07:21 pm - BURN Chapter 51
Sorry this is so long. Hope you get through it. Brian

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



Friday morning dawned with a rough edge. Everyone was jumpy and tired. That night, there was 
the dinner in New Orleans with Bellamy and Pearl. Brian and Boyd were planning to spend the 
night in town afterwards, but the unexpected visitor last night had made them wary of leaving the 
family alone in the house. The children were equally grumpy about being abandoned. Only 
Lindsay seemed relatively happy. She felt that she and Brian had reached an understanding 
before the intrusion, and whatever else she had to do to nail the job with Boyd was mere 
formality. Boyd made a few calls to determine that his former father-in-law had been admitted to 
the hospital. He required minor surgery to set his jaw and Boyd quietly agreed to pick up any 
expenses. There was guilty relief over the fact he wouldn’t be making a return visit while they 
were gone. 

When Brian overheard Boyd’s offer to pay, he flared. “If there are expenses associated with it, 
either the old fool should pay them himself or I’ll pay. I’m the one who kicked him.”

“You were protecting me, Brian. If not for me, he wouldn’t have been here in the first place. Let 
it go.”

“No. I insist.”

“Can we talk about it when the bills come due? I already put my credit card down at the hospital. 
We can worry about details later.”

“You think I was wrong to kick him, don’t you?”

Boyd walked over and placed both hands on Brian’s bare shoulders. “Only because you hurt 
your toe. It’s fine, Brian. Don’t worry about it. He deserved it. You have to quit beating yourself 
up over every move you make.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Okay, slight exaggeration.” Boyd threw some clothes into Brian’s open duffel. “If you take 
these in with you today, I won’t have to worry about stopping by here later to pack.”

“Fine,” Brian sat on the edge of the bed, wearing only his briefs. He crossed his ankle across his 
knee, staring at the discoloration that had moved from his toe to the top of his foot. Boyd 
frowned. 

“See a doctor about that.”

“I told you, nothing a doctor can do. I’ve done this before. I’ll wear sandals, it’ll be fine.”

Boyd walked over and smoothed his palms through his lover’s messy hair. He was already 
dressed for work. The plan was that Brian would spend some time with Gus and then go into the 
city and field a few appointments before he met Boyd at the hotel. Boyd would leave work early 
and they could have a drink alone and wind down before the dinner. “Don’t worry about this, 
Brian. Sheriff Carter already said there’s no liability from his point of view for what you did. If 
the old fool sues us, fine. Who hasn’t?”

Brian smiled at that. “I’m not a violent man.”

“I know.”

“But he comes after you or the kids or anyone I care about, he has to come through me.”

“I was a football player, partner. Remember? I can stand tough myself.”

“You mean unlike sissy soccer players?”

Boyd grinned. “Exactly what I mean.”

“You run nine miles every game and then tell me who’s the sissy.”

“I’m not complaining. It gave you those legs.”

Brian glanced down at his long, muscular legs and laughed. “Be careful, today. Strange days.”

“I will. You too. And don’t worry. See you this evening.”

Brian stood to be kissed, to hold Boyd in his arms for a minute, and then he reluctantly let him 
go. “Call me sometime.”

“Okay, you call me, too.”

He watched him leave before he sat down again with a wince. His foot throbbed. He was rested 
but feeling a little queasy over what he had done. Maybe a soak in the tub would help his bones, 
if not his queasiness. As he slipped into the tub, a small voice said, “Daddy, can I have a baf’ 
too?”

He looked over at Gus and nodded. “If you’re big enough to get out of your pajamas by yourself, 
come on in.”

Soon they were both in the warm water, with Gus powering a rubber duck along the surface 
while Brian closed his eyes and relaxed. 

“This is a pretty picture,” Lindsay stood at the door, smiling, already dressed in denim shorts and 
a pink t-shirt. Brian opened one eye and replied, 

“Feel free to take it all in.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before. Which doesn’t make me unique. Gus, it doesn’t count as a bath 
if you don’t use soap.”

Gus dutifully picked up the bar of hard milled French soap and ran it down one arm and up the 
other. Brian smiled. “Get all the cracks and holes and you’ll be done.”

“Nice way of putting it, Dad,” she said, and then added, “Jane and I were going to drop the kids 
at school and then go to a rummage sale one town over. She said you often find interesting things 
from the discards of other people. Can you watch your son until we get back, or do you want me 
to take him?”

“Leave him, but when will you be back?”

“Before eleven.”

“Perfect. Be careful.” That seemed to be his totem. She nodded, walked over to kiss Gus on the 
head, and then left them alone. 

“Mommy is pwetty,” Gus observed, using the duck to sponge off his soap and Brian nodded.

“Yeah, but be careful of pretty blondes, Gus. They can rule your life.” Story of his life, anyway, 
it would appear. First Justin, then Boyd and in some ways, Lindsay, too, had made the most 
significant inroads into his heart. Gus wasn’t interested in that, and he returned to his duck game 
as Brian returned to his soak. 

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

Daphne awoke under a red satin lined black cape that was thrown over her body like a shroud. 
Next to her, Moody slept peacefully on his back, his lips parted like a cherub’s with no fangs in 
sight. She moaned. Not again. Slowly, she replayed the late night in her mind. The walk he took 
with her, pointing out various supernatural sites of the city. Some voodoo queen’s former home, 
the voodoo shop on Bourbon Street, an address close to where the Vampire Lestat from the Anne 
Rice books might have lived, the church that doubled as a Catholic church and a site for voodoo 
services, or so he said. Ghosts walked here, long dead jazz musicians still played at local clubs, 
heard but not seen, and Tennessee Williams was said to favor the last bar stool in a small dive off 
Rampart. Even now. 

She found the history interesting, even though she wasn’t sure what he was making up and what 
was legend. He was pretty good at it, too, able to spin a yarn in an engaging way. It may not be 
show biz, but it was the next best thing, and Moody had star quality. He really should be an 
actor. He was so good at spin and playing a part. She got up, showered, wrapped in a robe and 
woke him up.

Wincing, he tried to pull her into bed with him, but she resisted as she said, “You have to stop 
coming over here, Moody. Unexpected and uninvited and unwelcome.”

He grinned at her and flipped his dark curls out of his blue, blue eyes. “Not so unwelcome last 
night.”

“Quit being so full of yourself. I mean it. We aren’t dating, we aren’t anything. You’re too young 
for me and you’re definitely not the kind of man I see myself with long term.”

He crinkled his nose at that. “Long term? What’s long term? This is fun. Why fuck it up with a 
label? You think too much, Daphne.” He stood, walked naked to the bathroom and her gaze 
followed his trim ass. Who said white boys didn’t have booty? Both Justin and Moody had great 
asses. He showered, came back and pulled on his jeans as he sniffed the air for a whiff of coffee 
brewing. His disappointment was evident. “You know we have fun together, Daph. Can’t you 
just relax and enjoy it?”

She wondered at that statement. Why couldn’t she just relax and enjoy it? She wasn’t sure why 
not, but she was finding that hard to do. Bellamy, maybe? “I’m not big on opportunistic sex.”

He laughed and as he began to try and figure out the coffeemaker, she walked over and took over 
the task. She didn’t trust him with machinery. His eyes roved her body as he said, “Felt pretty 
big on it last night. Oh wait, that was me being big.”

She shot him a glare. “Not that big, mister.”

He laughed. “Big enough. You weren’t complaining. I mean, I take it that howling was not a 
complaint?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You are so wrong to say that.”

“Truth. Defense. Absolute.”

Daphne shook her head and walked past him to dress as he stared at the filling coffee pot, willing 
it to fill a little faster. “Let’s go do something tonight,” he suggested. “I know a great little 
zydeco bar. We can drink beer and dance.”

“What did you not hear when I said we are not doing this anymore? I have plans tonight?”

“With Mr. Frigid?”

“Stop it.”

“Sorry. Mayor Frigid?”

“I’m warning you, Moody…”

He held up his hands as he watched her shimmy into a short hot pink dress. “Maybe I should just 
come over later and relieve your frustrations.”

“Maybe you should just go away.”

“You’d miss me.” Tired of waiting, he held a mug under the stream of brewing coffee, replacing 
the pot until it was full and then putting the pot back in place.

“Mop that up,” she directed him and he obediently ran a paper towel over the drippings. 
“Seriously, Moody, this is going nowhere.”

“I know. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

Nothing she said got through to him or deterred him from his path. Deep down, she found that 
rather charming. “Are you dating any guys?”

He brought his mug over and sat on the bed as he sipped his coffee and watched her at the 
vanity, dabbing on makeup. “Not right now. Why? Anyway, I don’t really date. I just sort of 
drive by.”

“Like with me?”

He shrugged. “I was asking you on a date tonight.”

She turned to stare at him. He was, wasn’t he? He looked so sweet sitting there, smiling big, such 
a pretty face, such a nice lean body and those cherubic curls were so deceptive. “Why would any 
girl want to date a guy who likes dick? It seems to me, in the end, you’re always going to be 
short some essential equipment.”

“But I like pussy too.”

“How does that work, exactly?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but you’ve seen the proof.”

“You have to prefer one or the other.”

“Why do I have to? I don’t. I like both.”

“Brian says a bisexual man is a faggot without convictions.”

Moody laughed. “Brian didn’t write the gay dictionary. He doesn’t get to assign definitions.”

“Do you want to fuck Brian?”

“I would, sure. He’s hot. Or Boyd. Or better yet Brian and Boyd together. That would be really 
hot.”

She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“No, Daph, I’m just honest. You probably haven’t seen much of that in your life.” He pulled on 
the rest of his clothes, stuck his fangs in his pocket and swooped his cape over one arm. He 
kissed the back of her neck before taking his empty mug into the kitchen. He took the time to 
write something on the pad by her phone. “This is my cell phone number. Call me when you 
want to see me again. I won’t come by, I won’t bug you. But when you’re ready, call.”

“I’m not calling you, Moody.”

He paused at the door and shot her a last grin as he said, “Yeah, you will. Later, Daph.”

She heard the door close and groaned as she went into the kitchen to get some coffee. She 
glanced at his number but didn’t wad it up and throw it away as she intended. Why not? She 
wasn’t sure. And that was an uncertainty she didn’t like to admit. 

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

Boyd paused at his secretary’s desk to reprimand her for not calling Brian the day before as he 
instructed. She let his words roll off, glaring at him with undisguised contempt and then she said, 
“I’m not comfortable talking to your boyfriend about your plans. I want no part of that.”

Boyd leaned both palms on her desk as he said, “If you plan to continue drawing a paycheck 
here, you will do exactly what I tell you to do. Is that understood?”

“You can’t fire me.”

“Do you want to test that theory?”

She met his cold gaze and frowned, turning back to her computer screen as if suddenly 
enraptured by work. He went into his office and paused as he saw an elegant blonde sitting there, 
behind his desk. His sister, Louann. She smiled and stood to greet him. He hugged her and said, 
“When did you get back from Venice?”

“Yesterday. Time to get your niece back in her school. She was having just way too much fun 
over there. The tutor just wasn’t working out. How are you, darling?” She glanced at the photo of 
Brian on the desk. “Having fun playing Daddy?”

“Fun?” They drifted over to sit on the couch together. Since he was instrumental in outing her 
husband and sending him to prison, there had been an obvious strain in his relationship with 
Louann. It didn’t help that his ex-wife and her man were also in some twisted relationship that 
layered his screwing around with the late but not lamented Greg. Boyd found it helpful when she 
left the country. The distance was a good idea. But now time had passed. She and Rex were 
divorcing, and perhaps she even felt grateful that Boyd had helped reveal the lie that she had 
been living. “I wouldn’t say ‘fun’, Louann. But I had no choice with Daddy so sick and all.” 

“Yes, poor Daddy, he is sick, isn’t he? He looks terrible. So, you’re still with that man, are you?”

“That ‘man’? Do you mean Brian? Yes, Louann. I am.”

“Interesting after all the disruption he’s brought to this family.”

“Brian didn’t bring anything to this family. We were already well disrupted on our own.”

“If that makes you feel better, Boyd.”

What was going on with her, he wondered? She was visibly seething. “Louann, I’d really like to 
catch up, but I have a meeting with the external auditors.”

“Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I sent them away.”

“You…what?” He couldn’t even process what she was saying. 

“The last thing we need right now is even more disruption.”

“Louann, I’m running this company. You don’t come in here and dismiss the audit I called.”

“I fear you’re out of your depth, Boyd.”

“Really? And who would step in, if not for me? You?”

She met his glare with a smile. “Why not? You’re a lawyer, not a business man. I have as much 
experience as you do with running a mill.”

Boyd sat down heavily on the sofa. His day had already gone south and now he was just trying to 
hop a train and catch up to it. “I ran a law practice, Louann. I sit on the Board of Directors of this 
mill and I vote the family proxies while you’re off doing your Junior League fashion shows and 
getting sloshed at the country club. You were an art history major in college until you got your 
m-r-s degree. You don’t even know how to read a balance sheet. What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying I’m as much a man as you are, Boyd,” she picked up Brian’s photo and then laid it 
face down on the desk. “If not more so.” Her jeer wasn’t lost on her brother, who nodded. 

“I didn’t want to step in for Daddy. I have other things to do. But this business provides security 
for me and for my children and jobs for a hell of a lot of people in this region. I have a personal 
obligation to keep things going. If you think I’m going to step aside and let my dilettante sister 
run the place into the marsh, you’re nuts.”

“You don’t have to agree, Boyd. I have Daddy’s vote. Would you like to talk to him about it?” 
She picked up the phone and waved it at him. Boyd stood up, letting the realization that his 
father had so little confidence in him that he would risk his family’s fortune on a silly woman 
who had never worked a day in her life, a spoiled debutante who cared more about her shoes 
than her income. He took the receiver from her and put it back in the cradle. He then picked up 
Brian’s picture and put it back in place on the desk. Finally he turned to her with a cold smile. 

