Frank said after opening the back door to inspect the close, fetid space that 
overlooked the brick wall of the next building. “This alley is a great place to hide and those 
display windows could be easily broken. There’s no nearby place to park and it’s off the beaten 
path, so foot traffic is light.”

Ted shrugged. “Well, we aren’t trying to sell anything, so we don’t care about foot traffic, we 
won’t have customers who need to park, and it’s cheap, available and month-to-month. I’m 
recommending he take it. It’s been upgraded with plenty of telephone and electrical hook ups 
and it has central air and heat. You can alarm the doors and the windows, and we’ll put up 
shades so the place isn’t open to people walking by.”

“I’d like it better if he took space in an office building.”

“He said the Quarter, Frank. And there isn’t traditional office space around here, not for what he 
wants to pay and not for a short term lease. But I appreciate that you want to protect Brian.”

“It’s not just Brian, Ted. You’ll be working here. So will Daphne. I don’t want to see anyone hurt, 
especially you.”

Ted’s heart surged at that as he walked over and kissed his lover. “Thanks, Frank, but I’ll be fine. 
Come on, let’s head over to the hotel. Brian will be here soon.”

Frank gave the space a last jaundiced glare as they left. Something about it bothered him, but he 
wasn’t sure what it was. He felt vulnerable here, and that was a bad way to feel. Ted knew best 
what Brian wanted, of course, but if Brian asked Frank what he thought, he’d tell him. Keep 
looking would be his counsel. Keep looking.

Current Mood: busy

November 27th, 2005
 
09:39 pm - BURN Chapter 47
Sorry to be so long, but my partner monopolized the computer between work and his multiple 
posts, but I know you guys aren't complaining about that! Brian

******************



Brian picked up some stray confetti and blew it off his hand, sending it swirling in the sun rays 
and dust mites that thickened the air in the empty space. “I’m listening, Frank, but I’m not sure I 
see where the danger lies. We bar the back door and alarm it. We also have alarms all over the 
windows and the main entrance. We put up burglar bars with inside escape latches on the glass 
windows. We put a camera up so we can see the alley and see who’s approaching the front door, 
and we negotiate with that restaurant across the street to be able to park our few measley cars 
in their lot. Problems solved.”

“Brian, it’s isolated, stand alone, except for meal traffic at the restaurant, it’s lightly traveled. I 
don’t like it.”

“But it’s a short term solution, Frank. The price is right. Even with these security upgrades, it’s 
cheap. Daphne, you’re not to walk over here on your own, or back. Take a taxi or Ted can pick 
you up. We’ll keep the doors locked. No reason for foot traffic, it’s an office. What do you say, 
Frank? If you think with all that, it’s still dangerous, then fuck it. We move on.”

“It’s not ideal,” he said with a frown and Brian smiled. 

“What is in this world?”

“True love,” Ted quipped with a wink at Frank, who grinned. 

“Okay, if the restaurant consents on the parking and if Daphne takes taxis and there’s no moving 
in here until all the security fixes are in, I can live with it.”

“My man!” Brian gave him a high five as Daphne frowned and ran her finger over a veil of dust. 

“Who’s cleaning it up and furnishing it? And don’t look at me. I’m not your maid.”

Brian laughed. “I’ll hire it done, Miss Priss. Rather you will, Theodore. Now let’s get out of here. 
This dust is making me sneeze.”

They went back to the street and Frank said, “If it’s okay, I want to go get some bids on securing 
this place.”

“Do,” Brian agreed. He waved at Ted and walked away as Brian leered at his old friend. “You got 
lucky, for once.”

“I did, didn’t I? He’s a great guy.”

“I meant the office space,” Brian teased. “Go get the lease on it nailed. Daphne, we have that 
meeting with the ad guys, right?”

“Yes, Brian. We should head that way.”

They took a cab across Canal into the business district and were let out at a tall mirrored spear of 
glass. “This will be rich,” Brian said with a laugh. “The ad man gets pitched.”

“At least you should be skilled at sifting through their bullshit.”

“No doubt about that. And you listen and learn.”

She nodded. This was Brian at his best and she intended to do just as she was instructed. 

***********************

Boyd was surprised by the person his secretary announced, but he instructed her to show his 
unexpected visitor in. He stood to greet Lindsay as he waved the curious assistant out of the 
room and closed the door. “This is a pleasant surprise, Lindsay.”

“Pleasant?” She smiled. “I hope so, Boyd. I think we had a wonderful first meeting, and then we 
sort of went off track, and I’d like to go back to wonderful if we can.”

“Sure we can,” he said, all Southern silkiness even as all of his alarms sounded. He sat beside 
her on the couch. She looked stylish and pretty in a black linen dress and black sandals, her fair 
hair pulled back in a chignon. 

“I think it’s been wonderful for Gus to be around his Daddy, don’t you?”

“I do,” he agreed, over the clang of his internal sirens. 

“And I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how much I like the south.”

“You do?”

“Yes, the people are all so welcoming and it’s so nice and…warm.”

Boyd laughed. “Yes, very warm.”

“To get right down to it, Boyd, I want to run your gallery.”

He laughed. “I don’t have a gallery, Lindsay. I have a space and I have a dream, but the gallery 
is far from functioning.”

“I know. And what you’re doing for your father is admirable. But you don’t have to wait until he’s 
back at work to at least get started, Boyd. I have a lot of experience in this area. I’m good at it. I 
could be very helpful to you in getting your dream off the ground.”

Boyd leaned back with a sigh. The sad part was, she was right in many ways. If he had someone 
experienced and reliable to be on the ground in the gallery, he could escalate his plans and that 
idea had a lot of appeal for him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Lindsay, he just wasn’t sure about 
her. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I need a job. I want a break from Pittsburgh. I like the fact Gus and Brian can spend some time 
together, and the challenge of starting a gallery from the ground up is very appealing.”

“Lindsay, about Brian…”

She put her hand on his arm to stop him. “I know what you’re going to say. I’ve heard it from my 
own partner so many times I can’t count them all. He’s queer, he’ll always be queer, and now 
he’s partnered up, too. I get it, Boyd. I know I’ll never be with Brian. But I do love him dearly 
and just being around him is good for me. And he is Gus’s daddy.”

