(A/N: Overall::::  The rape in the warnings is not part of what happens in this story- there are references to it in the past.  FYI.)  Thank you so much for the reviews!
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Shit. I have to meet another goody two shoes 'big brother' wanna-be-- none have come back to see me more than twice, tops- most leave after one visit. Why can't the 'powers-that-be' just keep me in juvee and then put me in prison when I'm 18? Why do they think they have to save my black, damaged soul? In fact, why do they think I even *have* a soul to save? 

A total of fifteen thirty- or forty-something farts have come to 'save' me, and all have gone. Phew. I do my best to be at my worst behavior when I first meet them- it's not hard. I'm a brain damaged cripple with a huge drug and alcohol problem and 'a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas', as Jeremy says. Jeremy's the officer assigned to me in here. He's an ass.

I sit at the scratched up wood table picking at my fingernails. The room is empty except for the table and a couple decrepit chairs. The walls, the ceiling, the floor---all are a dull grey. It reminds me of the interrogation room at the police station. I am so bored, I start daydreaming just to keep myself from running head-first into the cinderblock wall. I smile a little as I imagine myself undamaged, beautiful (in other words, NOT myself) with a gorgeous, impossibly perfect man. He's putting sun block on my back as the deep blue-green sea laps at the beach lazily. Hmmmmmm.... nothing remotely like that will ever, *ever* happen, I know - but I have my mind to 'play in'...

Just then, the door opens and my dream dissipates. In shuffles Mr.Marsh, as expected. Curious despite myself, I await the next victim of the Justin-Taylor-Hate machine to enter behind him. 

Then, the most sexy, sensual, beautiful, enticing man I have ever seen or even imagined walks in; my breath catches and I feel my palms getting a little moist. Shit. The man walks confidently- even a little cockily- and he has an impatient, pissed look, like this is the last place he wants to be-- same as me. 

I suddenly find I can't swallow- my mouth's gone dry.

"Justin," Mr. Marsh says blandly, his voice reminding me of the tortoise's in the Bugs Bunny version of the 'The Tortoise and the Hare' fable. That, and/or the voice of the teacher dude in 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off'. Either way, he sounds bored and like he's been working for the government WAY too long. "This is Mr. Kinney. He's going to be spending time with you, getting to know you."

Brian looks at me but doesn't offer his hand- so neither do I. Nor do I get up- mostly because those kind of manners are stupid- but also because I'm afraid I'll sway when I stand, or even worse, fall. While I don't have to fake how wobbly I am, I typically use it to my advantage in these situations. It's usually one of the first qualities about me that makes potential 'big brothers' quietly freak out, even if they're already aware of my condition. But, for some reason, I don't want to make this Mr. Kinney go away. This is a first.

After a few moments of the two of us eyeing each other, Mr. Kinney finally says something. "Listen, kid- Justin, whatever- don't expect me to 1, feel sorry for your addicted ass, 2, treat you with any undeserved respect, 3, praise and coo over you just because you successfully open a can of soup in spite of your physical limitations, whatever they specifically are, 4, *like* you, necessarily, or 5, put up with any bullshit because you want to get rid of me. You don't have to drive me away- you only have to tell me and I'm outta here. As much as I need to do this to fulfill my community service, my time is too valuable to waste on some pissant shit who doesn't want me around. 

"Oh. And call me Brian. My father was 'Mr. Kinney'."

By the end of Brian's quiet little 'speech', Mr. Marsh and I are gaping at him, struck by his blunt attitude. Never has a potential 'big brother' been as... up front... as Brian; I grin. He's a royal ASSHOLE. 

Frankly, I like it- I trust him- which scares me; I don't fucking KNOW him. But I get the strong feeling that no matter what, I'll always know where I stand with him. I'd rather deal with a completely honest creep than a super-sweet phony any day. And this Brian guy is a shit, yeah- but there's no real venom there. 

Regaining some of his composure, Mr. Marsh 'ahems'. "Well, uh... I'll just leave you two alone a little while, just so you can get acquainted. You two can go out and have coffee or something if you want..." With that, Mr. Marsh hurries from the room and closes the door. He's never left me alone with any 'mentor wanna-be's' before. Odd. But here I am: I'm alone with Brian. 

I glance at him nervously. Nervous! I'm never nervous with do-gooder losers!