“It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference what Daddy wants, Louann,” he sat down in the big 
leather chair and swiveled away from her as he said, “I have the stock to swing the vote in the 
board room. Mine, my children, and Lisette’s stock will trump yours and Daddy’s, and your 
daughter’s. As you may recall, Grandfather left me the fat boy’s share of the cake. He never 
liked Daddy that much. And he never gave Mama a dime of stock. All she has is what Daddy has 
diluted for tax purposes. Adds nothing to the split.”

“I...I don’t believe you.”

“If you ever read the financials you’re sent, you’d know. Daddy knows. He had a slim margin 
until your worthless husband got in trouble, and then, when Rex needed money for legal fees, I 
bought the shares he earned during the time he worked in this business. That was enough to shift 
the load to my side of the tally, sister. I own this business. Daddy works for me.” 
Current Mood: aggravated
 

05:08 pm - BURN, Chapter 52
Another long one. Give me some time off and I can't shut up. Will probably post once more 
before Christmas but for those too busy to check, let me say have a wonderful holiday with good 
times, peace, love and the company of people you enjoy being with. Don't push yourselves too 
hard, don't expect too much, and be pleasantly surprised! Thanks for making 2005 very magical 
for me. Love, Brian

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



Brian looked up from a phone call as Boyd entered their hotel room and leaned over to kiss him. 
Brian held up an index finger indicating one minute as Boyd went over to pour himself a drink at 
the makeshift bar. He loosened his tie and carried his glass to the terrace where he sat down with 
a heavy sigh. What a day. The sun was setting over the Crescent City and there was a chill in the 
air, thickened by the ever-present humidity. Autumn was on its way at last. People believed it 
never got cold here, but it did. Maybe not Pittsburgh cold, but the gulf blew in some frigid winds 
and sometimes the chill cut right through even the heaviest coat. 

Brian stepped out and sat down beside his lover, nursing a scotch of his own. “What is this I 
feel? A drop in the temperature?”

“I was just thinking that. It does get cold here. You may want to have some of your less balmy 
clothes shipped.”

“You may be right. You look tired,” Brian looped his hand over Boyd’s. Boyd squeezed in 
return. 

“I am.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He told him of his encounter with his sister. Brian listened without comment and then said, “You 
own the mill?”

“You know what, Brian? It’s not just a mill. It’s mills, plural, and it’s refineries. It’s a huge 
business. The biggest sugar processing operation in Louisiana, in the continental United States, 
in fact. People say ‘mill’ like it’s some little mom and pop stone-grinding backyard business. We 
employ thousands of people across the state, and even those we don’t employ, the growers, for 
instance, depend on us for their livelihood in large part. We used to own the cane, too, until the 
government decided no one enterprise could control the end-to-end business. Coulter Mills is one 
of the oldest and largest closely held corporations in America.”

Brian squeezed Boyd’s hand. “Whoa, Trigger. Down, boy. I wasn’t trying to minimize your 
family farm. I just asked a simple question.”

Boyd sighed and leaned over to kiss him. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a bad day. I refuse to take it out on 
you. Sorry.”

“I’ll survive, despite being a sensitive little flower. So, you own the mill?”

Boyd laughed. “That’s a slight exaggeration. The business consists of shares held jointly by my 
family members. The shareholders own the company. They decide on the officers, the 
distributions, all of that major stuff. We have no public debt and no publicly traded stock so 
we’re immune from the SEC rules that apply to most corporations. But we are subject to the 
antitrust laws, IRS regs, and other layers of governmental control. I have a huge block of shares, 
thanks mostly to my grandparents, who loved me and who weren’t overly fond of Daddy. It’s the 
old school primogeniture thing, the only son, you know the drill. I also have Lisette’s proxy to 
vote her shares. I also vote my children’s shares. Rex was granted shares when he was an 
executive at the company, and I bought him out. That put me over on control. My father, mother, 
niece and Louann also have shares, but not as much as I do. There are no other shares that have 
been issued. Rex only got some because he was married into the clan as well as working for us. 
So I control the vote. Obviously, if Lisette decided to pitch her tent with Louann, I’d lose. But 
she won’t.”

“Queer solidarity,” Brian teased and Boyd shrugged.

“She knows Louann. I’m just amazed that the old man is so worried about this audit or whatever, 
that he’d put my sister in a position of authority. I’m not sure she’s ever balanced a checkbook. I 
don’t mean this as a sexist remark, if it were Lisette, she could run the place better than I can, but 
not Louann. She chose a different path. You can’t just reverse and step into a complex job.”

“Why did you buy that stock from Rex and when?”

Boyd looked a little uncomfortable as he drained his drink. “He needed the money to pay his 
lawyers. I knew his lawyer and he acted as a stalking horse to me from Rex. He offered them to 
Louann first and she wouldn’t buy. So he came to me. I knew Rex’s shares would give me the 
margin, so I bought them. I don’t know why. I guess I’m just a control freak, at heart.”

Brian moved his hand up to massage the back of Boyd’s neck. “Welcome to the club. I like that 
about you.”

Boyd’s eyes closed as he relaxed into the massage. “I’m glad because it’s baked into my DNA.”

“Speaking of DNA,” Brian stood and pulled him up, into an embrace. “Want to swap a little 
primal matter?”

Boyd encircled Brian’s torso with his arms and kissed his Adam’s apple before running his 
tongue down the slope of his long neck. Their pelvises tilted inward, touching, cock to cock, both 
stirring. Brian found Boyd’s mouth with his lips and slipped his tongue inside. Boyd’s hands 
traveled over Brian’s ass, pulling him closer to his body. They backed into the bedroom and fell 
back on the bed, with Brian on top, squirming to get even closer to Boyd. 

Their clothes came off. The terrace door remained open to the cool breeze and it felt like a caress 
on their heated skin. Hands roamed, explored, grabbed, and Brian whispered, “Top me.”

Boyd flipped him over and first explored the hard muscles of his back with his tongue and then 
let it draG down his spine and finally between his muscular buttocks. Brian moaned, propping 
his torso up on his elbows as he glanced over his shoulder to watch Boyd’s blond head lead the 
probe. He spread his thighs, giving him access, and then Boyd rested one hand on the back of 
Brian’s head, while the other helped guide his hard cock into his lover’s body. He pushed Brian’s 
face against the pillow as he lunged and Brian liked it, opening up to the penetration, feeling 
every inch of progression like a stroke of heat. 

“Fuck,” he moaned, slipping a hand under his belly to grip his erection and pull. He moved his 
hips to meet Boyd’s tempo. Boyd increased that beat as his excitement built. “Fuck it hard,” 
Brian pleaded, enjoying the pressure on his prostate, feeling the tingle hit the tip of his dick 
where so much sensation resided. 

They came within seconds of each other, too close to call who hit first. It didn’t matter. Boyd 
collapsed over him, still penetrated, pressing his sweaty face to the back of Brian’s neck as he 
gasped. Brian reached back, finding and stroking Boyd’s tense ass. Finally he said, “You’re 
smushing me.”

Boyd smiled and reluctantly rolled off of him. “There’s no such word as ‘smush’. You’ve been 
spending too much time with a three year old.”

Brian laughed and forced himself to get up. “You could be right, but it’s been great. We’d better 
shower if we don’t want to be late for dinner.”

Boyd watched his lover walk towards the bathroom, his fine skin still flushed with sex. He was 
so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. When would that impact wear off? Never? “I love you, Brian 
Kinney.”

“That’s the fuck talking,” Brian said with a laugh as Boyd got up to follow him. 

“Don’t say that.”

Brian started the water in the shower and then glanced at Boyd. “Don’t be a girl. I was kidding. I 
love you too, Master of the Universe.”

Boyd reached up to touch Brian’s face. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. Ever 
seen.”

Brian felt his face flush. He was embarrassed and was embarrassed over being embarrassed. 
“You’ve lived a limited existence, Swamp Thing.”

“Shut up. I mean it.”

“What if I wasn’t? Beautiful, I mean. What then? Would you still love me?”

“I don’t know. If you were suddenly not beautiful because of an accident or something, I would 
still love you because I love you as the person you are. But if I had never met you…I’m not sure 
how much the impact of a person’s physical appearance causes another to fall in love with them. 
I suspect a great deal, at first, and less so as the relationship continues. How about you?”

Brian grinned. “I’m superficial. I only love your for your beauty. Oh, and your money.”

Boyd laughed and slapped his bare ass as they stepped into the shower together, his bad day 
vanishing in the all-inclusive fire that was Brian Kinney.

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


Pearl looked up as Brian entered the guest lounge off the entryway of the hotel. She was sipping 
a glass of white wine. She looked up to receive his kiss on the cheek. He sat beside her, admiring 
her chic melon-colored silk shantung tunic and pants. She always looked great.

“You smell wonderful,” she returned his admiration. “What is it you wear?”

“It’s really just soap. My skin reacts to colognes and after shave.”

“You wear soap well. Your aura is very rosy tonight, Mr. Kinney. You must be in a happy 
mood.”

He smiled. “Better than it was.”

“What’s your plot? Why are you hosting this little dinner that includes my son? Are you trying to 
broker a rapprochement, because that’s a very naďve move, if so.”

“I don’t often get involved in intra-family issues, Lady P. I met him, decided I should get to 
know him a little better and it seemed fitting to include you, since I like you so much.”

“Don’t expect any sniping between us. We don’t operate that way, especially in public.”

“It’s not about entertainment. It’s just a dinner.”

She gave him a mysterious smile. “Where’s Boyd?”

“Still getting ready. He’s worse than a woman, sometimes.”

She laughed. “And what do you know about women?”

“Enough to beware,” he cast her a sly glance. 

“Not a bad idea. Is your life settling down?”

“No. Will it ever? We have one drama after another it seems. The strange thing is, our 
relationship is relatively drama free. It’s just we happen to be living in the eye of the storm. If we 
weren’t so stable together, I think I’d be climbing out of my skin.”

“We get the calm we need from the source we want, Brian. It’s a fine thing when the one you 
love is your calm center as well as your passion.”

“I got lucky.”

“As did he.”

Boyd joined them, kissed her cheek in greeting and then leaned over to kiss Brian lightly on the 
lips. “Sorry it took me so long. I got a call from my daughter,” he glanced at Brian’s alert 
expression. “She’s fine. Just a girl crisis about some kid in her class. Handled. Gus came onto the 
line for a minute. Was going on and on about a baby alligator they saw in the yard. Belle later 
clarified it was a lizard but that was Gus’s story and he’s sticking to it.”

Brian chuckled. “We should go. Are we up to walking? You may want to get a wrap, Pearl. It’s a 
bit cooler than usual.”

“I’ll wrap an arm around each of you to stay warm. Let’s do walk. I love to walk through the 
Quarter in the dusk.”

“I guess witchy women have no fear of bad guys coming out of the gloom,” Brian teased as they 
left the hotel and she replied,

“Unfortunately, we all have our enemies, seen and unseen.”

Boyd and Brian glanced at each other as they acknowledged the unfortunate truth of that remark.

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

The staff at Arnaud’s greeted them with genuine warmth, mostly because of Lady Pearl’s 
notoriety. Bellamy and Daphne were already at the table and he stood to say hello. He shook 
hands with the men and kissed his mother on both cheeks. Brian acknowledged Daphne with a 
nod, approving of her subtle black sheath. He thought she looked nervous and he wasn’t 
surprised.

Drinks were ordered and Bellamy said, “How goes the business, Brian? Daphne seems very 
busy. So you have office space now? I hope you have better luck than your prior tenant.”

“I promise not to run for office. Business is getting there. Slowly, but surely. The Christians still 
come out every day to cheer us on,” they all laughed at that. “But they’re keeping within legal 
bounds. I suspect the good reverend Flynn has some stronger tricks up his robes since this one 
didn’t work, nor did his offer to buy me out.”

“Flynn’s very powerful,” Bellamy agreed. “And persistent.”

“He could have bought the old church himself,” Boyd reminded them. “But he’s cheap. You 
snooze, you lose. Brian bought it out from under him.”

“It’s a toss up whether the Quarter needs another gay bar or another church,” Bellamy said with a 
shrug. 

“You go to your church, I’ll go to mine,” Brian teased.

Sensing tension, Daphne contributed what she thought would be an interesting diversion. “I saw 
this church where they do voodoo rituals on some days and Catholic services on others.”

The silence fell with a thud, like a dead water buffalo suddenly dropped in the center of the table. 
Lady Pearl looked across the fetid body and said, “That’s absurd. Who told you that?”

Daphne tensed as Brian shot her a warning glare. “Uh, a friend of mine who conducts tours in the 
Quarter. Walking tours.”

Brian saw Bellamy fix a stare on her. His apprehension increased. Pearl said, “There is no 
consecrated Catholic church that would permit an alternative religion to conduct services. If you 
mean the chapel on Rampart, they have traditional Catholic mass, and then they have a mass that 
incorporates some island touches to the worship, the music, the color, but it’s still a Catholic 
mass. I consider it extremely racist to equate that Catholic Africanism to voodoo.”

Daphne smiled tensely as she said, “Well, I am African-American, you know, so….”

“You can’t be racist?” Lady Pearl followed up. “Sadly untrue.”

“No, I mean…”

“That church has long been the subject of unkind speculation because of their policy of 
inclusion,” Bellamy bailed her. “Daphne is just restating the same rumors that have been alive 
around here for ages. She’s new, what does she know?”

“She needs some new friends,” Lady Pearl observed. “No sense encouraging those who promote 
those silly rumors.”