“You know I’d have to discuss this with him before I gave you any answer, right?”

“Of course.”

As well as Boyd felt he knew Brian, he had no idea how his lover would react to this proposition. 
He wasn’t yet sure how he felt about it himself. “If it worked out, I’d expect you to commit to 
staying on board at least until I can devote full time to the gallery. The worst thing that could 
happen would be to be halfway into it and then you have to leave. And I’m still tied up.”

“I would never do that, Boyd.”

“Then let’s agree to talk about it again.”

She nodded and looked around the office that reminded her of something from a sixtie’s movie 
set. “I’ve never been in a sugar mill before.”

“Would you like to be shown around the mill?”

“Do you have time?”

He didn’t, but he was too polite to say no. “Of course. Come with me.” She followed him out, but 
not before she saw the photograph of Brian on his desk, looking louche and handsome on the 
terrace overlooking New Orleans. Partners. The word still seemed so impossible to her but she 
put on a bright smile as she followed Brian’s partner into the mill.

************************

As he stood at the urinal in the men’s room of the advertising company, Brian became aware of 
the handsome young executive taking a leak beside him. He glanced at his profile and then at his 
dick and said, “So, are you the vestal virgin?”

“Excuse me?”

“The sacrificial lamb who’s supposed to use his sex appeal to swing the deal with me?”

The man turned bright red, his way too white smile fading as he fumbled for a response. Brian 
laughed. “I run a gay bar, ipso facto, I’m queer, and my reputation among guys in your game 
may have even preceded me. So throw a hot young thing my way and you get my business,” he 
zipped up and walked over to the sink, washing his hands before he smoothed them through his 
hair. “Here’s the news flash. My account isn’t big enough for them to send you in to win one for 
the gipper with your nice dick. And yes, it is nice, congratulations. Save it for the big bucks. The 
big companies.”

“Mr. Kinney, did it ever occur to you that I just find you attractive?”

“Yeah, it occurred to me. But I don’t think that’s it. Is it?”

“I do find you attractive,” the kid soaped up his hands, giving Brian a leer. Brian met the look 
with a chuckle. 

“You’re really not very good at it. There’s an art to it. To make the client feel like he’s being hit 
on due to his own sexy merit and not as a trophy account. Until you get that right, you ought to 
leave it to others. I should know. I was brilliant at it.”

The young executive threw the paper towel in the trash and grinned at Brian. “Okay, they 
thought you might want me to show you the town, whatever, check out your competition, but it’s 
still true that I find you really hot.”

“Better, but…look. Let me make this easy for you. I have checked out the competition. I already 
know this town. And I already know you. I’ve had you so many times that I’ve lost count. Not 
that there’s anything wrong with that. In another life, maybe we’d be in that stall right now. But I 
have a partner and there’s no way you can make me feel the way he makes me feel, do the 
things he does to me, so why would I risk that and trade down?”

“You don’t know if it’s trading down or up until you try.”

“I do, in fact, know. But thanks. Now let’s get back to the meeting.”

“I’ll join you there.”

Brian walked out and the young man called a number on his mobile and said, “He wouldn’t 
tumble. Said he has a partner. I don’t know. He saw through the game.”

Disappointed, and somewhat insulted, the failed lover closed his phone and returned to their 
meeting without his trophy. In the cab after the meeting ended, Daphne said, “I don’t see what 
you didn’t like about it, Brian. I thought it was a great campaign.”

“It wasn’t the campaign, it was the price. You don’t immediately jump on the june bug, Daphne. 
Let them sweat. See their competitors bid. Besides, I don’t like to be worked.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t like their sending in young, cute and horny to seduce me.”

“He seduced you?”

“No, he wanted to seduce me. I held out.”

She giggled. “You’ve changed.”

“Look, that’s not a unique thrill for me. I’ve used that one myself. Even if I wasn’t with Boyd, I 
wouldn’t have fallen for it. Never transfer the power.”

“Damn, Brian, working for you is like being an apprentice for Donald Trump.”

“Only with better hair,” he said as she laughed.

“Much better hair. But I do learn a lot from you.”

“You should. You’re still in the sponge stage. Soak it up.”

They crossed back into the Quarter and he said, “Dinner tomorrow night, right?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t fucked it up with him have you?”

“Quit asking me that, Brian.”

“Well have you?”

“No!” she slumped down in the seat as visions of Moody floated back into her consciousness. 
Brian stared at her, not liking her body language, but deciding not to pursue.

***********************

Brian and Boyd met halfway between New Orleans and Canard Rouge for lunch at a small 
roadhouse. The crowd of manual field workers and farmers inhabiting the tables didn’t look 
particularly gay friendly and were already suspicious of two men in suits, so they were careful to 
conform. The food, as was so often the case in these backwater road stops in rural Louisiana, 
was sublime. Crawfish boil, fried okra, fresh corn and crispy hush puppies with a soft, steamy 
center. 

“I think she’s working an angle,” Brian said after Boyd gave him the news on Lindsay. “I’m sorry 
to say that about an old friend, but that’s how I feel. What about you?”

“What’s her angle, Brian?” he reached over to pluck a crawfish shell off of Brian’s chin and 
quickly withdrew, as he felt disapproving eyes fix on that gesture. 

“I don’t know. But something.”

“Think about it, Brian. What could it be? To cause trouble between us? Why? What does she gain 
from that? To take a run at you? I think she knows that train has departed.”

“Something with Melanie, maybe?”

“But what?”

“A power play to force her hand?”

“Even if it is, she promised she would stay on until I was ready to go full time. That’s enough.”

“I like things the way they are. Theodore has been a real help to me. Daphne’s coming along. I 
don’t need the rest of the crew following me down here.”

“What about Gus?”

Brian frowned. “Yeah, there’s Gus. I do like having Gus around. Cute kid, isn’t he?”

“You know he is.”

Brian sighed. “Look, this morning when Gus came in and woke me up, while you were still asleep, 
he asked me about Justin. If Justin had been my boyfriend.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard him.”

“Faker,” Brian said with a smile. “And yet you didn’t say anything to me.”

“Like what? He was your boyfriend, Brian. I’m not threatened by Justin. We’re it, you know?”