But he's not a do-gooder loser. He very apparently doesn't want to be here- no one does after they've met me, although no one says so. But this guy doesn't seem to care about being here to assuage some inner voice telling him to give something to the community- no, he's here 'cause he has to be and fuck all if he's not totally up front about that. He's real. I don't know quite what I mean by that- but he doesn't fuck around. Plus, shit... HE'S GODDAMMED BEAUTIFUL... "Have a chair, sir..." I hear myself say anxiously. 'Sir'? 'SIR'??? And 'Have a chair'???? What am I, hosting a tea party?

Shit.

Brian looks at me oddly, then shrugs, pulls a chair out and sits. He crosses his arms and stares at me like he either wants to strangle me for 'making' him be here or he has something more to say. "So, what's your problem?" He asks simply.

I gawp at him, speechless. Huh?

After a minute: "Justin?"

"Huh?" I croak.

He smirks. "Look, I know you have speech problems, but you *can* string words together into a sentence, can't you?"

I nod mutely, smiling a little despite myself. 

He chuckles. "Good. Then do you mind answering me? What's your problem? I mean, I know the overall details- but what the fuck's going on with you at the ripe old age of 17 that has you on the juvee critical list? I know there was abuse, I know about the drinking and drugging, I know you suffer physical repercussions because of drinking, yadda yadda- but what makes you such a fucker? The people here are trying to help you, for whatever reason; but you aren't letting them, from what I understand."

I snort. He's nothing if not direct- he's fucking ruder'n hell. "You're awfully eloquent, aren't you? And you sure go out of your way to be polite..."

"Cut the sarcastic shit, Sunshine. I'm not here to be eloquent or polite."

'Sunshine'? I wonder silently to myself. Flustered, I look at initials some shmoe carved into the tabletop. 'BK+JT'. I start to laugh ironically. That could be 'Brian Kinney plus Justin Taylor'! What a coincidence- and an impossibility. A joke. I look up and I see Brian's raised one eyebrow in curiosity as to why the hell I'm laughing. He's not even trying and he's sexier than hell. My cock twitches; it's already hard and I thank God that my erection is hidden by my baggy pants and the table. "Um. Mr.-- er, Brian... I don't want to answer your question, to be honest..." 

He smiles - I think he appreciates my candor, even if it's inadvertent. "Ok," he says softly. "What do you want to do then?"

"What *I* want? Really?'' I ask, biting my lower lip.

"I wouldn't ask otherwise..."

Of course. 

"Can we get out of here?" I ask.

"Sure. Where to?"

I try to focus. "How 'bout Mulligan's Pub?"

"Nice try, Justin..."

I grin. "Ok, then how 'bout we go to Baskins Robbins?"

He looks at me a little surprised. "Ice cream? You want ice cream? Mr. Marshman essentially said you were too old and too sophisticated to be up for ice cream..."

"Um. It's Mr. Marsh," I correct inanely.

"Oh. Right. I always forget that," he mutters absently. 

I clear my throat, thinking. "Brian, did Mr. Marsh really say that about me? That I'm too old and sophisticated to want ice cream?"

"He didn't say so in so many words, but yeah. 

"Anyway, good: ice cream'd be fine by me. Anything with nuts is good in my opinion..." he adds with a sly smile. My gaydar pinged the moment he strode into the room and now it's blaring like a fog horn. Brian gets to his feet, brushing off his tailored slacks; as his long legs straighten, the cheap, old chair he was sitting on scrapes behind him along the dirty floor, sounding awfully ancient and decrepit- it's as if it knows it's not good enough for his ass. I smirk inwardly at myself.

"Yeah," I breathe. Gawd. "Anything with nuts," I agree. Ok, Taylor: get a fucking hold on yourself, you smitten, stale, nelly fag! Usually I'm a smartass- at least that's what everyone barks at me. Right now though, I'm acting like a dolt.

He laughs lightly. "By the way," he adds, walking to the door. "Mr.... Mr...."

"Marsh," I prompt him again.

"Right. Mr. Marsh told me that you're gay," he says bluntly, opening the door for me as I stagger a little towards him and the door. I look at him, shocked and a little embarrassed for some reason.

I recover quickly. "They tell all the potential schmucks I'm gay," I reply.

"Huh. I'm sure. But I've known you're gay from the first second I met you- he didn't have to tell me. I'm telling you that I know just in case you were going to try to hide it. We wouldn't want you embarrassing yourself- more than you already have, I mean."