“Pearl, they create revenue in the Quarter, these walking tours,” he argued. “They have 
specialties for everything from architectural enthusiasts to vampires.” Daphne winced at that. 
“Tourists flock to these tours. Don’t knock the trade because they bend the truth a little to be 
entertaining.”

“You find it amusing for tourists to be teased about Voudon and the old ways?”

“Well, one has to laugh, doesn’t one? It’s too ridiculous to do anything else.”

“What’s ridiculous, Bell? The practice of Voudon or the tourists being duped?”

“Both.”

Mother and son faced off and Boyd cut the ice, always the Southern gentleman. “Speaking of 
tourism, your campaign for attracting tourists to New Orleans, emphasizing the mystic elements 
of the area, has been very effective. Everyone already knows about Bourbon Street and the fun to 
be had here, but this campaign really added a layer of romanticism. Judging by the numbers, it 
seems to be very successful.”

Bellamy’s green eyes were snake cold as he focused on Boyd’s earnest face. “I voted against that 
campaign. I thought it glorified all the ghost and spook stories that gnaw away at the 
sophistication of this city. Superstition is for people who lack the mental agility to think and to 
accept responsibility.”

Brian leaned back with a smile. This was going well, he thought with a wry shake of the head. 
“When you say ‘superstition’, are you including the usual religions, or are you just singling out 
the less known traditions? Isn’t it all superstition, really? Whether it’s worry beads, rosaries, or 
gris gris, it’s all a soft landing for people in fear.”

Lady Pearl smiled at him, knowing he had just put her son in a difficult position for any 
politician. Bellamy shook his head. “That’s sacrilegious, Brian.”

“Is it? Is it any more sacrilegious than putting down a less acceptable form of dealing with the 
infinite unknown?”

Lady Pearl put a hand on Brian’s arm as she said, “Unfortunately not all of us are as distant as 
others from the infinite unknown, Brian, and sometimes that ability is a heavy burden. Is it not, 
Bell?”

He leaned back and glared at her. “What do I know?”

“That’s the big question, isn’t it, son? What exactly do you know and what do you intend to do 
with that knowledge and when?”

“I know fire follows you like a cur dog, woman. And where that cur dog goes, others burn. 
Others pay. And yet you stay two steps in front of the flames, unsinged. That’s what I know.”

“Excuse me,” Lady Pearl left the table, walking towards the ladies’ room with her head held 
high, despite her obvious agitation over Bellamy’s remark. 

“That was cold, man,” Brian said and Bellamy centered that look on him as he leaned his elbows 
on the table and warned,

“Don’t put yourself in the middle of a firestorm unless you’ve marked all the exits, Brian. You 
don’t have the tools to negotiate this one.”

Brian’s lips flattened into a grim line as he let that remark sink in, not sure Bellamy was wrong. 
To his surprise, Boyd, the epitome of politesse spoke up. “I was raised with Homer Dhue, who 
happens to be your blood, Bellamy. Never have I known a more credible and honest man. He 
believed there’s magic in nature, and if he believes it, than it must be true because Homer never 
takes a false step. When he gave me gris gris or juju to get me through a tough time, it provided 
just the boost I needed to continue on. If it works on an ultimate white Christian boy like me, it 
must be real. Why do you run so fast from it? Are you the one he used to talk about? The seventh 
generation of the traditional witchdoctor? The seven man? If you are, why do you view that as a 
curse instead of a blessing?”

“Do you know how ridiculous you sound?” Bellamy paused in his anger and forced a smile. He 
was talking to a Coulter. Coulters had money and power in this area. Bellamy was foremost a 
politician. He was foremost a smart and driven man. The rest was superstitious bullshit. “But 
then, white Christian boys and girls have long been fascinated by things they can never 
understand. I suppose that’s the genesis of intelligent inquiry.”

Boyd reached across the table and grabbed Bellamy’s wrist, holding tightly to it as he said, “Tell 
me if you see the fire around me.”

Bellamy didn’t try to withdraw as he let his eyes settle on Boyd and then he said, “Flames, 
smoke, fire, heat, fear, pain, dark shades in the shadows, panic.” Boyd’s fingers fell free of his 
arm as Bellamy leaned back with a sigh. “You asked.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Daphne demanded. Bellamy shook his head at her. 

“It wasn’t meant to be hurtful, Daphne. He asked me and I told him what I see. I don’t control 
events. I mean I won’t control events, I won’t hire it out, I won’t deliberately hurt anyone. But 
what I see is what I see. And yes, Mr. Coulter, I am the seventh generation of the papa doc and 
yes I run from it because it’s bullshit and it’s unwelcome and the last time I opened a history 
book the roster of politicians who have made a difference in this country, the list was remarkably 
slim in the voodoo category.”

At that moment Lady Pearl returned to the table, looked at the faces greeting her with trepidation 
and lowered herself into her chair with an elegant flip of her hair as she said, “Well now, shall 
we order?”
Current Mood: anxious
 
06:08 pm - BURN CHAPTER 53
HAPPY NEW YEAR BURNIACS!!! We've had a mixed bag this holiday. Ran came down with 
a serious secondary sinus infection and is still under the weather, so we'll have a quiet 
celebration. Which is alright with me. 2005 overall was a wonderful year for us and so we can't 
complain. We got a kid, a new house and another year of being a couple and of knowing each of 
you. I hope 2006 brings happiness to each of you, health, and to my old friends in New Orleans, 
I hope you get your lives back soon. I know a little thing like a hurricane and a flood can't steal 
your Big Easy charm for long. Love, Brian


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

Moody was feeling pissed, and it had nothing to do with Daphne being off with Mayor Frigid 
tonight. Nothing. He was just pissed, that was all. And why not? He wasn’t going over there 
again or even calling her. Fuck her. She could fucking call him. Women were so hard to 
understand. He should just stick with dick. That was easy and uncomplicated, the way he played 
the game. He checked his cell phone for the third time in a half hour. No messages. Fine, he 
didn’t care. Fuck her. 

He was seated on a bench in Jackson Square, too early for his tour, but not up to doing anything 
else. The fact that he was dressed as a vampire still didn’t even get a glance in New Orleans. Not 
ten feet away was a street performer painted silver from hear to toe and decked in armor formed 
by purple, green and gold strands of Mardi Gras beads. Some beads were as small as pearls, 
some big as ping pong balls. His money making endeavor was to stand as motionless as a 
Buckingham Palace guard, not allowing himself to be distracted by the fascinated tourists. In 
front of the cathedral was a sword swallower, his act the opposite of the silent silver man, all 
color, noise and illusion. What was one vampire, more or less in this living theater?

A man suddenly appeared and sat down at the other end of the bench. He stared up at the statue 
of General Jackson atop his trusty steed, before cutting a glance at Moody. “What you’re doing, 
some might find it offensive,” he said and it took Moody a minute to realize he must be talking 
to him. No one else was around. Moody turned to stare at him. He was tall and slim with raven 
black hair, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses despite the fact the sun was down. His skin that 
was as pale as Moody’s stage makeup, only without painted enhancement. He wore a black 
sweater and slim black jeans, as if the day was much cooler than it was. A silver crucifix 
encrusted with large paste stones hung from a beaded rosary chain against his chest. Moody 
found it to be a tacky accessory to his tasteful attire. A religious fanatic with a hard on for the 
supernatural aspects of his walking tour?

“Some might find wearing a rosary as a fashion accessory offensive, too.”

The man chuckled as he lifted the heavy silver cross on his slender fingers. “Some might. Do 
you?”

“I say live and let live. You ought to try it.”

“I prefer that James Bond title, ‘Live and Let Die’.”

“Nice,” Moody said with a shake of his head. What was this guy’s damage? Was he coming on 
to him or what?

“Why do you do it? This vaudevillian costume, the bogus sites you take people to, the silly 
glorification of things you can’t begin to understand? What is the human fascination with the 
macabre?”

“Look, it’s making a living, okay? I don’t hurt anyone, everyone enjoys the fables, the local 
economy gets a boost. What’s your problem with it?”

“I suppose it’s the same problem African ancestral people have with blackface. It’s an unkind 
parody.”

“Of what?”

“Of vampires, of course.”

Moody narrowed his eyes at the man’s precise profile. “And just who can complain about that, 
given the fact vampires are fictional?”

The man removed his dark glasses. He had unusual eyes, not brown, not gold, not green, not 
hazel, but all of the above. Moody was reminded of a kaleidoscope. The little flashes of color 
never solidified into a single design, they just kept shifting with the light. “Don’t be naďve,” he 
said and then stood, moving with a feline grace. “Think about your choices. You’re too good for 
this,” he left him there and Moody watched him walk away, his gait more of a glide than a walk, 
like a model on a runway. He turned a corner, and was gone, before Moody was able to look 
away. 

“What the hell was that all about?” he whispered into the gloom, then shrugged and glanced at 
his watch, realizing it was time to meet his first tour group of the evening.

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

By dessert, the conversation at the table in Arnaud’s had turned more conventional, polite, and 
far less interesting. Boyd knew how to play it, the empty but smooth conversation of the 
Southern genteel class. Brian fumed. He wasn’t comfortable with false politesse. Finally, 
emboldened by pre-dinner cocktails, wine and an after dinner cognac, Brian demanded, “What 
the hell did you mean, saying that to Boyd?”

Bellamy looked confused. Boyd placed a calming hand on his lover’s arm, but Brian shot him a 
glare that said let me do this. Boyd wouldn’t interfere, but he wished Brian hadn’t reopened it. 
Bellamy pushed back his plate with the remains of his bananas foster and said, 

“I answered his question, Brian.”

“No, you made some kind of sweeping threat.”

“I never threatened him.”

“You don’t call what you said a threat?”

“I call it sharing an observation. It had no personal aspect for me. He asked me, so I told him.”

“You think that’s the kind of thing to tell someone? You’re going to be consumed by fire? In 
horrible pain, fear, whatever? I think that fucking sucks!”

“Brian,” Boyd watched the color rise in his lover’s face, watched his Irish build. He squeezed his 
arm, but Brian jerked free. He was on a roll. Bellamy appeared as cool as Brian was exercised.

“Brian, unlike my mother, who does this sort of thing for a living, and thus has learned how to 
package a vision to make it user friendly, I don’t do this for money or even as a hobby. So I 
don’t sanitize or explain anything that I see. I don’t even discuss it, really. But when pushed, I 
decided to share it with Boyd. It is what it is. I can’t explain it beyond that. It’s not a curse I’m 
delivering on your house. It can have many meanings, in fact. But I’m not the one to tell you 
what they are, because I think it’s all bullshit.”

Lady Pearl sighed. “Fire can be cleansing, Brian. A beginning, a fresh start. Fire can be rebirth. It 
can mean passion or drive.”

“Yeah,” he replied with a laugh. “And all that pain and fear?”

She shook her head. “Bellamy has his own visions, I have mine. I see threats around you, too; 
both of you. But that doesn’t mean the outcome is predetermined. It may just be a warning.”

“And what are we supposed to do about it?”

“Protect yourselves.”

“With alarms and bodyguards and what else?”

“With magic,” she said simply and Bellamy laughed.

“For God’s sake, Pearl! Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

“Don’t pretend disbelief around me, mon cher,” she warned him. “You know that I know better.”

“I know nothing. I know charms and juju and black salt and brick lines and potions and 
cleansings do nothing to avert a disaster. That much I know. I know you’re sincere, Mother, I 
give you that, but these are educated people, not swamp rats. They’re not going to be soothed by 
your voodoo. They’d be better off identifying their enemies and protecting against them with the 
law and other normal means.”

“I’m a swamp rat,” Boyd volunteered. “And I’m interested in any and all methods of protecting 
my family.”

Bellamy stared at him across the table and said, “Don’t be so sure you don’t need protection 
from your family, Boyd.”

“What are you saying?” Brian demanded and Bellamy withdrew a credit card from his wallet and 
placed it on the table.

“I think this evening is over.”

“It’s my treat,” Brian insisted, grim but determined. Bellamy shook his head. 

“I can’t accept your generosity, Brian. It’s not in my best interest as a politician to do so. But I’m 
happy to treat you all. So,” the waiter took the card and Bellamy smiled at his opponent. “Tell 
me, did this dinner work out the way you hoped?”

Daphne excused herself to go to the ladies’ room while Boyd clamped a firm hand on Brian’s 
knee, under the table, not wanting to watch his lover chomp that bait.

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

There was a segment in the walking tour when the group took a break and had a drink at a 
“haunted” bar. The bar owner got some built-in customers, the tour owner received a monthly 
stipend from the bar. Moody took that time to smoke a cigarette on the sidewalk, enjoying a 
break from hid customers constant inquiries. His cell phone rang, blasting an Eminem song as he 
flipped it open.

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing later?” Daphne. He smiled.

“I don’t know. What are you doing?”

“Will you take me out?”

“Where?”

“Club, dancing, something. I want to go out.”

“Okay. What time? I’m working.”

“Meet me at my place in an hour?”

“Okay. Daph…is something wrong.”

“I’m jumping out of my skin. I need a break.”

“See you in an hour.”

He hung up, annoyed by how pleased he was that she called. He shrugged it off and ground out 
his cigarette, turning to go into the bar, herd his tourists and get this done. A hand closed on his 
shoulder and he instinctively shrugged it off, but the grip was too tight to shed. “You’re invited,” 
a man pressed a card into his hand and vanished around the corner. Moody really didn’t get a 
good look at him before he went. He carried the card into the light and noticed it was black, 
embossed with red lettering. 

“Bite” it read. There was an address on Magazine Street, a very hip part of town outside of the 
Quarter. He’d never heard of this club but he liked the way they wrote the name in dripping 
gothic letters. He slipped the card into his pocket and got on with his tour, anxious for it to end 
so he could meet Daphne.