Brian smiled and reached over to push Boyd’s blond forelock off his eyebrow. He didn’t care what 
these rednecks thought about it. He loved him too much to care. “I know we are, Boyd. But Gus 
wouldn’t just come up with that on his own. I think Lindsay planted it.”

“For what reason?”

“She manipulated Justin. He was young, she was clever. I don’t know why she’d plant that 
thought, but it made me uneasy.”

“Baby, let it go.”

Brian shook his head. “It kills me when you call me ‘baby’. I don’t know if I should smack you or 
fuck you.”

“Neither, right now.”

Brian laughed. “Okay, good, I have all day to consider my choices. What do you want to do, 
Boyd? And don’t make a decision about your business just to bring Gus closer to me.”

“I could use the help.”

“Well, then. Let’s talk some more tonight. Did I tell you this young stud came on to me in the 
men’s room today?”

“Funny how that slipped your mind,” Boyd said with a stern glare that was only half serious. “Do 
tell, Mr. Kinney.”

“Well, it happened like this…” Brian began the story when one of the locals walked up to their 
table. 

“You boys queer? We don’t feed queers in this place.”

Brian started to respond, but Boyd placed his hand on Brian’s wrist and said to the man, “You 
work at CMC?” He referred to the logo on the man’s gimme cap. The man nodded. Boyd went on, 
“I’m Boyd Coulter. I’m a principal shareholder and acting CEO at Coulter Mills Corporation, that’s 
CMC, as you know. You work for me.”

“Like hell I do.”

“You really want to risk that you’re wrong? Because I will fire you. And I will fire your brother. 
And I will fire your cousins. And I will fire your wives and girlfriends and kids and neighbors until 
everyone you know and care about is living on the dole. How’s that, bucko?”

“You…you…you have ID?”

Boyd flipped a business card his way. The man squinted at it, paled, and said, “Listen, Mr. 
Coulter…”

“No, you listen. You go back to your cronies over there and you tell them their lunch break is up. 
On your way out, you pick up our tab. And then you get back to work and be damned glad you 
have a job to go to.”

The man scurried away as Brian stared at his lover and said. “I want to fuck you. Now. Let’s go.”

Boyd laughed. “Go where?”

“I don’t care. Let’s go.”

He left a tip on the table and grabbed Boyd’s arm, leading him out to the parking lot without a 
look back at their stunned audience. 
Current Mood: accomplished

December 3rd, 2005
 
06:27 pm - BURN, chapter 48
It's a little shorter than usual, but it needed to end where it did. Brian

******************



BURN 48

Brian slipped his hand in Boyd’s back pocket as they hit the parking lot. His long fingers dug 
lovingly into Boyd’s firm buttock. Boyd smiled over his shoulder at him and said, “Not here.”

“Shut up,” Brian pushed a button on the key to his Range Rover and the car unlocked. He opened 
the back door and pulled Boyd in with him. 

“Are you crazy?” Boyd protested with anemic enthusiasm. “We aren’t invisible.”

“We’re parked at the far end of the lot under a big damned tree and I have tinted glass,” Brian 
reminded him as he yanked at Boyd’s tie and fumbled with his belt. 

“Brian, we can’t. What if…” But his protest died in his throat as Brian unzipped Boyd’s fly and 
plunged his fingers between the flaps, expertly withdrawing his cock. He pushed him back on the 
seat and hovered over him, using his tongue to wrap Boyd’s cock and roll it into the warm cover 
of his mouth. He paused suddenly, sat up, leaned over the seat, put the key in the ignition and 
pushed the auto locks. Instantly, cold air began to circulate, chilling their superheated flesh. 

“Where was I?” Brian said, falling back into place. He used a free hand to open his own fly and 
got a firm grip on his erection as he sucked Boyd into a smooth, white pillar of marble. Boyd lost 
his inhibitions in the pleasure, resting the leather sole of one shoe against the window as he 
reached down to feather Brian’s hair, feeling the pumping motion of his mouth all the way to his 
core. 

Brian stroked himself as he sucked, his own lust blistering within him. He went low, burying the 
tip of his nose in Boyd’s golden pubes and then spread his tongue at the base, tasting the root of 
his ball sac. Boyd groaned, feeling as if he had inserted his dick in a pneumatic sucking machine. 
His hips lifted off the seat from the force of Brian’s hunger. The humidity and heat outside the 
car, coupled with the wet warmth of their bodies, contrasted with the frigid air of the air 
conditioning. Condensation soon fogged all the windows. 

Suddenly they were hidden in an opaque cocoon of lust, so Boyd felt more liberated. He opened 
his shirt, reaching in to tweak a stiff nipple as Brian took him to the brink. “Let me come,” he 
pleaded and Brian said nothing, but continued to control the tempo at the pace he determined as 
right for this sex act. He shot his own load, letting it fly against the leather backs of the front 
seats before he released Boyd. When Boyd finally came, he grabbed a handful of Brian’s hair and 
groaned, arching his back as his seed flowed down his lover’s throat. 

Without hesitating, Brian pulled Boyd’s calves, flattening his back on the seat and then covering 
him with his own weight. He thrust his tongue into Boyd’s mouth, jabbing deep, sharing the 
flavor of his cum. Boyd reached down, beneath Brian’s underwear, gripping his bare ass and 
feeling the hard muscle contract beneath the skin. Their cocks rooted each other out and they 
moved so that there was a stroking motion between them, while the testosterone surged once 
again.

“Jesus Christ, Brian,” Boyd moaned into his hair. “What the fuck? Why can’t I ever get enough of 
you?”

Brian raised himself to look down at him. Boyd loved the way Brian’s perfect skin turned glossy 
and red with lust, never mottled, but glowing with the same fire that turned his hazel eyes dark 
as his pupils expanded with excitement. He was never more beautiful than when he was in full 
force fucking mode and Boyd couldn’t decide which he wanted more, to kiss him or to stare at 
him.

“Are you trying to get enough of me?” Brian gasped, reaching down to join his cock with Boyd’s 
and give them both a slight, rolling twist. 

