In His Kiss

Chapter 15

The ‘Fuel’ Campaign.


As Justin climbed the steps to his front door, he heard the cab pull away. He was glad he had not had to take the subway again with his pants full of come. He was going to have to do something about this, knowing well that if he met Brian at the club it would no doubt happen again. Maybe he should just wear a condom. That was an idea.

Daphne was going to be unbearable. She had been completely right. Brian had showed up, and way faster than Justin expected. He just loved the way Brian had taken charge, and taken him away from both his dancing partners. Justin had been incredibly happy to see him.

Was Daphne right about everything?

Was Brian actually falling for him? It was hard to believe, and yet, the way he had held him in the cab had been so…loving. Justin knew he had to have had a very hard cock, and had almost expected Brian to hint at a blowjob on the way. Part of Justin wanted it very much. Even through his jeans, Brian’s cock was impressive, and he would have loved to taste it, to take it in his mouth and down his throat.

But Brian was his boss. Plexus’s policy, and apparently Brian’s personal rules were very strict, and very clear. Plexus’s higher ups did not engage in sexual congress with employees. He wondered which of them had done it and suffered some kind of legal consequences. He thought the rules predated Brian’s arrival, so Alan? Paul? Marcus? One had to wonder.

He himself had laid down the law with Brian. He didn't do one offs. Of course Brian was not some strange guy in a club anymore, and if one counted anything leading to an orgasm as a sexual encounter, they were already past the one time only, no repeats. Or did only penetrative sex matter, in Brian’s accounting? The whole thing was confusing, and a little asinine, but Justin knew damn well he would do it again at the drop of a hat.

He went to sleep at 2:30, already hating his alarm. Strangely enough, when it went off, he felt refreshed and full of energy. There was porridge on the stove. After doing a full kitchen clean up, he had a bowl, then grabbed the bagged lunch that bore his name. He really needed to mop the floor. He would do that tonight.

***

He started working on the Fuel campaign immediately upon arriving, got fully absorbed, and was astounded when he realized from others leaving that it was past noon and he had not been interrupted. He ate his almond butter and honey sandwich and headed to Alan’s office.

The 45 minutes of dancing he had done before Brian arrived at the club were too short to count as a real workout, and whatever happened after that had nothing to do with cardiovascular health.

He ran hard for forty minutes. He reached the five-mile mark, and headed to the shower. He was out fifteen minutes later, and went back to his desk. He ate his yoghurt and his banana contemplating the morning’s work and got back to it.

Once again, he was able to get into it without interruption until 3:30, when Julie brought him a bunch of stuff to color. It was actually a nice break, and since he had been working on the computer, his hand was in great shape. By five, he was done, and brought everything back to her desk.

“Julie? Are you working on the Fuel campaign?”

“I’m supposed to have a proposal for The Coach by the day after tomorrow, yes.”

“Would you mind taking a quick look at what I’ve got? I think I’m done.”

“Sure. I need a break from Brown, anyway. If I see one more picture of Drew Boyd in underwear, I’ll go cross eyed.”

“Oh, yeah. Poor you! I feel your pain!”

“He’s gay! You know what torture it is to salivate over him for hours, knowing full well he plays for the other team?”

“No, Jules. I wouldn’t know. He plays for my team…”

She just laughed.

“I happen to know his boyfriend, by the way,” added Justin, smiling when thinking how crazy Emmett was about Drew.

“Really? What’s he like?”

“Tall, gorgeous, funny, dances like a god, and as flaming as they come. I’ve not met Boyd. He had a game last time I saw Emmett. I will though, at Christmas.”

“Do you know we have to strip down to our underwear every time we do a shoot with Boyd?” asked Julie. “Otherwise, he is too self conscious to strip.”

Justin laughed. “That’s hilarious. Everybody?”

“Yeah. The cameraman, the lighting guy, the Brown’s representative, Brian, me, everybody. It’s an education, let me tell you.”

“Why?”

“People act different when they are in their underwear. It’s a great equalizer. Well, except for Kinney, of course.”

“What do you mean?”