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

Brian was too agitated to sleep. After Boyd fell asleep, he went out on the terrace, hoping to find 
Lady Pearl next door, but her bedroom door was closed, and the room appeared dark behind the 
sheers. Disappointed, he went downstairs to mix himself a drink at the honor bar in the lounge. 
As he started to carry it back upstairs, he was summoned by a voice from the enclosed garden. 

“Join me with that, Brian?”

Lady Pearl beckoned him. He walked over to her, slumping into a vacant chair. She was sipping 
chamomile tea, the calming fragrance drifting over to him. Her cat was perched on her lap. “You 
can’t let Bellamy get to you the way he did. You’re better than that. You’re two peas in a pod, 
the two of you.”

Brian winced. “I don’t consider that a compliment.”

She laughed. “No doubt. But he’s very direct, very smooth, very skilled at the game. He was 
given a curse, in his opinion, and he resents it. Your sugar baron asked him a direct question and 
received a direct answer. Bellamy knows as well as I do that often what we see is shielded in 
myth and meaning and hidden depth. He can interpret the possibilities as well as I, but he won’t. 
Or he won’t share his interpretations.”

“Why not? What good is it if he doesn’t help people?”

“He would tell you it has no good purpose. Perhaps it doesn’t. Who can say? Rarely do I get a 
very clear vision, as I did when President Kennedy was assassinated. And often I get no warning 
at all of a serious disaster. It’s not controllable. But the complexity of an aura of danger is quite 
hard to interpret.”

“He said that Boyd had threats in his own family. What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen that. But Bellamy’s visions are far more powerful than mine, as 
Bellamy is far more powerful than I.”

“Pearl I don’t believe in all this voodoo crap. I’m not suggesting you don’t have psychic powers. 
I believe you do, but the rest of it, I can’t get there. But I think Boyd does buy it. And I think it 
may be comforting to him to have some token of…protection…and I want to get that for him.”

She smiled at him. “You love him so much that even though you don’t believe in it yourself you 
want to secure protection that may have meaning for him?”

“Yes. I’m happy to pay for it.”

She smiled and leaned over to grasp his arm. “I don’t want your money, Brian. And I believe in 
protection, whether you do or not. But you’ll have to set aside your cynicism because this is my 
religion, Brian. I demand your respect for it, if not your loyalty.”

“You’ll have it.”

“Leave it to me, then.”

“What next?”

“Patience.”

He laughed. “My strong suit.”

“We all have to grow, don’t we?”

He stood and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I’d better get up there in case he rolls over and 
reaches for something he’s used to reaching for.”

She smiled. “He’s a very lucky man, Brian. As are you both. I want nothing more than security 
and happiness for all of you.”

“I know. But Pearl…”

“Most of all, protect Boyd and the kids.”

“The protection extends to each of you equally.”

He nodded and gave her a wave, trying to shake off a sense of unreality and fear as he climbed 
the stairs to his lover.

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

Moody had ditched his vampire drag and rinsed off his makeup at Daphne’s, before they went 
out. After a taxi left them at the address on Magazine Street, Daphne looked around at the old 
two story homes that had mostly been converted into alternative businesses. Tattoo parlors, head 
shops, music stores, edgy fashion boutiques, a few clubs and coffee shops. Foot traffic was 
heavy, despite the late hour, mostly a young, alternative crowd with an emphasis on leather and 
body piercing. 

“Are you sure you have the right address?” She asked and he handed her the card. She confirmed 
neighboring addresses and shrugged. At the stated address there were painted numbers on the 
curb, but a double arched wooden gate fronted a ramshackle, unpainted house. The gate was so 
unused, it was covered in graffiti and pasted ads for neighboring businesses, some since closed. 
There was no light coming from the house beyond the gate, no traffic, each window shuttered 
and boarded. A rusted padlock on the door. 

“I think you got taken,” she said, and then walked into the piercing salon next door. The painted 
and pierced man with a purple Mohawk looked up at her.

“You have ID?”

“That’s not why I’m here. I just wanted to ask you a question. That house, next door. Did it used 
to be a club?”

He gave a bored look at her and then peered at Moody. “It’s been boarded up for years.”

“Someone gave me this card.”

Moody handed it to him. He stared at him and then nodded. “Wait here.”

Moody shrugged at her confused expression and their receptionist finally came back and 
motioned them behind the counter. They walked down a corridor between two rows of curtained 
rooms where several needle artists were at work painting pictures by sticking holes in skin. 
Others were inserting metal jewelry through ears, lips, tongues, nipples, cocks and many other 
body parts. Daphne shuddered as Moody grinned at her and took her hand. 

She changed that to holding his arm tightly as they were led downstairs where he unlocked a 
door with a key that he wore on a chain around his neck and illuminated the dark cellar by 
pulling the string hanging from a naked light bulb. The area was full of boxes of supplies and he 
walked them through a clear aisle to another door. He unlocked it and then stood back. “Through 
there,” he said. 

She peered into a barrel shaped tunnel made from bricks, with metal torches that lit the way with 
flickering flame. “I’m not going in there,” she whispered to Moody. “It’s like Saw, or 
something.”

He laughed at her reference to a classic horror film. “Come on, Daphne. You wanted to go out. 
Let’s do it.”

“I wanted to go out. I didn’t want to be dismembered in some weird cellar in New Orleans.”

“I promise you’ll leave with all your limbs.” 

As soon as they entered the tunnel, the Mohawk man shut and locked the door behind them.

“Hey!” Daphne cried out and Moody gave away none of his own fears as he pulled her along the 
enclosure with him, towards a destination neither of them felt comfortable about reaching.
Current Mood:  nervous
 
05:47 am - BURN Chapter 54


Daphne and Moody drifted closer together as they went deeper into the tunnel. Soon they were 
walking in unintentional lockstep. She held to his arm with both hands as she noticed that his 
usual jaunty demeanor seemed a little forced. The thump of a driving bass beat became audible 
as they drew closer to their destination. Finally, they saw two arched wooden doors. A man stood 
guard. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. The word “Bite” was written in the same 
red gothic letters that were on the card Moody had been given, only scrawled in a large font 
across the front of his shirt. There was no address or anything on the logo to suggest this was a 
club. He was pale, his dark hair slicked back, his expression less than welcoming. 

“You have the card?” he asked in a thick, local accent. Moody produced it. The man inspected it 
and then reached into a small humpback chest and withdrew two black wrist bands not unlike the 
typical band used to give entrance to a club. He attached one to the right wrist of each of them 
and then opened the door as he said, “Don’t take them off.”

Inside, the abandoned house was the perfect backdrop for an eerie club. The downstairs was a 
dance floor with a bar. Dim lighting was balanced with constant projection of various vampire 
movies on all the walls; mostly the old black and white classics. A deejay spun the usual dance 
music. Bodies writhed, cruised, men danced with men, men danced with women, women danced 
with women, nothing seemed forbidden. Almost everyone wore black or red or a variation of 
both and they all had the slightly wasted look of the Goth or the fashionista heroin addict. 

Altogether, it wasn’t that different from other club scenes Moody had visited; straight and gay. If 
the patrons were supposed to be vampires, they didn’t go over the top with the look. Not a fang, 
fake or real, was in sight. No one wore a cape or tails. The women didn’t drape themselves in 
white gauzy gravecloth. Fake blood adorned no face or neck. He was a little disappointed.

He took her hand and led her over to the bar, where the selection of drinks was unremarkable. No 
one blinked when she asked for a Virgin Mary. She felt she had enough to drink with dinner. 
Moody chose a beer. They leaned against the bar and watched the dancers and then he said,“Not 
a bad spinner. I like his mix.”

“It’s just a club,” Daphne responded, but the tone of her voice suggested relief. He shrugged, 
cocky again. 

“What did you expect? Nosferatu?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. You have to admit, it was a weird entrance.”

Moody watched two attractive male dancers kiss, embrace and then head up the stairs, hand in 
hand. His interest piqued. “Maybe there’s a sex club going on up there. That would be 
interesting.”

“You mean like a back room?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Or more. Orgy club, maybe.”

Daphne winced. She wasn’t ready for an orgy club scene, whatever the hell that meant. She had 
no doubt Moody was. A man joined them at the bar and it took Moody a moment to recognize 
him as the vampire in the park. He still wore the crucifix and his dark glasses were gone, leaving 
those eerie eyes on display. He gave Daphne a long, appraising stare and then smiled. “I knew 
you’d come,” he said to Moody. 

“Why not? A club’s a club.”

“Not true. Not all clubs are created equal. Who’s your friend?”

“Who are you?” Moody demanded as Daphne stared at the handsome stranger with the feline 
gaze.

“I’m Noel,” he extended a skinny hand. They shook and exchanged names. “Welcome to my 
club. Bite.”

“You own this place?” Daphne asked and he nodded.

“My boss is opening a club in the Quarter. It’s under construction.”

“Oh? Where?”

“He’s converting an old church.”

“Ah, the gay venue. I’ve heard about it. What a great location. I wish I could have afforded it, 
but then I think it would have been too high profile for my crowd.”

“What exactly is your crowd?” Moody asked and Noel smiled.

“Vampires, of course.”

“Vampires,” Moody repeated. “Blood suckers. Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee, Brad Pitt 
vampires.”

“Yes and no. Yes to the blood sucking part, no to the rest.”

“So you’re immortal. You live on blood. You melt in the sunlight. Or burn up or whatever. You 
can turn into a bat.”

Noel laughed. “Of course not, Moody. We were born like anyone else, will die like anyone else, 
in the same allotted time as a normal life span, and the only thing we can change into is a typical 
citizen when we go out among you to make our living. The sun is not our friend because we like 
our skin pale, but we wouldn’t be consumed by it. We have no supernatural powers or strengths 
or any of those old wives’ tales, but vampires we are.”

“What determines that?” Moody dug deeper and Noel crooked his finger for them to follow him 
upstairs. Daphne hesitated, but Moody drug her along. As they climbed, they passed couples of 
every gender blend kissing and touching on the stairs. At the landing, open rooms, lit only by 
candlelight, echoed sounds of ecstasy. She glanced as they went by and saw glimpses of bared 
flesh, sexual poses, but she wasn’t in one place long enough to take it all in. He led them to a 
locked door at the end of the hall, opened it with a key, and they found themselves facing a large 
bedroom. Lit with candelabra, it had a welcoming glow. An oversized bed and a few lush velvet 
couches seemed to be the only furnishings. Noel picked up the phone and made a call. 

“We aren’t into a scene,” Moody said, at least he was certain Daphne wasn’t up for it. Maybe 
later, if he ever came here alone. 

“Don’t worry,” Noel assured him. “You won’t be asked to participate.”

A sleek woman and handsome young man entered the room and closed the door. Noel sat on a 
couch and they sat on either side of him. Daphne clung to Moody, perched almost on his lap as 
he led her to a couch within easy view of the others. Her heart was racing but she couldn’t look 
away. The three of them began touching each other, passively erotic, cool, even, hands crossing, 
lingering, but there was no indication of a consuming lust. Noel loosened the ties of the woman’s 
low-slung shirt and eased it down her shoulders, revealing the smooth white skin of her back. He 
then unsheathed a small, sharp implement hidden in the long stem of his crucifix and deftly 
opened two small slashes in her skin.

The woman moaned as if in orgasm, not pain, and Daphne gasped and pressed her hand to her 
mouth in fear. Blood began to drool slowly from the small wounds, and Noel lapped up the 
stream with his tongue while the other man did the same to the second wound. The woman was 
in deep pleasure from their licking, and they continued until the bleeding stopped. Noel then 
withdrew an antiseptic stick from his pocket, applied it to her wounds and motioned for them to 
go. 

Daphne’s hand was still firmly affixed to her mouth and Moody leaned back and grinned. “They 
have these freaky clubs in New York,” he said, ever the weary traveler. “Wannabee vampires 
who suck blood for a kick. Nothing new there.”

“Not wannabee vampires, Moody. Are vampires. This is what vampires do. We crave the blood.”

“In this day and age, isn’t that one of the more dangerously idiotic things anyone can do?” 
Daphne finally said and Noel smiled. 

“We’re very selective. That’s why you’re wearing black wristbands. You haven’t been cleared 
by our medics. No one can draw blood from a guest wearing a black wrist band. The only ones 
who can give the gift are those who have been tested clear of all those nasty little viruses.”

“Which is only good until the next fuck up after the last clear test,” Moody reminded him.

“What is life without risk, Moody? But we minimize it and test frequently and we all rely on the 
integrity of each other. We know the dangers and would never expose a fellow vampire. We’re a 
very select and controlled group.”

“Okay, we can go now,” Daphne stood up and yanked on Moody’s hand. He seemed far more 
reluctant to leave. “How do we get out of here?”

“Same way you came in. Our doorman will call for them to meet you at the other end.”

As she walked towards the door, Noel slipped Moody another card. This one had a number. He 
didn’t say to call him, but he didn’t need to say it. Moody put the card in his pocket and let 
Daphne lead him out of the murky darkness. 

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

They didn’t say much as they took a cab back to Daphne’s place. When they approached the 
door, a man emerged from the shadows, causing them both to gasp. 

“A word with you,” he said to Moody. Daphne winced.

“Bellamy, we were just…”

“I want a word with your friend, Daphne.”

“Look, man,” Moody said to the much bigger, stronger and intimidating man. “I’m not looking 
for any trouble.”

“That comes as a great relief to me, because I see you as nothing but trouble.”

Daphne was stunned that Bellamy would make a scene. He wasn’t the scene making type and 
while this was all very low key, it had the immediate impact of a scene in the making. 
“Bellamy,” she intervened. “We don’t have any exclusive claims on each other. If I want to see 
someone else, I’m free to do so. As are you.”