“Not possible,” Boyd hissed between his teeth as he pulled Brian’s face down to his, thus settling 
the issue of staring versus kissing. They torgued their long, lean bodies into a gymnast’s erotic 
dream as Brian shoved his cock into Boyd’s receptive ass. The hair on the top of Brian’s head 
brushed the side window with each lunge, accidentally wiping clear their illusion of privacy. That 
window faced the swamp, so there was little chance that anyone would happen upon a clear 
view. 

At that point, neither man would care if the entire café full of homophobic rednecks were 
gathered around the Rover in a prayer circle, hands joined as they chanted for the good Lord to 
smite these sinners with a lightning bolt. All that mattered now was the fucking. 

Afterwards, their clothes were still asunder while each of them leaned back against the seat, 
smoke from two cigarettes adding to the fog. Finally, Boyd looked at his lover’s profile and 
smiled. The afterglow for Brian was almost rude, it was so obvious what he had been up to. His 
skin was still flushed, his lips so red they looked bloodstained, his eyes turning a swampy shade 
of green. Even his eyelids looked too heavy to lift, weighted down by the thick fringe of his 
lashes. 

“You’re a wild man.”

“There’s a surprise,” Brian said with a smile. “It takes two, Tango.” He reached over to brush a 
lock of Boyd’s fair hair off his sticky forehead. “You are so hot looking after we fuck.”

“Only after we fuck?” He teased, slowly beginning the tedious process of getting his clothes in 
order. Brian followed suit as he shrugged.

“More so, maybe. Not sure why.”

“I was just thinking that about you. How am I supposed to go back to work, now?”

“Same way I am. Satisfied and full of myself.”

“No, I’m full of you.”

They both laughed and Brian made a gesture towards the soggy cum towel on the floor that he 
planned to ditch on the road. “Enough DNA in that thing to populate all of southern Louisiana.”

“How convenient that you had it in the car.”

“I was a Boy Scout. We never forget.”

Boyd laughed. “You were never a Boy Scout.”

“Ok, I fucked a Boy Scout leader. Close enough.”

“I was a Boy Scout, Brian. Seriously.”

“Imagine that,” Brian said with a smirk. “You still are.”

Boyd leaned over the seat to inspect his image in the visor mirror. He felt Brian’s gaze on his ass 
as he restored order to his hair with his fingers. “Stop looking at my ass.”

“Like hell I will.”

“Don’t even think about it. I have to get back. We still have tonight. And hopefully a lot of nights 
and days after that.”

“Ok, well, I’m going on to Canard Rouge. I’ll work from home. I want to see Gus.”

A sudden sharp rap on the glass startled them and they shared a worried look. Brian made sure 
they were both pulled together before he lowered the glass. A farmer-type stood there, not the 
man who confronted them earlier, but from the same prototype. “What?” Brian said with obvious 
tension and the man replied,

“You gonna overheat that engine if you keep running the air while in park, son. You don’t want 
no overheated engine on a day like this.”

Brian blinked. That’s what he liked about the south. He was always on his toes, here. He 
careened between fear over the backward hicks and their prejudices, and amazement for the 
unexpected courtesies of the gentle souls. “Uh, thanks, we were just leaving.”

The man nodded and walked on. Boyd laughed. “I wonder if he’ll have a tale to tell.”

“I don’t think he will. Didn’t see anything but two well dressed men sharing a smoke in the 
backseat of a car.”

“Yeah, Brian. Even in Louisiana, one plus one equals two.” He opened the door and looked 
around. No one was in sight, except the man who just confronted them, and he was driving off in 
a rusty pickup. Most of the lunch traffic was long gone. The boss had told them lunch hour was 
over, after all. They took his words as fact. He leaned over to kiss Brian one more time and then 
said, “I won’t be late.”

“Boyd,” Brian got out and addressed him across the expanse of the car as he opened the driver’s 
door. “Look, you watch yourself, okay?”

“What does that mean?”

Brian frowned. He wasn’t sure what it meant. But something had triggered his instincts and he 
felt a clear tremor of fear that centered around Boyd. Sometimes he thought that had more to do 
with how much he loved him and depended on having him in his life than it did any real threat. 
But sometimes he wasn’t sure. “Just take care.”

“I love you, too, Brian,” Boyd said with a smile and slipped on his dark glasses as he turned to 
walk away. Brian watched him go, watched him get in his car, watched him drive out of the lot. 
Watched his car head down the road. Watched long after he was gone. Watched and waited for 
that sensation of dread to fade before he got behind the wheel.

“Nothing bad will happen to Boyd,” he whispered to himself as he started the engine. It was 
running hot, but he knew the drive would bring down the needle. “Nothing!”

No one would be that cruel, Brian tried to reassure himself as he drove away from the 
roadhouse. Not even God. 
Current Mood:  hot

December 4th, 2005
 
04:14 pm - BURN 49
As promised, I did write on the plane. Hope you like it. Brian

********************


Daphne nearly dropped her fish knife when Lisette mentioned Bellamy over the dinner they were 
sharing in Lisette’s kitchen. Petra was working late at the hospital and Lisette had fresh Pompano 
she needed to cook. Daphne gladly accepted her invitation and participated by tossing the salad 
and pouring the wine. The fish, so popular with the locals, was flaky and white, unlike any fish 
Daphne had tried up north. 

“Bellamy Beaufort?” She clarified and Lisette smiled.

“The same.”

“He came by here today?”

“This morning. Petra and I are big believers in Bellamy’s political future. We’re sponsoring a table 
for a fundraiser he’s championing. Ninth Ward youth program. We were discussing some details.”

“What’s that?” Daphne asked, her heart still hammering over the idea that Bellamy was at the 
house while Moody was upstairs with her. Could he have seen him? Was it coincidental? She 
sighed and reminded herself that sometimes everything wasn’t about her. 

“The Ninth Ward is the poorest part of the city. High crime, lots of devastation. Bellamy’s trying 
to establish alternatives for youths, something other than the usual gang and hide in fear 
choices. His own family’s foundation has given a lot of money to that cause. It seems hopeless 
sometimes, but we have to try.”

Daphne nodded, feeling horribly guilty. Bellamy was a good man, a winner, hot, perfect. What 
the hell was she doing with Moody? One possible answer was that she really didn’t feel as if she 
had any claim on Bellamy at all. He remained as elusive as when they first met. That wasn’t an 
excuse, really. It was just a fact. Lisette smiled at her and said,

“Your boyfriend is cute.”