I feel my cheeks get very warm. Then I feel his hand on the small of my back as he leads me out of the door, closing it behind us. 
"I'm gay, too, by the way- I get the sense you're wondering about that..." he adds glibly, removing his hand from my back having hardly noticed his gesture. I sure noticed it...

Yeah, I was wondering- hoping. "No, I hadn't thought about it."

"Liar," he mutters good-naturedly under his breath. I follow him down the hall and outside; I'm excited-- they haven't let me leave the residential center grounds for two and a half months, and not one guard or nurse questions Brian (I don't think they'd dare) OR me as he blithely leads me out of the building. I notice several of the male nurses stare as we pass; male nurses who I've decided over the time I've been stuck in this hell hole are very likely gay. I feel my chest puff out, in spite of myself; they're all drooling over an oblivious Brian Kinney - and he's with me...!

We step out into the sunlight and I can't help smiling. It feels so good, smells so good on my (too pale) skin. Patches of snow line the sidewalk and I find myself having to nearly skip to keep up beside Brian instead of behind him. Amazingly, I don't stumble or feel off balance for a couple seconds. He looks over as I become even with him, every two of my hurried steps for every one graceful long stride for him. 

"Brian, how the fuck tall are you??"

He chuckles. "I'm about 6'4". You're what? 2'3"?"

That ticks me off. I know I'm short for a guy, but... "No, asshole. I'm 5'8"."

He stops walking abruptly. Uh oh- I've blown it already. But wait- why the fuck do I really care? 

…I don't know...

I look at his face- he doesn't look mad. After a moment of silence, I get restless. "What's wrong, Mr.-- er, Brian? I mean, I'm sorry I called you an asshole... but. Well, I didn't mean it..."

He blinks. "Justin, are you for real? You're acting like some mild-mannered schoolboy from the 1950s. I AM an asshole. I have a thick skin; talk to me like you would talk to anyone. From what little I've heard about you, and from what very little I know, you're behaving like some pod person instead of yourself. Stop trying to be so… fuck…ingratiating or something, and be the shithead you are. I told you: just tell me to fuck off once, and that's all it'll take. I'm not kidding."

Shocked, I again find myself gawking at him. 

"Justin, you're sorta like I was at 17- I just never 'successfully' ran away or drank myself to near death. I can't say I know exactly what you've been through or what you're going through. But I know bullshitting when I see it. And I see it. So quit it."

"Bullshitting? I'm not bullshitting!"

"There you go again..." 

I don't know what to say. I look down at my beat up Nikes.

"This is my Jeep. Get in." I now notice he'd stopped by the black Jeep at the curb. He opens the passenger door and I dutifully get in. "So, where's this Mulligan's Pub you mentioned?" He asks as he slips into the driver's seat.

"Um... are you serious? I mean, I want to go, but I shouldn't... they do random piss and spit tests at the center and all, and I'm sure I'll get tested when we get back..." I stammer. I really do want a shot- or three-- but... "And... and they say if I drink, I could die. Literally," I add. "So, really… I shouldn't…"

He grins at me. "Ding ding! Good answer, even if it is a little equivocating. I'm not being serious, Justin. We're getting ice cream, not booze." He starts the car and we pull into traffic. "Where's Baskins Robbins?"

I smile inside, ridiculously happy that I 'passed' his first test... *ridiculously* is the key word there. The guy who's supposed to be mentoring me just offered to take me to a fucking BAR. "Uh. It's just down the street...

"But Brian, on second thought, can we go somewhere else? Do something else? I haven't been out of the center for months and I really don't want to be anywhere near the place..."

"And who's to blame for that? For you not getting out 'til now?"

"Huh?"

"You've been such a prick to the other 'mentors' who've tried to get to know you, you haven't had a chance to get away with any of them before they stopped coming to see you."

Fucker. "They never offered..." I counter.

"Did you ask them?" 

"No..." I notice that we're passing right by Baskins Robbins. He doesn't even glance at it as he watches the road intently. "Um, where are we going?" Maybe this guy's a mad rapist and is taking me to some secluded place in the woods to have his way with me and then kill me.

"So, it's your fault you haven't gotten out of the center... oh, and you'll see where we're going when we get there."

Fuck, what a DICK. I don't respond but I keep my eyes anxiously ahead, trying to memorize every turn, every store we pass, so I can find my way back if he leaves me in a ditch somewhere. A short while later, we get to a warehouse district- uh oh. He IS going to kill me.