He smiled at her poignant reminder. He was wearing jeans and a v-necked cashmere sweater. His 
casual dress made him even more attractive to her, reminding her subtly of Brian’s style. “This 
isn’t about primacy of claims on your time, Daphne,” he left the “don’t flatter yourself” unsaid 
but implicit. “This has to do with his trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Moody was becoming bolder once he realized Bellamy wasn’t going to 
do the jealous boyfriend thing. 

“You’re all kinds of trouble, kid, and frankly I don’t give a shit about that fact,” Bellamy’s New 
Orleans roots were more apparent in his speech when he was less than completely composed. 
“You can blow yourself up in a thousand ways so long as you don’t dismember her in the 
process.”

Daphne was confused, but oddly touched by his concern for her. Moody was now belligerent. 
“I’m not out to hurt Daphne.”

“I believe that to be true. But I also believe that you’re trouble on the hoof, with no common 
sense, no internal moderation, and now you’re going into a world you know nothing about that 
has consequences you can’t begin to understand.”

“What are you doing? Following me?’

“I don’t have to follow you to know what you’re doing, boy. I want to know, I know. Even if I 
don’t want to know, I know. Because I have a connection to her and so do you and that gives me 
a connection to you. Even though it’s a connection that I consider unwelcome.”

Moody had no idea what he meant by that, but he said, “If you can’t stand the competition, back 
out, jack.”

“Competition?” Bellamy chuckled as he lit a thin black cigar. He drew it in once, twice, and then 
said, “There is no competition, kid. Not between you and me. You’re just a puff of smoke,” he 
exhaled a stream of smoke in Moody’s direction, and Moody felt the drift hit him almost like a 
physical blow. And yet, he knew better than to retaliate. “You go to your little clubs and you 
have your little adventures, but you leave this girl out of it and you bring home none of your 
mistakes home with you to share with her. I can’t make you smarter than you are, but I can make 
you gone.”

“Bellamy what are you talking about?” Daphne pleaded and Moody glared.

“Are you threatening me?”

“If I threaten you, you won’t have to ask. There are people in this world that you just don’t fuck 
with if you have any survival sense at all. I happen to be one of them.”

“You don’t scare me,” Moody lied and Bellamy laughed. 

“Then you’re even more stupid than I feared. The odds are seven to one in my favor, little man, 
and seven’s my lucky number. Allez avec le bon, courez de le mal absolu,” he said as he walked 
towards the gate, “ Words of wisdom from my revered mother,” he laughed and then said, “I saw 
that.” He called Moody on the fact he shot him the bird, even though he never turned around to 
see it. “Sept a un,” he repeated. “Play the odds.”

“What the fuck was that?” Moody demanded of her as Bellamy left. “What did he say in 
French?”

Daphne shook herself out of stunned mode to translate, “Go with the good, run from the absolute 
evil.”

“But what does that mean?”

She raised her shoulders in answer, struck by the sudden wish that Bellamy hadn’t gone.

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

Brian woke to the sound of Boyd on the phone, talking to the kids as he leaned back on his 
pillow, his arm thrown behind his head in a casual gesture, as if the dreaded dinner of the night 
before left no mark at all on his mood. Brian envied his lover that trait. 

When he saw that Brian was awake, he leaned over to kiss him and then said, “Want to say hello 
to Gus?”

Brian nodded and took the phone from him. He spoke to his son and then to Lindsay. Boyd said 
goodbye to the others before he hung up. Today was Saturday. No office, no reason to rush back, 
no reason to deal with his prodigal sister or any of the other issues haunting their lives. Instead, 
he threw an arm across Brian and suggested, “Want to see if Lisette and Petra want to join us for 
a jazz brunch somewhere?”

“If you do.”

“Is there something you’d rather do?”

Brian raised a brow. Boyd laughed. “We’ll have time for that before we go. I assumed that was 
part of the morning routine.”

“I think we should meet Sebastian at the house. We have to sign off on everything, so we may as 
well do it while we’re here together. We can do it after brunch. And then I want you to come 
with me to look at the club. Dora’s made a lot of progress.”

“We can do all that.”

“I want Lady P to go with us to the house.”

“Why?”

“Because. You have a problem with that?”

“I have a problem with your being cagey about it. Pearl’s welcome in my home any time. But 
why are you being weird?”

“I’m not weird.”

“Yeah, Brian, you are. Whassup?”

“I want her to get a deep feel for the place because she’s going to protect it.”

Boyd looked skeptical. “Protect it? Isn’t that why we had the alarm system installed?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, Brian.”

“Yes, you do. Why are you making me say it?”

“When did we decide this?”

“I did. Last night.”

“I see. You decided unilaterally to have a voodoo queen sash our house.”

“Sash?”

“Sash it up. Protect it.”

“Oh. See, I don’t know the local voodoo lingo. Sorry. Yes, I guess you could say that I did.”

“Why?”

“Because what can it hurt? And I thought it might make you feel better, after what that jackass 
Bellamy had to say.”

“You ‘thought’. If it was about me, why wouldn’t you ask me first?”

“You have a problem with it?”

“Brian, this isn’t about me, well, maybe it’s a little bit about me. But it’s also about you. Because 
you too were spooked by what he said, and because it will make you feel safer. At least step up 
to that truth. You’re a very intuitive man. There’s nothing wrong with intuition. Trust it. Believe 
it. But don’t say that this is all about poor little backwoods Boyd and his native belief in 
voodoo.”

Brian glared at him, finding his lover’s insight into him continuously annoying due to its 
accuracy. “I’m not superstitious.”

Boyd laughed and left the bed, heading into the bath. “Whatever, Brian.”

“If you don’t want her to ‘sash’ the house, fine. I can cancel it. Done, over.” Brian followed him 
in while Boyd turned on the stream in the glass shower. He glanced over his shoulder at Brian 
and smiled.

“I do want her to sash the house. I just want you to be honest about your own motivations and 
not lay it all at my feet.”

“Why is that so important to you?”

“Because you have to be in touch with your intuition if you’re going to be fully attuned to 
danger. Sometimes logic is an unwitting ally of danger.”

“That may be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

Boyd met his eyes and then laughed. “Okay, then I guess you aren’t interested in stepping into 
the shower with such a dumb ass, right?”

Brian shrugged. “I never said you weren’t a hot dumb ass.”

Boyd laughed and stepped under the stream, making room for his lover to follow.
Current Mood:  nervous
 
04:50 am - BURN Chapter 55
Posting for Big B. Enjoy

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



Lisette looked striking in black gabardine. Her turquoise and silver jewelry complemented her 
style, while Petra was a sensual gypsy in mauve and burgundy with a necklace formed from tiny 
gold coins. The two women, combined with Boyd and Brian, made for a visually pleasing group 
as they lingered over mimosas and Bloody Marys, while listening to a jazz combo in the 
brickyard of a small café near the river. 

“I was the only one who saw through Luann’s butter won’t melt in her mouth bullshit,” Lisette 
said with a little smile of triumph after Boyd related his story about their sister. “She had Daddy 
completely fooled, of course, and she was Mother’s clone. On the surface, that is. Even you 
wrote her off as an airhead country club addict,” she reminded her brother. “But I saw the dark 
side of Luann. I saw the bitch who married the ludicrous Rex because she thought she could 
manipulate him at the mill and ultimately end up running things by proxy, since Daddy is such a 
sexist bastard. Too bad for her that she chose someone who liked dick more than pussy. So now 
she played her trump card by taking on Daddy while he’s ill and making him believe she can be 
his little puppet during the time his doctors and Mother won’t let him work. Christ, the woman is 
too stupid to count shares.”

Petra patted her partner’s hand as she tossed her thick, single black braid behind her shoulders. 
“That’s your sister you’re speaking of so unkindly, my sweet.”

Lisette shrugged. “My sister who outed me when I was a confused and frightened teenager and 
then did everything she could to make sure my parents turned against me. Don’t tell me about 
my sister, Petra. I know that bitch and I would’ve paid big money to see her painted, 
dermabrasion’ed and botox’ed face when Brother Man told her how the cow ate the ledger.”

Boyd laughed and lowered his head to Brian’s shoulder for a moment as he stage whispered, 
“Did I ever tell you, don’t piss off my sister Lisette?”

“At this point, Claire is looking good,” Brian agreed as Lisette laughed. 

“So now what, baby brother? And when were you going to tell me that you bought those shares 
that Rex was flogging? I presumed he got his wife to pony up.”

“I guess it’s no secret. It will be in the next quarterly report. He got value for it and so did I.”

“You little control freak, you.”

“Tell me about it,” Brian said with a groan. Boyd pretended to be annoyed.

“Pot, kettle is holding on line two.”

“Yeah, yeah, so now what? You own it. What are you doing with it?”

“Two things. I want to get through this fucking audit. And then I want to do a CEO search, 
presuming you have no interest in the job, Lisette.”

“You presume correctly.”

“Daddy can come back as Chairman, I don’t care. But I don’t intend to run the day to day 
business of that mill myself, and I think the business has grown beyond the old man.”

“I like it,” Brian agreed. “Get you out of there and get some new eyes on the operation.”

“Daddy will call for a vote,” Lisette decided. A dragonfly hovered over the salty rim of her glass. 
They watched the sleek insect flutter, and resumed their conversation only after it flitted away. 

Boyd shrugged. “Let him. Unless you swing on me, I have the shares.”

“I’m not swinging anywhere, Boyd. You know that. It’s you and me against the Coulters.”

“We are the Coulters, Lisette.”

“We’re the good Coulters.”

“You’re the queer Coulters,” Brian teased. Lisette smiled at him. 

“Like I said…”

She looked up when Petra shrank back from an attractive couple who had just entered the area. 
“Vampyr,” she said with a very Transylvanian inflection, and Brian watched the pale pair sit at a 
table in the shade, thinking they looked no different than most svelte New Yorkers suddenly 
transplanted to the south. 

“I think that’s fiction, Petra,” Brian said with a smile. Petra shook her head in disagreement.

“The fables are fictional. The vampires are among us. Plague carriers.”

“What do you mean?”

Lisette sighed. “It’s a little sub culture in New Orleans and other cities, Brian. Freaks who get off 
on playing vampire, down to the bloodsucking. It’s all consensual, but in the world of AIDS, it’s 
also very stupid. Petra’s seen them come and go at the hospital. Wounds get infected, diseases 
other than AIDS get transmitted, it’s a nasty little world.”

“I don’t believe in being judgmental about those kind of things,” Brian said with a shrug. “As 
long as they aren’t leaping on people in alleys, who cares what floats their boat? Yeah, it’s dumb, 
but so are bug chasers and promiscuous sex without condoms. People are stupid when it comes 
to getting off.”

“You don’t see the damage,” Petra said. “And it’s spreading, this little sub culture of fantasy.”

“People raise the same issues about hardcore S&M clubs where blood is drawn, Petra. Again, if 
it’s consensual, go for it. I’m not about censorship. I think even straight people should be 
allowed to have sex.” 

They all laughed at that, even Petra. Boyd returned to the earlier subject, deciding vampires were 
one affliction not threatening their happiness. “I went through the books again and something is 
off, Lisette. It’s not huge, it’s not threatening the survival or success of the enterprise, but it’s off. 
And I don’t know why. Or how widespread it is. I intend to find out. I don’t think Daddy wants 
me to know. If I find out he’s skimming, we have a problem.”

“What would we do?”

“I don’t know. We’d have to talk about that. It may be a family owned business but he has no 
right to skim. We’re each to be paid according to our shares. Daddy gets a nice stipend as CEO 
and I have no doubt he washes through some questionable expenses, but I can roll with that. The 
stipend is board approved. It’s whether he’s skimming the profit after expenses that worries me.”

“We’d have our own ailing father busted, Boyd? I mean I can’t stand the man, but…”

He shrugged. “I’m not saying that. But I am saying I’d demand an accounting and possibly 
reimbursement. It’s not just me. It’s not just you. It’s my children’s money too.”

Brian excused himself as his mobile rang. He returned to the table with a scowl a few mintues 
later. “Do you know an Altoids Doofus, Lisette? Boyd?”

They looked at each other in shock and then Lisette laughed. “Do you mean Altois Ducette?”

“Maybe. Some lawyer with such a thick Cajun accent I can barely decipher what he’s saying?”

Lisette and Boyd both laughed. Boyd said, “He’s an ambulance chaser from the parish. Why?”

“Seems your esteemed father in law wanted him to give me a little call about my ‘assault’. 
Smells like a shakedown to me.”

“Let me handle Altois, Brian,” Lisette insisted. “This won’t cost you a dime.”

“That’s what you guys keep telling me about Louisiana, but it always seems to end up where I’m 
paying something to someone.”

“Laissez les bon temps roulez,” Boyd said with a laugh as Brian slumped down in his chair and 
motioned for another rum punch.

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

Daphne spent a restless night, and then she made a decision. She drank a pot of coffee while 
mulling it over, and the caffeine energized her to the point where she decided to walk and clarify 
her point of view on her way. As she neared Bellamy’s elegant, listed house, her nerve began to 
fail her. 

She sat down on the curb outside his decorative iron fence and placed a wireless call. Finally, he 
answered with, “Has Brian fired you yet?”

She smiled. Hearing his familiar voice was grounding for her. “Justin, there is no way that Italy 
is anywhere near as foreign as New Orleans.”

He laughed. “I’m sitting here having cappuccino overlooking St. Mark’s Cathedral in Venice. 
Try again.”

“Tough life.”

“So, has Brian fired you yet?”

“Why do you keep expecting that?”

“Because you’ve been on thin ice with him the whole time. I’ve seen Brian in boss man mode, 
Daph. He’s a demanding boss. He can’t be easy to work for since he’s also a perfectionist.”