Daphne had to think for a minute before it became clear who her “boyfriend” was. She winced. 
She couldn’t just say Moody wasn’t her boyfriend, because then Lisette might think she was a 
slut. But she hated leaving her with the impression that Moody was her boyfriend. Moody 
wasn’t…what was Moody anyway? As Bellamy put it, was he her “back door” man? She hated the 
sound of that. “He’s not really my boyfriend.”

“Oh? I met him once before. I was with Boyd and Brian. He struck me as one of those cute guys 
who places no restrictions on who or what he does. Which is fine, he’s young, but watch yourself, 
Daphne. My experience with bisexual men is they often settle on their own side of the fence.”

Daphne felt her face burn. “We aren’t like that. I don’t care what he does!”

“Then it’s all good. He’s a hottie.”

If only she knew. Daphne hurriedly thought of something else to talk about, not wanting to 
discuss her weird relationship with Moody in any greater depth. But she suddenly remembered a 
pertinent fact. “Brian doesn’t know about Moody and I’d rather that he not. He can be so nosey 
and I just don’t want the grief.”

“I wouldn’t gossip about you, Daphne. Relax.”

“Thanks. I think Brian feels like he has to protect me, or something like that. It’s so bogus. He 
was so wild before he fell in love with Boyd, and now he acts like my uncle or someone.”

“Maybe it’s the born again Christian phenomenon. No one can be more pious than a former 
sinner.”

“Maybe.” She suspected his interest was more directly related to his business and the possibility 
that her romantic ventures could have a negative impact on what he was trying to get done. “You 
know, I have gone out with Bellamy, Lisette. In fact we’re having dinner tomorrow night with 
Boyd and Brian.”

Lisette smiled. “I do know that, Daphne. Boyd told me. I wondered if you were going to mention 
it.”

“I am so totally fucked up!” Daphne suddenly proclaimed, leaning away from her plate of food 
with a groan. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

Lisette reached over and patted her hand. “Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re young, pretty, 
single, healthy, you have every right to see whom you want when you want, and no one should 
tell you otherwise. Enjoy it while you got it, Daphne. Just know that every decision that you 
make has a ripple effect on other circles in your life. That’s true of all of us. Learning to balance 
these things is important.”

“Bellamy made it clear he can go out with who he wants when he wants, that he doesn’t answer 
to me. And he knows that I’m seeing someone else, too. I’m not going to be like Justin, who sat 
around pining over Brian while he fucked every guy in Pittsburgh. I want to have my fun, too! 
And maybe someone needs to help Bellamy understand that if he wants his ultimate freedom, 
that means he gives up any control over the women he dates.”

Lisette smiled, wondering who it was that Daphne was trying to convince. “Bellamy doesn’t strike 
me as the type who gives up control to anyone over anything. Be careful. Don’t turn it into a 
battle of wills because I think you’re under-armed against a man like that. I love him, I really do. 
I think he’s brilliant and honest and has a huge and shining integrity when it comes to his public 
life. But what I’ve heard about his private life is not pretty. He’s a player.”

“I know. But so far he isn’t really playing me.”

“Sure he is, Daphne. You just haven’t figured out his game.”

She winced and then said, “Do you know what a ‘seven man’ is?”

Lisette was surprised by this abrupt change of conversational direction. “In voodoo parlance?”

“I don’t know. Bellamy and I were out and this man called him a ‘seven man’. Bellamy wouldn’t 
explain it. He changed the subject. What do you think it means?”

“In voodoo parlance, the seven man is the seventh son of the seventh son of a family of 
practitioners, which gives him infinite power.”

“But Bellamy is an only child. And his father was some rich, intellectual, gay white guy.”

“Maybe it’s loosely defined. Maybe it has a generational meaning or something I don’t 
understand. I don’t know much about that religion.”

“Bellamy’s not the type to be into voodoo.”

“Sometimes I think the voodoo is into you. Whether you like it or not. His mother, Pearl, is a 
famous practitioner in these parts. I know her family. They’re from the same swamp where I 
grew up. Homer Dhue, one of the sweetest and most wonderful men in the world, is Pearl’s 
blood. And he has a touch of voodoo in him, too, although Madame Dhue is a very devout 
Catholic and she won’t allow it around her. I guess you could say Homer is in the closet with his 
hoodoo. But as a kid, more than once, Homer gave me a juju doll for protection, or gris-gris to 
help me through a dilemma. It may have meant nothing, really, but it did give me psychological 
support. That whole family is island French, from Haiti. Strong, strong magic in Haiti. Do I think 
Bellamy sits around sticking pins in dolls who look like his political opponents? No. But do I doubt 
if Bellamy inherited the magic from his mother? No. I know he did. It’s part of what makes him 
so compelling.”

Daphne frowned, wondering how someone like Lisette, educated, smart, sophisticated, could give 
any credence at all to horror movie fodder and silly legends. Louisiana was a very weird place. 
The doorbell rang and they both jumped, and then laughed at their nerves. Daphne trailed Lisette 
to the door and Lisette opened it to find a vampire. 

His long, black cape was wrapped across his torso like closed bat wings. His black hair was 
slicked straight back with gel, the curl controlled by the product. His ivory skin was whitened to a 
deathly pallor with stage makeup. The pale mask made his blue eyes pop with even more 
intensity. “I vant to show you ladies the dark side of the city,” he said in a dreadful Transylvanian 
accent and then revealed his fangs. One promptly fell out and he cursed as he reaffixed it to his 
tooth. “Fucking cheap fangs. I can’t wait to get my real ones. What do you think?”

Lisette laughed as Daphne said, “I think you’re crazy.”

“You know you find it hot,” he countered with a wicked grin and she rolled her eyes, refusing to 
admit the fact that she did. 

**********************

“What are you up to?” Brian asked Lindsay as he waited for Boyd to come home, experiencing 
inexplicable trepidation over their separation. The children were occupied by Jane, who had 
arranged a study and play room on the enclosed back porch with the participation of the owners. 
Lindsay gave Brian her sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth look that always made him want to 
shake her. He knew her well enough to now know that look was absolute crap.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she feigned innocence.