Except the neighborhood looks clean; it looks like it's been gentrified- like a Pittsburgh version of SoHo. The buildings appear to be residential.

We pull up to one of the largest buildings, on the corner of what the sign said is Tremont. I peer at the cross street; Delaware. So, they'll find my raped, bloody body in a large, high-priced loft or apartment at the corner of Tremont and Delaware. Hm. 

"Come on."

I look at him briefly- he's not at all menacing or creepy, but how many victims would have *become* victims if their assailants acted like deranged killers at first? "Where are we?" I ask, kicking myself because my voice is so timid.

"Justin, are you scared of me or something?"

"Where are we?" I ask again, my voice stronger now.

He smirks. "We're at my home, Justin. I can take you back to the center if you'd like..."

"NO!" I say a bit too loudly. "No, thank you..."

"Pfft," he mutters and gets out of the Jeep.

I quickly get out, figuring that at least I'll be in the papers a day or so once they find my body. I'll get my 15 minutes of fame. I won't prove Andy Warhol wrong. But if I'm honest with myself, I find I really do trust this guy as I said before- he's too much of a jerk to be evil. Oddly enough, were he a nice guy, I'd be more worried. 

A bit unsteady, I follow Brian inside and into an old, rickety lift. I see there are only 4 floors- he pushes the button for the 4th. I try to avert my eyes but I'm so attracted to him, I can't help but steal glances at his face and long, lean body. It's odd, I guess, that I've never really felt truly attracted to another man before now- I've always known I was gay, of course, but I haven't ever seen a man I really wanted; the johns were almost all old, unhappily married losers. And 99 times out of 99 and a half, I was wasted.

I accidentally make eye contact with him once and I'm so embarrassed, I'm tempted to pry open the lift doors and plummet to my death. 

"Why did you call me 'Sunshine' before?" I ask, both not knowing I was going to speak and not at all thinking that, if I did speak, I'd say something so... idiotic.

He looks at me curiously as the lift comes to a stop. He doesn't answer, but opens the door and lifts the grate. I follow him to what I assume is his front door- it's the only door on this floor. He unarms and unlocks it, slides it open, and I follow him into a large loft that could easily be pictured as 'home of the year' in Better Homes and Gardens. It's immaculate and sexy, and the furniture and decor is all minimalist but comfortable. It seems to be two big rooms- the bedroom, which is barely visible, is separated from us by frosted glass panels; and we're standing in the living room/dining room/kitchen, which is all divided functionally. Oh- I see what must be a bathroom off to the side, as well. I'm impressed. I guessed this guy was rich by how he was dressed- now I'm sure of it. 

I'm standing in place at the door and am overcome by a now-familiar and dreaded sense of overwhelming vertigo. I waver on my feet, trying desperately to cover it up. I feel like I'm going to fall over though, and I look around helplessly trying to spot a chair or anything to hold onto to attempt to steady myself.

"Justin?" I feel his firm grip on my arm and am grateful...

"I'm okay, really. I just... I have to sit down."

He leads me to the plush, leather sofa and I breathe a sigh of relief as I sink into the cushions. I take a moment to focus since my vision is somewhat darkened and blurry. He brings me a bottle of water and I drink it down all at once. 

"Sorry..." I say sheepishly.

"Sorry's bullshit," he responds, his tone a bit harsh. I'm damaged, I know- it's just, for once, I wish it didn't show so blatantly. As my vision clears a little, I dare to look at him, seated at the opposite end of the sofa. "Better?" He asks softly.

I swallow and nod, biting my lip so I don't apologize again.

"I called you Sunshine because when you smile - and MEAN it-" he adds, "your face lights up." He hands me the rest of his bottle of water and without thanking him, I down it. 

"My face lights up?" I finally ask.

"Justin, will you quit being some dim bulb Clark Kent and be yourself already!?? This pussyfooting around is pissing me off. I hate pussy; I hate pussyfooting. You're more real when you speak what's on your mind, you know... 

"And yes, it lights up."

I shift a little closer to Brian, closing the small gap between us but keeping enough distance so that we aren't touching. "May I tell you something then? May I say something that's on my mind?"

"If you want me to know it, yes. Just don't tell me you like fuzzy bunnies and sparkly unicorns or I'll drive you back to the center so fast your head will spin. More than it does already, I mean, Mr. Brain Damage."

"Brian! That's not nice!"

"Huh. 'Nice'. Neither am I. I thought you got that. Besides, Sunshine, your brain is versatile. All brains are. Over time, new neural paths will take over for the ones that no longer work."