She laughed. “I’ve learned a lot from Brian. My problem isn’t Brian at the moment.”

“Of course you only call me when you have a problem.”

“You are so full of shit. You owe me a call.”

“You’re the employed person. I’m still a struggling art student.”

“With a wealthy patron.”

Justin laughed. “That guy? Moved on weeks ago. Keep up.”

“You’re quite the player, lately.”

“Italian men are endlessly fascinating. Besides, I’m young, I’m sowing oats, whatever.” Justin 
didn’t ask about Brian and Boyd anymore. He just took it as a given that Brian was matched. 
That part of their relationship had been resolved and Daphne was pleased that they were able to 
retain a mutual affection without the complications. Justin’s original pain over that fact had 
healed, and all that remained were the usual scars all lovers bear, scars that Brian also carried 
with him. “So let me guess,” he said. “The voodoo king and the brat?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call them that.”

“He’s a kid, Daphne. And the other guy…well, I don’t know what he is, but he sounds hot.”

She giggled. Justin could always boil it down to the essentials. She caught him up on what 
occurred the night before, a shorthand, international call version, and he listened and then said, “I 
went to one of those faux vampire clubs once in New York. It was weird. I couldn’t wait to get 
out of there.”

“The blood?”

“All the straight people.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not about that damn club, Justin. I’m never going back there. It’s the 
thing with Bellamy and Moody.”

“I’ve already given you my opinion. Lose the kid. Not sure yet about the voodoo king. Still think 
he sounds hot and he’s really rich.”

“Gold-digger.”

“I’ve learned the value of a buck.”

“It’s not like I have a claim on either of them, Justin. Especially Bellamy. And yet he thinks he 
can just come into my life and order me around.”

“You do like to surround yourself with control freaks, don’t you? At work and in your social 
life.”

“Well, I…”

“Are you coming in?” Bellamy’s voice intruded. He had approached so quietly, Daphne didn’t 
hear him. She jumped up, made an excuse to her best friend and disconnected the call. Even 
though it was nearly noon, Bellamy wore a black silk robe over bare feet and a bare chest, 
looking sexier than he should. His demeanor ruffled her as he leaned over and picked up his 
weekend edition New York Times and the Picayune. 

“My friend Justin, from Pittsburgh, who used to be Brian’s boyfriend, and we went to school 
together and he’s now living in Italy where he’s studying art, called and well, since it was an 
international call and everything, I…”

He held up a hand to interrupt her blather. “Are you coming in?” He repeated. She nodded. He 
swept her forward with a gesture, and she preceded him into the house. Wired for sound, the 
sweet, plaintive wail of a clarinet being perfectly played greeted her, along with the enticing 
scent of cinnamon and chicory. She was reminded again of how well he lived as he led her past 
the drum table in the foyer that held a huge crystal vase filled with vermillion gladiolas, and 
headed towards his kitchen.

“I was just getting breakfast organized,” he said, setting another place at the table by the window 
that overlooked the brick terrazzo and azure lap pool that formed his gardens. “Nothing fancy, 
some warmed up cinnamon rolls from my favorite bakery and café au lait. Join me?”

She nodded and sat down, letting him do the work. He left the newspapers untouched as he 
poured coffee and placed rolls on a platter between them. The scent was irresistible and she pried 
one sticky pastry free from the others. He did the same. She wished he would say something 
meaningless to take the burden off of her, but he didn’t. Finally she said, “What you did last 
night was weird.”

“I agree,” he said with a nod, stirring sugar into his coffee. 

“You do?”

His green eyes met hers. “Yes, I do.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because I saw a danger to you and I felt compelled to call it. Your little friend is foolish, 
Daphne. He’s young, as are you, but…not quite as young, cherie,” his smile was infuriating. 
“Old enough to know better. Women have more sense than men and at an earlier age. I don’t 
care what he does to himself, except as to how it may affect you, and then I do care.”

“Why?”

“Because that affects me.”

“How?”

“Because we have a connection.”

“What connection, Bellamy?”

He got up, walked over to her, pulled her to her feet, and kissed her on the mouth. Not a polite 
kiss, not an avuncular kiss, not the kiss of a tentative lover. A full-on caress that sent shock 
waves through her libido and left her knees weak. She slumped back into her chair with a 
surprised expression as he returned to his own seat. “That connection.”

Silence, and then he asked, “Do you read the Times? Want a section of the paper?”

She continued to stare at him, unable to think of anything to say. Her body was still in overdrive. 
He smiled and handed her the Metro section, which she took, but the words seemed to be 
crawling across the page, as if in an animated cartoon. She shook her head, trying to clear the 
clouds away, and allow for sentient thought. 

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

Sebastian Slade watched the two handsome young men sign off on his work plan. As beautiful as 
this house was, it would be magazine-ready once he was done with it. “Do you store cash around 
the house?” He asked. “Is that why all the extra security?”

Brian laughed. “Yes, and we keep diamonds in the sugar canister. Spread it around.”

Boyd swatted his partner’s ass. “We’ve just had some weird threats.”

“Fag bashers?”

Boyd shrugged. “We aren’t sure.”

“Even in New Orleans,” Sebastian said with a sigh, a little man who surely knew more about 
discrimination, even here, than he was saying. “I was talking to a friend of mine in Atlanta, 
Boyd. He said the High Museum was planning an installation of the Jared Hall collection you 
donated during this Christmas season.”

Brian glanced at Boyd, surprised. Boyd looked a little uncomfortable as he met his stare. “That’s 
the plan. A gala on December 20th benefiting a mental health charity.”

“Were you going to mention this to me or am I not invited?” Brian bore in on him.

“Of course you’re invited, Brian. I was going to mention it to you, yes. It’s a way off and we’ve 
had other things to talk about.”

“Send me an invitation,” Sebastian said. “I love Jared’s work.” He snapped shut his valise and 
started out of the house. “If everything goes according to plan, you should be in by New Year’s. 
But since this is New Orleans, plan on Mardi Gras.”

He left them and Brian leaned against the kitchen counter, glaring at his lover. “It’s not like I’m 
opposed to Jared or his art or the donation.”

“I know that, Brian. Honestly, it just didn’t float to the top in importance. I figured we’d invite 
Petra and Lisette to join us there and make a weekend of it. Stay at the Four Seasons, visit some 
of Atlanta’s best restaurants, maybe even take in a show at the Fox.”

“Driveable?”

Boyd shook his head. “Eight hours from here. Not worth the burn. We’d fly.”

They both glanced through the French doors overlooking the grounds as Moody entered the area, 
dressed in his pool boy gear. He looked tired and listless and Brian smiled. “Someone had a long 
night.”

“No doubt about that.”

Moody saw them, waved, set down his equipment and joined them. He sipped from a Starbucks 
go-cup. “You guys know that Bellamy guy?”

They nodded.

“I’m telling you right now, that guy is scary. And nuts.”

“Spill,” Brian instructed him and Moody proceeded to do just that, spilling the continuing 
connection he had with Daphne as he went. 
Current Mood: productive
 
06:45 pm - BURN Chapter 56


As they walked to the old church, Boyd slipped his hand in Brian’s. Brian closed his fingers 
around Boyd’s, in an automatically intimate gesture, but he didn’t look at him. He was lost in his 
own thoughts. 

“This is the kind of thing you need to let go of, Brian,” Boyd urged. “You can’t really tell 
Daphne how to run her love life. And let’s face it, if you tried, it might sound a little hypocritical, 
given your own checkered past in that arena.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“I know that. But it is about the fact you’re angry at her for the whole Moody/Bellamy thing.”

“I told her it was stupid to see Bellamy socially. Even if I didn’t know how stupid she was 
being.”

“She’s young, she’s single, she has every right to date more than one guy.”

“You consider Moody date material? Every time I see him, he’s trying to hump my leg. What the 
hell does he have to offer some girl?”

Boyd smiled. “The same hump, I would imagine. Well, maybe with a slight variation. So he’s bi, 
Brian. Who cares? I’m betting she’s wise enough to be careful.”

“I think you’re giving her more wisdom than she’s due.”

Boyd stopped him by pulling on his hand. Brian paused, and glared at his lover. Frustration 
oozed from him as Boyd placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you want to control everything 
around you and nothing seems under control right now. I’m the same way. We just have to 
accept that and try to concentrate on the things we can control.”

“I feel a certain responsibility towards Daphne because she’s young, she’s far from home, and 
I’ve known her since she was in fucking high school, which wasn’t that long ago. Daphne was a 
friend to me when my so-called old friends couldn’t give a shit. She never saw me as some dark 
blight on Justin’s life. She was the only one, really. She has a good head on her shoulders, even 
though she can come across as a ditz. I see her making some big mistakes and I feel responsible.”

“Of course you do, because you take on the responsibility of the world, Brian. Being a friend to 
her is great. I’m all for it. Offering her your counsel, when asked, also great. Interfering? Not so 
good.”

“Not interfering, not so easy.”

“I know. But try.”

“I should listen to you more often,” Brian was beginning to hear Boyd, at last. Boyd smiled. He 
knew he had to let him work this through for himself. This was just the way Brian operated. 

“So why don’t you?”

“Because I have to weed out the few times that you’re right.”

Boyd laughed. He let his hand rest on the back of Brian’s head and leaned in to kiss him. 

“God, get a room!” A man mumbled as he walked past with his arm around a woman’s 
shoulders. Brian glared at that remark. Before he could speak, Boyd pressed a finger to his lips to 
silence him. 

“Not worth it.”

They began walking again, and as they turned at the corner leading to the old church, they saw 
the protestors in the distance. Some things never changed. Brian was even learning their faces. It 
seemed the good reverend called upon the same members of his congregation to march on the 
queer venue. He wondered what was their particular beef with all things gay? Gay child? Gay 
panic? What drove this particular bunch to spend their free time picketing a work site?

“How’s it going, gang?” he teased them as they erupted into a chant of “Sinners repent!” to greet 
him. 

“Leave God’s hallowed ground!” The big fat man with the pre-stroke red face shouted and Brian 
smiled at him.

“But it’s Catholic. You guys really think the papists have some glory road to God?”

He felt sure the Catholics were on the same rung with the Jews when it came to being tolerated 
by these fundamentalists. He supposed even the Pope-worshipping, Mother of God revering 
Romans were preferable to the hedonistic faggots in their version of the Holy book. Boyd urged 
his lover forward, finding Brian’s need to tweak their ire regrettable. As the guard admitted them 
to the work site, Brian was pleased to find that even on Sunday, work was underway. He was 
sure he was paying a premium for that service, but he didn’t care. It was more important to hit 
the Halloween deadline. So much of their publicity campaign depended upon capitalizing on that 
holiday. 

Dora met them at the trailer, as arranged, and went over progress reports with them. Brian was 
mostly pleased by what he heard and then they went to inspect what he had been told. The 
interior of the church was beginning to look amazing. His vision was coming to fruition and 
seeing it develop was thrilling for him. This wasn’t Babylon. This wasn’t a small dance club on 
Liberty Avenue in Pittsburgh. This was a true venue. A destination. With the dance floor, the 
lounge and the restaurant out back, this was the southern version of Limelight or Studio 54, when 
those clubs were at their peak. This was the American version of London’s Heaven, the greatest 
gay club he had ever visited. 

Boyd elbowed him and said, “This is beautiful, Brian.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“People will line up for blocks to get in here. It’s going to work.”

“I know. I think so, too. We have to have a good spinner, that’s the next order of business, and 
we have to pin down a big name to play the opening. An icon. Someone hot and on the money.”

“Any luck on that?”

“Not yet, but we’re talking to a few people. Not ready to say.”

Boyd nodded, not pressuring him to share. Brian wanted to be sure before he said anything more. 
“Running this club will be big business, Brian.”

“I know,” he led Boyd down the stairs to the crypt. Light fixtures had been attached to the wall 
that the staircase. The sconces resembled iron torch holders, and the lighting was encased in 
frosted crystal globes that looked like flames burning. The crypt itself was a backroom paradise 
taking shape. The honeycomb of crypts built into the walls would hold towels, bowls of condoms 
and lube, low lights, and video monitors that would broadcast closed programming, ranging from 
porn to colorful light shows. A maze of half-walls were constructed to break things up and make 
for pockets of privacy. 

Brian pushed Boyd up against one wall and asked, “Want to christen it?”

Boyd smiled and kissed him. “There are workmen all over the place, Brian. Not to mention the 
fact that Dora is around here somewhere. I’m not that much of an exhibitionist.”

“Coward,” Brian let his hand slip down to cup Boyd’s genitals. “But I’ll let you have it this 
once.” As they turned to go, Brian noticed a strange object resting on the rung of a ladder. He 
walked over to it and motioned for Boyd to join him. “Look at this.”

Boyd peered down at a skeletal hand, nothing but bones connected by thinned-out remnants of 
cartilage. “What the fuck is that?”

“One of the boys found it,” Dora startled them as she walked into the area. “Cleaning out a crypt 
slot. We’re thinking it fell off some unfortunate soul when they first moved the bodies out of 
here. God knows how long it’s been here. It was buried under some debris. We weren’t sure 
what to do with it. Do we call the police? The city? What do you do with a skeletal hand?”

“Just bury it somewhere,” Brian suggested. “Otherwise they might decide they have to 
investigate something or other and slow things down. It’s not as if it was a murder. Not in this 
century, anyway.”

“You can’t do that, Brian,” Boyd protested. “This was part of a human being. Do call the police, 
Dora. They should take custody of it. Maybe they can match it up to the rest of the body.”

“Is this my place or yours?” Brian argued and Boyd shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter, Brian. That’s the right thing to do and you know it.”