“Yes, you do. The whole gallery thing with Boyd. Don’t you think you should have discussed that 
with me first?”

“But Brian, it’s his gallery, not yours.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Lindsay. I know the game. What are you up to?”

“Does he think I’m up to something?”

“He doesn’t know you as well as I do.”

“Brian, I need a job. I need a break. I need some distance from Melanie. Boyd could use the help 
and you could use the time with Gus. It seems perfect.”

“Yes,” he nodded, resting a pensive hand beneath his nose as he peered at her. “It does, doesn’t 
it?”

“What do you think my game is?” He was unnerving her. “What could my motive be?”

Brian shrugged. “I’m not playing twenty questions.”

“I’ve given you my answer. What on earth do you think is my dastardly reason for staying here, 
Brian?”

He thought about that for a minute, then crossed his long, athletic legs that were left partially 
bare by the khaki shorts he had changed into upon reaching the B&B. He had learned that shorts 
and a wifebeater were the perfect foil for the area’s swampy heat.

“You have a way of making me feel bad about myself, Lindsay,” he suddenly realized what it was 
that nagged him about her staying here. He had enough faith in Boyd that he knew she couldn’t 
convince him Brian was a bad bet. Nothing she ever said about Boyd could change his feelings for 
his lover. But Lindsay had an insidious way of making Brian see himself in an unflattering way. 
She was never overt about it, at least she was seldom overt. But she would drop remarks and 
exit lines that cut deep. She made him think he was a terrible father, an unfeeling friend, a 
faithless lover. She made him question whether his love was more of a stain than a blessing and 
that he was either cruel to Justin or he was holding him back for his own selfish reasons. 
Whatever he did in his tenuous first attempt at love was either not enough or too much, 
according to Lindsay. He didn’t want those wounds opened again. He had enough baggage from 
his fucked up childhood to cause him to question his suitability for happiness without any help 
from her.

She looked at him with large, liquid brown eyes and an expression of exquisite pain. “How can 
you say such a thing to me, Brian? I’ve always defended you, often at great cost to my 
relationship with Melanie. I’ve always made excuses for you. How can you even think that?”

“Because it’s true,” he said simply. “And until I’m convinced you aren’t going to be injecting that 
free-floating poison into the atmosphere, I’m not sure I want you here, even though it hurts to 
realize that means Gus won’t be nearby.”

“You have the most egocentric take on the world of anyone I’ve ever met, Brian,” she swung 
from hurt to hurtful. “It doesn’t matter if it would help Boyd, or if it would help me, or if your own 
son would be close to you, all that really matters is whether it makes you happy or not.”

“And so it begins,” he said bitterly as he stood and walked out of the room. Boyd was running 
late. Not by much, but each minute was an hour for Brian. A day. A week. He sought out his son 
to distract him, refocus his attention, trying to ignore the ticking clock that was marking time in 
his head as surely as the timepiece swallowed by the crocodile in Peter Pan.

************************

Boyd found the B&B to be strangely quiet by the time he arrived home. Dinner was over, the 
kitchen cleaned, his children in bed. When he opened the door to his room, he found Brian in a 
chair by the window, asleep, with Gus sprawled against his torso, the boy’s pajama clad legs 
splaying Brian’s hips, his rosy cheek pressed to his father’s heart. Brian had also fallen asleep 
with one arm protectively looped behind Gus. A book he had been reading to his son had slipped 
from the other hand to fall open on the floor. The curtains were not drawn, as if he had been 
watching the street. The only interior light came from the crystal lamp on the table.

Touched by how beautiful father and son appeared, Boyd took out his phone and recorded a 
picture of their pose with the built in camera. He then threw his briefcase on the bed and 
loosened his tie before he gently tried to pry Brian’s arm away from Gus so he could pick up the 
boy and put him in his own bed. Brian startled, jerking awake, blinking rapidly as he focused on 
his lover. Only when he saw his sleeping son, did he restrain his reaction. He stood up carefully, 
supporting the child, and carried him to his room. Once Gus was safely in bed, Brian returned 
and closed the door behind him. Boyd was undressing, his fatigue evident in his lanquid moves. 

“You son of a bitch,” Brian said in a low voice. Boyd looked up at him, surprised by that invective. 

“What?”

“You come crawling in here at this hour and you never even call to tell me you’ll be late?”

At first Boyd thought Brian was kidding. He said that kind of thing in jest quite often, but 
something about his tone and the coiled look of him convinced him otherwise. “I had that 
meeting with the auditors, Brian. I told you that. And I told my secretary to call and let you know 
it was running over and that we were having dinner brought in. And by the way, I called you 
myself when the meeting ended and while I was driving home. Both calls went to voice mail.”

Brian fetched his mobile from the table by the window and pulled up the messages. He frowned. 
Two calls from Boyd. “Your secretary never called me,” he said with a sigh.

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her.”

“I must have been asleep when you called,” he snapped his phone closed and leaned his 
forehead on the cool glass of the window, staring out at the void that was penetrated by the soft 
amber glow of the gas light at the curb. “I’m sorry, Boyd. I was just so worried.”

This was definitely unlike Brian, Boyd realized and he walked over to him and enclosed him in a 
firm embrace, from behind. He rested his cheek against the sharp blades of Brian’s shoulders as 
he said, “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to worry you. What has you on edge? What’s wrong?”

Brian turned and put his arms around Boyd’s waist. He stared into his lover’s blue eyes as he 
said, “It’s reached a point where I don’t see the continuation of my life without you in it. That 
bothers me.”

Boyd smiled. “I feel the same way about you, Brian. And it bothers me, too. But you know what? 
If the worst happened and either one of us were suddenly alone, we’d survive. We’d be lonely, 
we’d be haunted, we’d be hurt, but we’d survive. Because this is too good to just turn bitter, if 
one of us disappears. And we have children and people who depend on us and things we want to 
accomplish. We would get through it because the way we feel about each other has made us 
stronger, not weaker. Don’t you see that?”

Brian thought it over and smiled slightly. “Christ, you can make death sound romantic.”

“No, but life is. I’m here, I’m fine, I’m not going anywhere. Except in there to take a bath. Want 
to scrub my back?”