“The very first shoot, he was apparently going commando under his Hugo Boss. He just stood there, butt-naked as the day he was born, and was exactly the same asshole he always is. Made no difference at all. He was sporting a boner for a while, and was completely un-phased. Everyone else was trying as hard as possible not to stare.

“He was just like: 'More light, Devon!' 'Let’s have some wind for this one.' Cool as a cucumber. Finally, the gal from Brown handed him some briefs, and he just raised an eyebrow at her like 'What’s your problem?' Cynthia took them and put them in his hands. 'Put them on, Brian. You’re distracting me.' So he did, and that was that.”

Justin was laughing so hard he had to stop and catch his breath when they got to his desk. Julie was smiling. “I know. It’s a good story. But people who don’t know him don’t find it that funny. So. Show me your stuff.”

Justin was worried for a second. After all, he had modeled ‘Rage’ on Brian. But he figured, after that story, that if anyone could appreciate it, it would be Julie.

He showed her the pages. They were set up like a comic book, with the bold drawings and the primary colors. ‘Rage’ was the superhero, doing his superhero thing. The captions were only vaguely related to his actions. They talked to the reader.

“Others want to compete. You have the rage to win.”

“Others play. You have the rage to fight.”

“Others work out. You have the rage to control your body.”

“Fuel your rage.” In the last image, ‘Rage’ was guzzling down the potion that was key to his superpowers, whatever they were, a bottle of ‘Fuel’ sport drink.

Julie looked up with a smile. “So! That’s why Sam told us to leave you alone, today… Let me get him and Randy. Looks like we won’t have to sweat over this after all…”

Obviously, Sam and Randy agreed that his approach was fantastic, because they were rejoicing at the fact that it was one less thing they’d have to work on before Christmas.

“I want you there with me when I show this to The Coach, said Sam. You’re definitely getting credit for this one.” Then, teasing, “You don’t have a history with The Coach, do you?”

“Oh, ha, ha, very funny. And no. I’ll be happy to be there.”

“Good. We can show him tomorrow.” Sam was rubbing his hands, looking quite pleased. “Go home, Justin. Get some rest. You look like you need it.”

“Yes, mother.” Truth be told, his short night and his hour and a half of hand coloring were starting to weigh him down.

All three of them stood there smiling while he grabbed his bag. He looked at them. “Go back to work, you slackers!” and he headed out, glad to be going home at a decent time for once.

It was on the subway home that he realized he had not seen Brian all day. No strange request to come and pick up boards, or anything. He remembered what Julie had said about Sam’s directive to leave him alone, and wondered if Sam had send someone else to run Brian’s errands. Or maybe Brian had had his fix of him last night, and did not feel the urge to bother making an excuse to stare at his ass today. He felt strangely disappointed.

At home, he did a major kitchen clean up, getting to the oven, the floors and even the window. He organized the pantry, and cleaned the cupboards. It was sadly needed, and he felt a bit guilty that he had let things get this bad, only doing dishes and doing a cursory wipe down for several weeks now.

He felt good once it was all done, and really tired. He crawled into bed and was asleep in minutes. He dreamt of Brian going around the office naked, as no one else seemed to think anything of it. In his dream, he mentioned it to Cynthia, who answered, “Of course he is. How do you think he gets all these clients?”

He woke up in the morning highly amused by his own subconscious. There was a note in the kitchen from the cooks: “Thanks for cleaning up! You are our hero!” He thought that was awfully sweet considering he had been such a slacker lately, and promised himself to do better. There was no oatmeal this morning, so he had a couple bowls of Cheerios and a yoghurt, grabbed his lunch bag and left for the day.

He was wearing his suit pants, dress shoes and a tie. After all, he was supposed to go with Sam to The Coach’s office. He might as well match Sam's usual attire. When he got to work, he was assaulted with people wanting him to do coloring. Apparently he was going to pay for yesterday’s peace.

By lunchtime, he was only halfway done, and his hand had given up. He tried working left handed for a while, since he was somewhat ambidextrous, but it was slow going. He decided to break for lunch. Today’s sandwich was cheese, tomato, cucumber and lettuce, with mayo and mustard. It was really tasty.