Brian gingerly picked it up by a finger bone and the hand fell apart, shattering on the hard stone 
floor, the brittle bones breaking apart and rolling to far corners. “Whoops,” Brian said, dropping 
the one bone he still held and brushing his hand on the side of his jeans. “Clumsy me.”

“Did you do that on purpose?” Boyd demanded. Brian shrugged. 

“Nothing to see here. Move along. Let’s go look at the back terrace.”

Dora gave Boyd a knowing smile as they stepped over what remained of the remains and 
climbed the stairs, so inured to the mystery that was New Orleans that the discovery of a skeletal 
hand didn’t raise much of a ripple.

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

Daphne was in that warm, post-orgasmic afterglow as she hunkered down in Bellamy’s fine 
linen sheets. She slipped her bare toes across the surface of the mattress, in his direction. He 
suddenly sat up beside her, saying, “What’s Brian’s cell phone number?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it. “Why?”

“Just tell me,” he said, picking up the handheld beside the bed. She gave it to him and he 
punched it in. Brian answered as Bellamy left the bed and began to dress. Stunned, Daphne sat 
up, pulling the sheet over her breasts as she watched him dress and talk. 

“Brian, it’s Bellamy. Listen to me. You found something in your club today. Something grim. 
Am I right?”

“Grim,” Brian repeated. “Are you talking about the cost overruns?”

“This isn’t a joke. Whatever you do, do not discard that item you found. I’m on my way over 
there.”

“Uh, it broke.”

“What do you mean, ‘broke’?”

“It fell on the floor and shattered. Well, fell apart, anyway.”

“Gather it. Every piece of it, and keep it in one place close to where it was found until I get 
there.”

“Bellamy, what’s the problem?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

Listening to him caused Daphne to get up and dress. He took a small velvet bag from a bureau 
drawer, and when he started down the stairs, she followed. He turned and said, “You stay here. I 
won’t be long.”

“No.”

“Yes, Daphne. There’s nothing for you to do there.”

“I’m going. You’re not the boss of me.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but she followed him out as he hailed a passing cab. It wasn’t a long 
walk, but he wanted to make a fast trip. He wore dark glasses and ignored the protestors, some of 
whom recognized him, which he knew wasn’t good for his political career. The guard had his 
name and they were allowed into the church. Bellamy noticed the transformation with an 
admiring eye as his instincts led him down to the crypt. Brian, Boyd and Dora had congregated 
there, and Brian raised an inquisitive brow at Daphne, who avoided his stare. 

They had gathered the pieces of bone and placed them on a platform balanced above two saw 
horses. “What is that?” Daphne said with a scrunch of her nose. Boyd shrugged.

“We think it belonged to one of the unfortunate souls who were once resting in this crypt,” he 
motioned to the empty slot. “It must have been disturbed when they moved the bodies out long 
before Brian bought this place. I told him to call the police.”

Brian glared at his lover. “Look, Dudley Doright, it fell on the floor and broke. What’s the point? 
It wasn’t foul play. If it was, it was from another era.”

Bellamy ignored them and walked over to the exact location where it was found. He said to 
Dora, “Was anything moved?”

“They swept it out.”

“Damn. What did they find when they swept it?”

“No more bones. Just dust, debris.”

“Do you still have it? The debris?”

“No, but I saw it. Some black speckles, like coarse pepper had been spilled, only blacker. Maybe 
a bird feather or two, a couple small stones, lots of dust. Just junk. Vagrants hung out here for a 
long time when the church was abandoned. You wouldn’t believe what we’ve found.”

He shook his head. “Black salt, chicken feathers, stone markings. It was a hex. But you 
destroyed the set up so I can’t identify either the practitioner or the purpose of the hex. But these 
bones were the heart of it. The strength. Bones of a dead priest.”

“How do you know that?” Brian demanded and Bellamy glared at him.

“Because I do. One of you go to the top of the stairs and make sure no one comes down here.”

Dora started in that direction as Boyd asked, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to defuse the hex. To the extent I can do that without knowing exactly what the 
hoodoo was. Because you don’t want this kind of negative power in your business.”

He opened the velvet bag and took out a cigar, a small flask of whiskey, two small, red flannel 
bags tied with black string, a rosary, and a white candle. “I need a box, any box, big enough to 
hold these bones.”

Brian found a box that once held light bulbs, and handed the empty vessel to Bellamy. Bellamy 
carefully put each bone in the box, and then lit the cigar, puffed on it, and began to speak in low, 
island French as he put the candle amid the bones, lit it, took a sip of the whiskey and spit it into 
the flame, causing it to flare. With each action, he spoke another verse in French. He sprinkled 
some dust from each flannel bag over the bones and placed the rosary over the pile as he exhaled 
cigar smoke into the candle flame. Finally, he pulled a sheathed knife from his bag, removed it 
from its tooled leather holder and the blade glistened razor sharp in the gloom. He ran the edge 
through the flame twice, and then motioned Brian over.

Brian had been mesmerized, standing so close to Boyd, he had almost become part of him. When 
Bellamy acknowledged him, he hesitated. “Ici,” Bellamy repeated, meaning “here”. He pointed 
to a place near him and Brian walked over, assuming a bored and suspicious demeanor that he 
didn’t really feel. Bellamy said, “Give me the index finger of your left hand.”

“Why?”

Bellamy motioned and Brian held out his hand. Bellamy positioned the blade over it and Brian 
drew back. “Are you nuts? I didn’t mean you could keep it.”

“I only need a couple drops of your blood, Brian.”

“Why me?”

“It’s your business, the hex was aimed at you.”

“You’re not sticking me with that dirty knife.”

“It’s been purified in the flame. I’ll do it again. It’s perfectly clean.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll do it,” Boyd volunteered and Bellamy shook his head. 

“It has to be him.”

Shamed by his lover, Brian reluctantly extended his hand, wincing as Bellamy chanted some 
French slogan and opened a small cut in Brian’s skin. He held his finger over the box, dripped a 
few spots of blood on the contents and then poured whiskey over the cut and over the box. Brian 
stepped back, sucking the liquor off his finger. It stopped bleeding. Bellamy said one more 
phrase over the box and then closed it. He burned a hole in the lid with the lit end of his cigar 
and ground out the smoke. He extended the box to Brian and said, “Take this out of the city. 
Bury it near the water, under a dead tree, before sundown. Dig until the water fills the hole. It 
won’t take long in this region. Don’t let it be on any property you or your partner own. Do it 
today and don’t open the box.”

Brian stared at him and then said, “Should I swing a black cat by the tail over it three times and 
then walk away in a counter clockwise direction?”

“You should be careful what you mock, Brian. And who you mock. You have some powerful 
enemies. Better to use your energy to find out who and why. Now, someone walk me around this 
place. I want to see if there are any other gifts left by your witchdoctor.”

Dora volunteered and Daphne followed, still mesmerized by Bellamy’s performance. Alone, 
Brian looked at Boyd and said, “This is bullshit.”

“We need to go if we’re going to get to the swamp before sundown.”

“Boyd, do you believe this shit?”

“I believe enough that I’m unwilling to test it. How about you?”

Brian met his expression with a wince. He then shrugged and motioned for him to lead the way, 
mentally thinking of the best place to do exactly what Bellamy instructed.



Current Mood:  nervous
 
04:41 am - BURN Chapter 57
Hi, Burniacs. Posting for Big B. Sorry about the editing, can't seem to focus today! Ran

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



Homer smiled as Brian slid into the booth across from him at the diner. 

“Hey, handsome,” the waitress, Susie, greeted Brian with a smile. “You’ve been a stranger. 
What’ll you have?”

“Just some coffee with lots of milk to neutralize the uranium in it.”

“We have that bourbon-pecan pie you like so much,” she tempted him.

Brian winced. “Damn. Okay, one slice, and then I hit the gym.”

She went away with his order and Homer stirred his coffee before saying, “You have a worried 
mind.”

“Homer, so Bellamy Beaufort is your family, right?”

“Bellamy’s blood. True.”

“Is he the real deal?”

“Meaning what?”

“This voodoo thing.”

Homer smiled. “Bellamy would deny anything to do with voodoo.”

“But is he for real?”

“Bellamy is a very powerful man, that’s for real.”

Brian nodded and then shared the story of the skeletal hand. Homer listened without interrupting. 
He then asked, “Where did you bury it?”

“At the edge of the swamp. Boyd said it was public land. I guess we passed the curse on to the 
state.”

“Bellamy done neutralized the curse, Brian. More important, who did it and why?”

“Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing the good Reverend would do, now does it?”

“Not himself, but anyone can hire a practitioner. Lots of wrong-headed people making a living 
selling bad magic. Especially in these parts. It’s someone who believes, clear enough. They were 
more interested in putting the hoodoo on you than in having you find out and be scared.”

“Where are we? Haiti?” Brian asked in frustration.

Homer laughed. “Haiti is here, that’s true. But it ain’t all Haitian, Brian. Just the best of it. What 
made you call Bellamy?”

“I didn’t. He called me. He just had a feeling, I guess.”

“Powerful man,” Homer repeated. “Be glad he’s on your side.”

“I’m not so sure that he is, but I don’t think he’s against me, either.”

“You’d know if Bellamy was against you, son.”

Brian shook his head slowly over his pie and coffee as it was delivered together. “This is a weird 
state, Homer. Why can’t people just leave me alone? Leave us alone? We aren’t bothering 
anyone. Just trying to make a living. I’ve been under attack of one kind or another since I 
stopped in this town.”

“You want to go home?”

Brian looked into Homer’s dark, questioning eyes and said, “This is home.”

Homer smiled. He liked that answer. “In Louisiana, you have to take the bad with the good. Just 
as you do any place where you live. Just that here, the bad can be a little…unique. Just as the 
good is unique. So, that boy of yours, he having a good time here?”

“Yeah. He may be staying awhile. I think Lindsay, his mother, is going to work at Boyd’s 
gallery. Get things underway while he settles up at the mill.”

“That’s nice for both of you. You get your son near you and Boyd gets some help.”

“That’s how we see it.”

“Seems like Boyd is having his own troubles at the mill. I hear the mister moaning about things. 
I suspect Boyd is on to something. Thing is, sometimes you can be right and be wrong at the 
same time.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re right about a problem being there, but you never should have disturbed it to begin with. 
Once you decide to poke a snake with a stick, you need to know what your plan is when it 
strikes. I just hope Boyd has thought it out.”

“Boyd’s a very deliberate man.”

“He is that. Got that from his grandpa. Boyd’s a lot like the old man.”

Brian laughed. “Except in one way.”

“You mean the way he feels about you?”

Brian nodded. Homer shrugged. “You never know.”

“Wait. Are you telling me Boyd’s grandfather liked boys too?”

“I’m not telling you anything, Brian. I’m just saying you never know.”

“You can’t leave it there.”

“I don’t gossip about the family.”

“But Boyd’s my family.”

“There’s no story here, Brian. Here, take this.”

He handed Brian a small figure he took from his pocket. The face was made of dried mud with 
beads for eyes and a stick body wrapped in a square of cloth tied that was tied around the stick. 
“Juju,” Homer explained. “Protection.”

“Funny. Doesn’t look like a condom.”

“Make your jokes, but keep the juju.”

“Do you think I should send Gus away? Tell Lindsay to go back?”

“I think you have to live your life and not let fear or threat change things. If you do, you’ll start 
seeing a shadow at every corner, and that’s no way to live. Just be smart and alert. That’s what I 
think.”

Brian nodded, mulling over Homer’s advice as he slipped the juju doll into his pocket and 
finished his pie. 

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

Lindsay and Boyd sat on the back porch of the B&B watching the children play in the yard. No 
mention was made of the ritual or of the burial. But Lindsay thought Boyd seemed preoccupied. 
With Brian away somewhere, she wondered if there had been a rift.

“You’re brave,” she said and he looked confused.

“How am I brave?”

“Loving Brian Kinney is a very brave thing to do. He’s not an easy man to love.”

Boyd looked at her for a moment and then smiled. “Loving Brian is the easiest thing I’ve ever 
done. The most natural fit in the world. No matter what else happens in my life, falling in love 
with Brian will always be the defining moment for me.”

She didn’t expect that response so she didn’t know what to reply. She chose to say nothing. Gus 
ran over to them and climbed up on Boyd’s lap, huffing from a frenetic game of tag. “Where’s 
my Daddy?”

“He’ll be along in a minute,” Boyd reassured him, smoothing his ruffled hair. “You miss him?” 
Gus nodded and Boyd smiled. “He misses you, too. He’ll be home soon.”

Appeased by that, Gus slipped down and rejoined the others. Lindsay shared an observation. 
“You made quite an impression on Gus. You’re good with kids.”

“I love kids. They’re brutally honest.”

“And adults aren’t?”

Boyd cut her a glance. “Not always.”

“But you think Brian is?”

“Yes, I know Brian is. Sometimes painfully so. What are you getting at?”

“I’m not getting at anything, Boyd. Don’t be so defensive.”

“I feel like I have to defend Brian here, and I don’t know what he did wrong. Why do I feel that 
way, Lindsay? Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No. It’s just that Brian…well, Brian’s still Brian. Tigers don’t change their stripes.”

“I wouldn’t want him any other way. I love his stripes.”

“You never saw Brian in his all consuming predator mode.”

“What makes you think that? I have seen Brian in his predator mode. I found it very hot. His 
predation helped bring us together. He has far more courage than I do in these matters. If not for 
his persistence, I doubt if I’d ever have had the nerve to move on him.”

“Brian’s moving on a man he finds attractive is not exactly news.”

“Lindsay, you’re walking that fine line between social conversation and none of your fucking 
business. I don’t need to be warned about Brian’s roving eye. I know where I stand with him. I 
consider any further conversation along these lines to be troublemaking.”

“Wow,” she said with a sweet smile. “You’re touchy.”