Brian nodded, reluctantly releasing Boyd from his hug, but keeping his hand tightly entwined as 
they walked into the bathroom together. If he were the praying type, he’d thank God for waking 
up to find Boyd there, one more time. But since he wasn’t, he just sent out a good vibe to the 
fates and the faeries and tried to force himself out of his morbid slump.
Current Mood:  restless

December 12th, 2005
 
05:39 pm - BURN, Chapter 50
We're home. Calm is restored. Not. But I am posting for Brian after his queen out this morning. 
Here goes, Ran

***********



Brian couldn’t sleep. He tried snuggling up to Boyd to draw comfort from his proximity, but that 
didn’t work, either. He was soothed by his lover’s body and by his steady breathing and the 
regular rhythm of his heart, but sleep didn’t come with the comfort. He always felt the start of a 
sexual stirring when he was that close with Boyd, in bed, naked, and he didn’t want to disturb his 
lover’s sleep. They’d enjoyed more than their fair share of sex that day, and Brian thought it 
would be selfish to wake him up because he was restless. He marveled at that revelation, 
unselfish thoughts about a lover still mysterious to him.

He pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and slid into his flip-flops as he swept his cigarettes off the 
table and quietly descended the stairs. He knew all the rules about the security codes, how to set 
them when going in or out, what to do and not do; how to turn off the motion sensors and how 
to reset them later. The last thing he wanted to do was to upset the household with an 
unwarranted alarm. 

Switching this and pushing that, he made his way to the back yard and sat down on a chaise. He 
lit a cigarette, allowing the warm, fragrant air of the swamp to wash over him. He had learned 
these scents that came to him now. The briny aroma of the water and what lived in that water, 
the green smell of the cypress trees, the sweet edge of magnolia and other flowering plants. He 
used to find these smells strange, sometimes even intimidating. He was raised on exhaust from 
countless cars, stale trash waiting to be picked up, the combined scent of many kitchens and 
cuisines. City smells. These newer fragrances were home to him now. 

The sounds were different too. In New Orleans, there was always the ghost of jazz, played low. 
In Canard Rouge, there were alien bird calls, the drone of insects, occasionally the yip of a 
swamp fox or the rumble of bull frogs. He grew up with car horns, sirens, the hum of people 
crowded into a small geographic area, electronic haze. One wasn’t better or worse than the 
other, but they were distinctively different. He was acclimating to this environment. He liked his 
new setting in many ways. Not all them were about Boyd. 

His life had gone stale in Pittsburgh. He was doing the same work he had been doing since 
college, only for more money and as the boss. That wasn’t enough of a challenge to him. The 
same people he had known for years, some since school, surrounded him. The same clubs, the 
same tension, the same sense of failure over losing Justin. Aimless wandering in the desert of his 
mind to find himself had brought him here. To this primeval place where it seemed all life began. 
For him it did, anyway. 

His priorities slowly evolved. It wasn’t one big life-altering event. It wasn’t just that he fell hard 
for Boyd or that he was charged with a crime he didn’t commit. It was more than that. It was 
forging a relationship with this region, with this swampy, mysterious, alien terrain, and with all of 
its inhabitants. Colorful, friendly, weird, hostile, they came in different stripes, but that was okay. 
It kept things interesting. The food, the heat, the architecture, the sensation of ancient 
decadence, it all enveloped Brian in a sort of magic. He was becoming attuned to instincts he 
never knew he had.

And then there was Boyd, the love of his life. Sorry, to those who came before, but it was true. 
He never would have been able to get here with Boyd if not for the stumbling baby steps he took 
with Justin, but he was convinced that where he ended up was where he was meant to be. Equal 
partners on so many levels, compensating for the other when one stumbled. Making plans for a 
shared future. The family they cabled together added depth, but was not strangling the romance 
out of their relationship. Shared goals. Incredible passion. A one in a million or more chance of 
coming to this one horse town and meeting the man who would become the significant presence 
in his life. How lucky was he and how scary was that?

And if he lost him…if he lost Boyd…if he lost him….Brian winced and pressed his fingertips to his 
closed eyes. Thoughts like that needed to go away. There was no answer to that inquiry. If he 
lost him, what next? No clue. None. And that was the genesis of his fear. Cool fingers on his bare 
shoulders startled him. He flinched and looked up as Lindsay slipped onto the chair beside his. 
“Can’t sleep?” she asked.

She looked angelic in a flimsy white linen gown, her blonde hair piled loosely on top of her head. 
Moonlight wore well on blondes. He sighed. “I don’t want to fight. Not in the mood.” He didn’t 
want to talk, either. He just wished she would go away.

“Nor do I, Brian.”

“Good.”

“I’ll leave, if that’s what you want. No fuss, just go. But I wish you’d give me one chance to prove 
I can change in my dealings with you and if I fail, I’ll pack up, no questions asked.”

“Lindsay, do you want to fuck me?”

She laughed. “In case you haven’t gotten the memo, I’m a dyke.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Sometimes I do,” she said with surprising honesty. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“No,” he said with equal candor. “I really don’t. I’m sorry, Lindsay, you’re a beautiful woman and 
very sexy in an ice queen sort of way, but no. I’m past that phase of my life and no matter what 
happens in the future, I won’t return to it. I’m a homo. I may not be effeminate, but I like dick 
just as much as any queen. If it weren’t Boyd in my bed, I’d have some other dick in my mouth, 
some other ass to plow. Do you get it?”

She nodded. “I get it.”

“Then we’ll give it a try. But at the first sniff of bullshit from you, I’m calling time. Believe it.”

“I do.”

They were silent for a moment and then Brian spoke. “I could use a friend, Linds. Be one for 
me.”

She reached over and put her hand on his arm in an affectionate but not intrusive gesture. “I am. 
What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“Something between you and Boyd?”

“Not like you mean. Not about our relationship, which is pretty fucking perfect. Just some vague, 
stupid fear.”

“There’s so much going on, Brian. It’s not all that stupid to be afraid.”

“Maybe so.”

Just then, a man stepped out of the shadows with such abrupt presence that they both jumped 
up like startled deer. “What the fuck?” Brian automatically swept Lindsay behind him with a wave 
of his arm. She cowered there, her hand on his waist as she peered around him. 