That's the most hopeful thing anyone's said to me since this all went down. Pretty pathetic, eh? This asshole has already, within an hour of knowing me and with no more than 30 or so words, given me a twisted sense of hope. Hope that I actually believe in, anyway. I stare at him a moment and then look at my trembling hands. Why are my hands trembling? "What I was going to tell you," I blurt, "is that I find you beau-- pretty cool. An absolute, utter ass, yes. But you're... you're..." I can't find the right words. Nor can I look him in the eye at the moment. "You're Brian Kinney," I say finally. It's stupid- but somehow, those are the only words that fit.

I chance a glance at him. His face is close. *He's* close. He smells so good, so masculine... 

His expression is softer than I've seen the whole whopping hour I've known him. He smiles when we make eye contact. "I'm 'Brian Kinney', eh? Hm," is all he says. "Pithy."

I nod shyly.

He appraises me a moment and smirks. "Fuckin' hell. Weren't you a hustler, Justin? I'm old enou—you're awfully young, but I *know* you're experienced. So it's odd that you're acting like a shy debutante. Do you have some deluded crush on me?"

Panicked, I slide away from him, shaking my head. "N-no..." 

"You sure, little girl?"

"Fuck you!" I spit. "I'm sure! Fuck. I shouldn't have said anything... never mind!"

He quirks a lopsided grin. "It's okay, Sunshine. It's actually flattering to have a hot 17-year-old brain-damaged guy attracted to me--"

"I'm not attracted to you!" I insist, hating how unconvincing I sound. "And stop saying I'm brain-damaged!" I huff.

"Well, you are, aren't you?"

I don't respond. He's such a jerk. "I can still *think*, you creep!" I say angrily. Wait, did he call me 'hot'?

"Yes, you can think. You're lucky..."

I look at him fully- he's taunting me, but there's nothing in his tone or expression that tells me that he's being malicious or pitying me. He's just saying it like it is- and he's being slightly playful. "I know I'm lucky," I say quietly.

I shift back to my spot from a moment ago; that spot close to him. I look into his eyes- they're green and hazel and gold and chocolate brown… wow. And there's definite humor glinting in them. I lean towards him; WHAT AM I DOING?

He seems to think the same thing because suddenly he's standing. "You, uh, finished off my water. I'm getting another- you want one?" He sounds a little flustered.

"N-no, thanks."

He nods and walks purposefully to the refrigerator. I promptly chastise myself. What was I doing? Did I really expect to kiss him? Did I really think he'd kiss *me back*? Not only is he my 'mentor' and not 'available' for that reason, but he's gorgeous and so out of my league, it's laughable!! I'm an alcoholic ex-hustling, brain-damaged freak!

When he returns with a bottle of water, he sits in the designer easy chair across from me. I can't help but ironically chuckle a little. "I know 'sorry's bullshit', but I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

He puts his water bottle on the coffee table (on a coaster on the coffee table, to be accurate), and he chuckles a bit himself. "S'okay, Justin. It's just... nothing like that can happen, alright?"

Inside, I feel like weeping even though I know it's true. I keep up a chipper front though. "I know. It was stupid."

"I wouldn't say 'stupid', Sunshine. I'd say 'inappropriate'."

Hmmm. Something in that statement sounds a little hopeful to me. But: "Why?" I ask before thinking. "Because I used to be a hustler? Because I'm trying to be in recovery? Because I'm damaged goods all around??" I hiss. "Why?"

He looks put off and a little surprised. "'Why'? WHY? I could care less if you were a hustler- in fact, I find that hard to believe since you act like a fucking virginal hermit! I also could care less about you're 'recovery' bullshit- just don't use when you're with me! And you aren't 'damaged goods', for Christ's sake! You're damaged, for lack of a better word, but you aren't some fucking commodity to be returned for being defective, you shit—although, I'm starting to question that! 'Why' is because I'm *supposed* to be like a big brother to you! And not the incestuous kind!"

"You're only doing this 'big brother' thing for your community service, Brian!" I say. 

"And *you're* only doing this because the center is 'making' you! Regardless of *why* we're here, we are, and we have to follow SOME rules! All I need is for you to tell some freak at the center I molested you and get my ass thrown in jail! You. Are. Not. Worth. It."

Hey! "I wouldn't—" but I shut up. The look on his face tells me to simply s*h*u*t u*p.