He went for his usual run, but only managed a little over four miles in forty minutes. He felt pretty sluggish. He took a cold shower, which did wonders to wake him up, and was back at his desk at 1:25. There was a brownie in his lunch bag, and two clementines. At the bottom, there was a Hershey’s kiss. He loved his roommates.

His hand was up to the task again, and he got through a lot before Sam came to get him for the meeting with The Coach.

Paul Markowitz, AKA The Coach, was totally thrilled.

“This is amazing. How in the hell did you think of something like that? ‘Fuel your Rage’. They are going to eat it up.”

Sam introduced Justin, and admitted it was all his doing. Then he hinted that Justin would make a great addition to the Art Department, once his internship was over. Justin was happily surprised.

Paul looked at the comics again. “This Rage guy reminds me of someone. An actor, maybe?” He looked at Justin.

“No, I didn’t model him after an actor. Maybe it’s just one of those faces?”

“I guess that’s good,” said Paul. “People will identify with him more if he looks familiar, right?”

Sam and Justin agreed. They left everything with Paul who had to prepare the presentation to the client, and headed downstairs.

“Maybe it’s just one of those faces?” sing-songed Sam, cracking up. “That was so lame! Though, how he failed to recognize Brian, I’ll never know. He’s only known him for three years…”

“It’s that obvious, eh? I tried to tone it down…”

“Well, in the Art Department, ‘Rage’ kind of gives it away, you know?”

Justin frowned. “Do you think he’ll be pissed when he finds out?”

“Knowing him, he’ll probably say his bulge is too small…” They both started laughing. God, they really had Brian pegged in the Art Department, didn’t they.

The rest of Justin’s week was uneventful. He worked hard, stayed late, and tried to keep his hand going. He went home at night pretty tired, and after a third day of not seeing head nor tail of Brian, he was unsettled.

After all, last week, Brian had found excuses to see him two or even three times a day. This week, nothing. Was that it then? Did Brian feel he’d had Justin now, and that anything more would violate his no repeat policy? Fuck. Justin was trying to sort out his feelings, and it was not pretty. He was hurt, angry, sad, disappointed, let down, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He had let Daphne put ideas in his head that he knew were complete bullshit. She had crowed endlessly when he had talked to her on Monday, about being totally right about Brian falling for him. He had so wanted to believe that, though he ought to have known better. He was an idiot. Fuck. He did not like to dwell on how much it hurt. It was just too stupid for words.

By Friday, he just wanted to go out after work, dance to exhaustion, and get some guy to suck him off in the lounge.

He had arranged to show his paintings to Sam on Sunday afternoon, and though he was pretty sure Brian was no longer interested, felt compelled to go and invite him to come along, as he had said he would. On his way out, he stopped by Brian‘s office. He just stood at the door for a while, doing nothing.

“Knock. He’s in there,” said Cynthia, unhelpfully.

Justin did.

“Yes?”

Justin walked in.

Brian had obviously been in the middle of something. There were papers everywhere, his computer was on, and his suit jacket was off.

He dropped everything and got up when Justin entered. He started toward him, but seemed to think better of it and said instead, “Taylor, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Sit.” He pointed to the sitting area. “Can I get you something?” He walked to a cupboard that turned out to be a bar, and poured some whiskey in a glass.

“I’m having a drink. Would you like anything?”

Justin was totally thrown by this welcome. Taylor? Unexpected pleasure? A drink?

“I’ll have what you’re having,” he answered.

Brian poured another glass, and brought them both to the low table in the sitting area. “Sit, please,” he said again.

Justin complied.

“How was your week?” asked Brian.

“Busy.”

“Did you finish that ‘Fuel’ campaign?” Brian seemed genuinely interested. How had he even known about this?

“Yes. It was finished Tuesday. Mr. Markowitz liked it. It’s a go.”

“Was it a group effort, or was it completely your baby?”

“Huh… Everyone looked at it, but it went up pretty much as I had designed it.”

Justin started to wonder if Brian had seen it and was pissed about ‘Rage’.

“I can’t wait to see it,” he said, either being straightforward or completely sarcastic, Justin was not sure. “What is it like?”