The man took a tentative step forward. Something metal gleamed in his hand. Not a gun or a 
knife, a large metal tool that Brian finally identified as an industrial sized wrench. “Go call 911,” 
Brian said to her, shoving her back a step.

“Brian!”

“Go!”

The man progressed another step. “I come for my kids and you damned well better not try and 
stop me.”

Bonnie’s father, drunk as a sailor, and as menacing as a snake. Lindsay ran inside, as Brian 
tensed. “You don’t want to do this,” he said and Boyd’s father in law laughed. 

“You fucking queer,” he rambled, slapping the heavy implement against his palm for emphasis. 
The lights went on, both inside and around the perimeter of the property. Boyd burst out the 
back door and grabbed Brian’s arm, pulling him back.

“Go inside with the kids. Don’t let them get up. I’ll handle it.”

“Like hell,” Brian wasn’t leaving Boyd out here alone with this jerk. He noticed that in his haste, 
Boyd had pulled on Brian’s robe. He was oddly touched by that small intimacy. Boyd glared at 
him, but Brian wouldn’t budge.

“You give me them kids you rich, useless faggot bastard.”

“Go home. You’re drunk and stupid. You aren’t getting the children and the police are on the 
way. Get the fuck out of here before you end up in jail.”

“No jury in this state would convict me from saving them kids from living in sin with you two 
perverts.”

“Fine,” Boyd tried to keep a safe space between them and restrain Brian at the same time. “Let 
the court prove you right. But get the fuck out of here.”

The man swung the heavy wrench, barely missing Boyd’s head with it. As Boyd ducked, Brian 
lunged. He shoved the man back with the full force of his body, and watched him stumble and 
then fall on his ass, inches away from the safety fence surrounding the pool. His weapon fell 
between two iron bars of the fence. As he recovered his equilibrium and fished for it, Brian came 
down on him again, this time using a hard kick honed by years of playing soccer. His foot landed 
on the man’s jaw. It knocked him flat as he bit through his lip and blood sprayed around his face 
in a crimson arc, turned black by the night. 

He didn’t move. Boyd rushed over and pushed Brian back. He then picked up the wrench and 
hurled it into the bushes, as if to secure it from the man who once wielded it. His father in law 
groaned with pain. “Done broke my jaw! Sue you!” he managed to sputter as authority arrived in 
the calm guise of Sheriff Carter. 

Bonnie’s father was driven in a squad car to the hospital in Lafayette, with Fergus along to keep 
the peace. Carter sat at the dining room table with Boyd and Brian, drinking Verona coffee 
prepared by Jon, as he listened to their story. Lindsay and Jane calmed the kids and put them 
back to bed, remaining with them to keep them settled. 

“So you went after him once he fell back on the ground, Brian?”

Brian shrugged. He was still numb from the encounter, not yet feeling the stress that would come 
later. “He was reaching for that fucking wrench. He could’ve killed Boyd if he’d connected with his 
head. I wasn’t giving him another chance.”

“Looks like you broke his jaw.”

“Good. I may have broken a toe myself. Hurts.”

Boyd glanced down at Brian’s elegant foot and repressed a smile. “He was just trying to protect 
himself and the children and me, Sheriff.”

“I know that, Boyd. And we got the wrench. But he’s an old, drunk Cajun. Brian’s a big, strong 
young man. Some might see it as overkill.”

“You let him swing that fifteen pound piece of metal at your fucking head and then tell me it’s 
overkill,” Brian seethed. 

“Okay, now, calm down. I’m just trying to get the facts. I don’t mean you did anything wrong on 
the criminal side, Brian, I just mean if the old fool decides to sue you some damn lawyer can 
make a case out of it.”

“Can we do this tomorrow? We’re so tired, it’s late, nothing’s going to change,” Boyd pleaded. 
The sheriff nodded.

“Good idea. You want me to charge him?”

“Yes,” Brian said and Boyd said ‘no’ at the same time. They looked at each other and Brian 
frowned. “Are you nuts? He broke in through the fence and tried to kill you and threatened 
Lindsay and me both. Plus he was here to kidnap.”

“Please, Brian. Please. That family has been through enough. I want a report, Sheriff, because 
it’ll help in this custody dispute, but he’s just an old drunk. Can you charge him with D and D and 
slap his wrist?”

“D and D?” Brian asked.

“Drunk and disorderly.”

“Also known as ‘Saturday night’,” Carter said with a smile. “I’ll think on it, Boyd. It’ll take them 
awhile to patch him up at the hospital. I’ll have blood drawn and test his content.”

Brian laughed. “Try a three is my guess.”

“You may get a lawsuit out of this, fellas,” Carter closed up his book and finished his coffee.

“What else is new?” Brian said with a smirk. The Sheriff left them alone, taking the wrench with 
him. Boyd reached down and lifted Brian’s foot to rest against his knee. The second toe was 
discolored, slightly swollen. He tried to move it and Brian cried out.

“Stop!”

“It may be broken.”

“It is broken. I’ve broken enough toes playing ball to know when it’s broken. Nothing to do about 
it, but let it heal. Just don’t touch it.”

“You were like Rambo out there.”

Brian laughed. “How old is that movie, anyway?”

“He still looks hot in it.”

“You are so gay.”

Jon interrupted them. “Turn out the lights, guys. I’ve reset the alarms. Never a dull moment with 
you two.”

They said goodnight as he went upstairs. Boyd then leaned over and delicately kissed Brian’s 
injured toe. “That’ll make it better.”

“Want to go to bed? I think I can sleep, now.”

“It takes a brawl to put you to sleep?”

“Sometimes. A ball or a brawl. Take your pick.”

“Let’s go.” Brian leaned a little on Boyd as he limped up the stairs. At their bedroom door, Boyd 
paused. “I want to make sure the kids are okay. I hope they aren’t too messed up by this. I’ll be 
back in a minute.”

Brian nodded and walked into their room, alone. He stripped, and got into bed, ignoring the 
throbbing in his toe. He felt better. Maybe this was it, his sense of foreboding. Maybe it had come 
and gone and they handled it without real injury to either of them. That thought made him so 
happy that as soon as he closed his eyes, he was asleep. 

Current Mood:  anxious