“It’s like a comic, with a superhero named Rage. ‘Fuel your Rage’ is the slogan.”

“That’s good. Actually, no. ‘Fuel your Rage’ is a great slogan. Well done.”

“Huh, Mr.K…Brian?”

He might have imagined it, but it seemed that Brian's gaze had warmed up at his use of his first name.

“I hope it’s all right. I should have asked first, I guess, but I modeled the superhero after you.”

“Come again?”

“The comic book hero, in ‘Fuel your Rage’, I used you as a model. He looks like you.”

Brian’s face was expressionless. He rolled his lips in, in that way he had, and said, “Let’s see it.”

“Paul has the whole thing.”

Brian got up, took a piece of paper out of his printer, and handed Justin an automatic pencil.

“Let’s see it,” he said again, and Justin really felt there was no getting out of it. Luckily, he had drawn ‘Rage’ often enough that he could do it quickly. He took off his jacket, put the paper on the coffee table and went to work. In less than ten minutes, he had ‘Rage’ down, standing with his hands on his hips, his torn superhero costume and his mask on. He slid it to Brian.

Brian looked at it, his tongue pushing his cheek. Then he looked up at Justin.

“Is this how I look to you?”

“Not with a mask and tights, no.”

“But otherwise?”

“Yes. That’s how you look.”

“I wish I could draw you.”

Justin was completely thrown by that.

“I wish I could show you how… hot you looked to me. The other night, at the club. With the glitter on your body, and those jeans. I wish I could show you that as easily as you drew this.”

Brian had just brought Essengy into their business conversation. Justin felt himself blush. Betrayed by his fair skin. “So, you’re not pissed about this?”

“Why should I be? You make me look hot. I love it.”

Justin felt so relieved, he couldn’t help but smile. Brian smiled back.

“It’s almost worth not seeing you this week,” Brian added.

Confusion must have shown on Justin’s face, because Brian continued.

“I asked Sam to send you with some mock ups on Monday. He came instead, and gave me a stern lecture about you being way too gifted, and way too important to his team to constantly be disturbed to run my errands. He told me to lay off.”

Oh. Well, he had bitched to Sam about it. But still, Brian caving in?

“And you did?”

“He told me you designed all four ‘Body by Design’ campaigns. And of course I’ve seen Essengy’s. He’s completely right. No matter how much I like having you around, you should really be down there, doing more of it. You have a gift, Justin.”

Hell. He was blushing again.

“I thought maybe you were … done with me. I’ve been warned about you.”

Brian looked at him, expressionless. “So, what the fuck are you doing making out with me?”

“Can’t seem to help it.” Justin knew his face was scarlet by now, but fuck, they were talking. There were things he wanted to know. “Things are good between us, I think. But maybe it’s you. Maybe for you it’s always like this, always this good.”

“That’s why I so often make out with tricks for hours on the dance floor.” Brian got up, the conversation obviously over. “It’s better than good, between us.” That last one was said with his back turned, mumbled softly, maybe, probably, not meant to be heard. Brian went back to sit behind his desk. “So, did you only come here to confess having abused my likeness, or was there something else?”

Justin had to think back for a minute. Oh, yeah. “I’m going to show Sam my paintings at Pratt Sunday at three. If you’d like to come.”

Brian was picking his paperwork back up, no longer looking at Justin. “Should I pick you up?” he asked, “Say, 2:45? Save you the subway ride?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.” Justin could not help but smile again, and apparently, Brian looking at him in time to catch his smile, could not help but smile back.

“I’ll let you work,” said Justin, getting up.

“Thanks a lot.” Brian smiled ruefully running his fingers through his hair. He looked tired.

“You’re welcome. I’m going home now. I’m just a lowly employee. Nine to five, you know?” Justin teased.

“Yes. I’ve heard of it. Though it’s seven now, by the way. Go home, Taylor. We don’t pay you enough for you to hang around.” Justin was opening the door, when Brian added, ”Have a nice weekend, Justin.”

Justin smiled at him. “You too, Mr. Kinney.” Except that this time, Brian smiled back.

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