“I prefer protective. Belle, time’s up,” he shifted his attention to his daughter. “Take the boys 
inside and wash up for dinner.”

“But Daddy…”

“Go.”

The children filed past him, glaring at him as if he had just killed their bunny. He ignored their 
silent recriminations. Jane had the evening off and had gone to visit friends in Lafayette, so it 
was up to them to monitor the children. He poured himself another glass of hard lemonade from 
the pitcher the owners had mixed for them, and took a sip. Brian came up behind him and kissed 
him on top of his head before sinking to the ground beside his chair, propping his back against 
Boyd’s calves. 

“What are you drinking?”

“Lemonade, Louisiana style.”

“Does that mean spiked?”

“It does.”

“Share,” Boyd handed him his glass and Brian took a sip and then winced. “Too sweet.” He 
handed it back. “Where are the kids?”

“You just missed them. Went upstairs to wash up for dinner. How’s Homer?”

“He gave me this,” Brian pulled out the juju and Boyd laughed as Lindsay recoiled from it. 

“What is that thing?” she demanded and Boyd took it and turned it over on his hand and then 
handed it back.

“It’s a juju doll.”

“Is that like a voodoo doll?”

“You don’t stick pins in it, if that’s what you mean. It imparts magic. In this case, I assume it’s 
for protection.”

“How did you know?” Brian asked.

“Because Homer’s been protecting this family with juju and gris gris and other concoctions for 
as long as I can remember. Keep it.”

“What do you need protection from? This unknown threat maker?” Lindsay asked and Brian and 
Boyd shared a look that spoke volumes. They silently agreed on no details. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Brian told her. Boyd reached down and absently filtered his fingers 
through Brian’s hair in an easy, affectionate manner. Brian relaxed under his touch. 

“Jon made gumbo,” Boyd changed the subject. “We’re dining in tonight.”

“I love gumbo.”

“I know.”

Lindsay stood, rubbing her arms. “I’m feeling chilly. I’m going in.”

She left and Boyd leaned down to kiss his lover. Brian looked up to receive that kiss. It held and 
Brian then asked, “Do we have time?”

“Later, not before dinner. Not enough time. Gus was asking about you. You need to spend a little 
time with him.”

“I will, but…”

Boyd’s hand slipped inside the neckline of Brian’s shirt, across his pectorals, brushing a taut 
nipple. Brian exhaled slowly. Boyd leaned down for another kiss and when they separated, Brian 
glared at him. “Thanks. I now have a hard on.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s go somewhere, do something.”

Boyd stood and took his lover’s hand, helping him up. They kissed, bodies close together, the 
heat rising. Boyd led Brian to the side of the house, away from the street, shielded from the 
upstairs windows by the canopy of a live oak tree. They were between two downstairs windows, 
so virtually impossible to spy upon. The fence prevented neighbors from having a view, and as 
they kissed, Boyd unzipped Brian’s fly and slipped his fingers inside the flap. Brian groaned and 
did the same to him, groping for his hard dick. They gripped each other and pulled as the kissing 
intensified. It was quick, it was dirty, they shot in sequence and then held onto each other until 
the throbbing subsided. Then they put away their weapons and Brian rested his forehead against 
Boyd’s as he said, “I love being thirteen with you.”

“I love being thirteen with you, too.”

They laughed and returned to the house together, hands locked, the crisis of passion momentarily 
stilled.

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

Daphne tried once more to bring up the scene at the club, this time over dinner on the terrace of 
Bellamy’s home. He made the jambalaya, she made the salad. When she said the words, he put 
his fork down beside his plate and leaned on his elbows, his gaze burrowing into her psyche.

“I told you. I don’t want to talk about it, Daphne. Now what is it about those words that is either 
unclear or unequivocal?”

“But Bellamy, you can’t just do something that extreme and then tell me not to talk about it. It 
isn’t fair.”

“Okay, look. Here it is. In this part of the world, there’s a religion called voudon which is 
translated into cheap cinematic voodoo movies by people who don’t understand. I don’t follow 
it, it’s not my choice, but I am schooled in it. I do understand the concepts of it. And I believe in 
the power of the unseen. Combined with a gift for precognition and whatever genetic 
abnormalities I seem to have inherited from a long line of witches and witchdoctors, I’ve learned 
how to protect myself and those I care about from harm. I had a sudden vision that Brian had 
been hexed. Don’t know where it came from, don’t know why. All I did was to do what I could 
to cleanse the harm from his business.”

She reached over and took his hand. “Don’t you see how sweet that is?”

He smiled. “Not sweet. Not sweet at all. But something I had to do. I feel a connection to him. 
Maybe because of you. Maybe because of Pearl, I’m not sure.”

“Maybe because you find him attractive?” Daphne felt a glimmer of fear over Brian’s impact on 
people. 

He laughed. “If you mean what I think you mean, I would’ve hoped what we’ve done today 
erased those concerns. I don’t get attracted to men. Not sexually. I don’t walk that side of the 
street. I don’t care about it, I’m not in the least judgmental about it, but it’s not my thing. Yes, 
Brian is a handsome man, but my connection to him is not based on sex.”

“Then…”

“I don’t know, but I sense the fellow traveler in Brian. Enough said. I answered your question, 
let’s move on.”

“Darling! Surprise!”

They both turned to see a delicately boned, beautifully attired man in his early sixties who had a 
shock of bright silver hair, a perpetual tan and the happiest blue eyes Daphne had ever seen. 
Bellamy stood to greet him, pulling him into a strong embrace and then he kept one arm around 
the man’s slim waist as he said,

“Daphne, meet my mom.” 
Current Mood:  bitchy
 
05:44 pm - BURN Chapter 58



“The trick is you have to have a good crepe pan,” Charles, Bellamy’s “mother” was 
demonstrating the fine art of dessert crepes to a rapt Daphne. “And of course Bellamy does.”

The dapper little man knew his way around the kitchen, and no wonder, since he lived in this 
house for decades. “What’s in the filling?” she asked.

“Sour cream, a little sugar, a little crčme de tartar, and the strawberry brew, which is crushed 
fresh strawberries cooked with a soupcon of brandy and some sugar. Now, we take the open 
crepe, spoon in the strawberries, top it with the sour cream, roll it up and it serve it over a scoop 
of vanilla ice cream with a fresh strawberry on top. Some flambé it with brandy, but personally I 
find that showing off.”

They sat at the table together, the wreckage in the kitchen to make this dessert ignored as 
Bellamy opened a bottle of champagne. “It’s not right to eat strawberries without champagne. 
Isn’t that what Daddy always said, Mom?” Bellamy smiled as he filled three flutes. Daphne 
found it adorable that Bellamy really called him “Mom”, the tall, mocha skinned man and the 
small Casper white queen as far apart in appearance as any two men could be. 

“I believe Andre’s line was that it was not civilized to enjoy strawberries without champagne. To 
love, darlings,” they tapped crystal and Daphne rolled her eyes with joy over the flavor of the 
crepes. 

“This is divine!”

“Of course it is! I never waste my time on less than divine, my dear.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to town, Mom? I would have picked you up at the 
airport.”

“And deprived me of a limo ride? Never. Besides, I hoped to catch you with a lovely lady, and 
so I did. You’re so secretive about your love life, you may as well be queer. Everything I’ve 
learned about your habits has been by ambush. So what is a lovely girl like you doing with my 
reprobate of a son?”

“I…” before she could answer, the doorbell rang. Bellamy went to open it and sighed when he 
saw his other mother standing there. 

“What do you want?”

“Charles called and asked me over. Don’t be rude, Bell. Invite me in.”

He stepped back and waved her inside. She wore purple tonight, regal and beautiful. She nodded 
at Daphne but flung herself into Charles’ open arms. “Oh my God, you witch, you! You never 
age a day! I hate you!” He said as he held her at arm’s length. “Get another plate and flute, Bell. 
The Lady Pearl is gracing us with a visit.”

He reluctantly obeyed, never understanding why the two of them were so friendly. They were set 
up for a competition, in his mind, both of them so important to Andre, even if in different ways, 
and both of them claiming a maternal interest in Andre’s son. Whatever their differences, the 
only emotion he ever saw between them was affection and mutual respect. The times Charles 
was most angry with Bellamy were those times he felt that he treated Pearl badly. 

Daphne, too, was fascinated by the chemistry between Bellamy’s two mothers, enjoying the way 
he made Pearl laugh, when she always seemed so cool and reserved in other situations. They 
shared remembrances about Andre that were sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, and then 
Pearl asked, “How is the world treating you, mon cher?”

“My joints ache, my dick doesn’t want to get hard anymore, my face has left me and in it’s place 
is this corrugated mask, if it weren’t for my sense of humor and my money, what would I have 
left? Oh, and you, of course, Bellamy, darling.”

Bellamy nodded, discounting the afterthought as typical of Charles’ gift for the dramatic. “And 
you? Are you back in your house, Lady P?”

“Not yet. This is New Orleans. You know how long it takes to get anything done.”

“True. So, when are we going on that cruise? You promised me.”

“And I want to go, Charles, but not until things are settled here.”

“What things?”

“My home, my friends, my son.”

Bellamy cut a harsh look at his mother. “I don’t need you looking out for me.”

“Oh pish posh,” Charles waved Bellamy off. “Of course you do. We all need each other. Spokes 
in a wheel, darling boy. With Andre at the center. Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean he isn’t 
here.”

“Bellamy, what did you do today?” Pearl asked. “I felt the ripple of it. Why?”

He shrugged. “Someone threw a hoodoo at Brian’s business. I negated it.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You couldn’t read it?”

“They had already disturbed the site.”

“What was the re-agent?”

“The bones of a priest.”

“Ah,” Pearl nodded, her expression concerned. “Powerful. Did you purify the area?”

“I did what I could, Pearl.”

“I wonder who did it? Someone hired. Someone pimping the gift. I can think of a few suspects. 
Were there chicken feathers?”

“Feathers of some sort. They had already been swept away.”

“Shame. I can usually tell by the bird. Did you use sulphur?”

“I know what to do.”

Charles looked at Daphne and smiled. “Don’t you love it when they compare notes on voodoo 
rituals? I do. I thought you decided that was bad politics, Bell.”

“I do think so. I didn’t make a public statement about it. It was all enclosed and narrowly 
observed.”

“You know how I view these things,” Charles said, his blue eyes twinkling. “I ask myself, 
WWAD.”

“What does that mean?” Daphne asked and he grinned at her, appreciating the opening.

“What Would Andre Do.”

Daphne giggled at his answer. “I guess a prize winning poet and famous author wouldn’t have 
too much knowledge about what to do if someone gets hexed.”

They looked at her and then Charles said to Bellamy, “Who’s been a bad boy, then? Keeping 
secrets?”

Bellamy just shook his head, ignoring the shocked expression on Daphne’s face.

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

The B&B had quieted for the night. Jane returned from Lafayette, the children were put to bed 
and the locks and alarms were in place. Boyd and Brian indulged in some heavy fucking and 
then they got comfortable in bed, the television showing a British mystery series while Brian 
read a novel by James Lee Burke about the ghosts of Confederate soldiers inhabiting the modern 
Louisianan swamps, while Boyd immersed himself once again in the financial records of his 
company. 

Downstairs, in the kitchen, Lindsay was warming some milk to make cocoa, when Jane joined 
her. Dressed in pajamas with drawstring pants decorated with black cat faces and a black ribbed 
camisole, Jane looked like a teenager attending a slumber party. Lindsay smiled at her.

“Did you have fun on your day off?”

“It was lovely seeing friends. I hope the children weren’t too much a bother.”

“No, I enjoyed being with them. It’s nice for Gus to have someone to play with. I think he and 
Mac are becoming fast friends and of course, Belle is the boss of them all.”

“She has that tendency. What’s keeping you up?”

“I don’t know. I feel restless. I think I’m ready to move to New Orleans and start working on 
Boyd’s gallery. I need something to do.”

“I understand. Have you spoken with Melanie?”

Lindsay shrugged, tucking a strand of yellow hair behind her ear as it drifted free of her ponytail. 
“No. She hasn’t called me, either, and I’m fine with that. I really need some time away from 
her.”

“Still, you must miss her, on some level.”

“Have you ever been in a relationship where there is so much tension that when you’re away 
from it, you’re so relieved not to have the stress that you’re willing to give up the good parts, 
too?”

“Maybe once. I didn’t stay in it long. I don’t relish dissention. Lindsay, I have an observation I 
would like to share with you as a friend. For I feel we’ve become friends. It’s different with us, 
as I don’t really work for you. I work for Brian and Boyd. I feel free to enjoy your company on a 
less formal level.”

“I’m glad because I enjoy your company too, Jane.”

“I’ve noticed you seem to have very mixed emotions towards Brian.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way you look at him, act with him, talk to him, talk about him. I know he’s the father of 
your son, and you told me you had a fling with him years ago, but my question is, have you 
really put that behind you?”

Lindsay groaned. “Would you like some hot cocoa? There’s enough for two.”

“Yes, please.”

Lindsay spooned cocoa powder and sugar into another cup and filled both cups with warm milk. 
She carried them to the table and they each stirred to blend the ingredients. Jane asked, “Did I 
say something wrong?”

“I just get tired of being accused of still being in love with Brian Kinney.”

“Because you’re not?”

“Of course I’m not. I love Brian, as a friend, and as Gus’s father, but I’m not an idiot. I 
understand that he’s gay. And he’s in love with someone. In a relationship with someone.”

“Understanding and accepting can be two different tasks.”

“Jane, I know Brian and I will never…he’s made that abundantly clear.”

“And does that fact bother you?”

“I’m gay, too, Jane. I’m a lesbian. I don’t sleep with men.”

“But would you? If he would?”

“Now you sound like Melanie. No, I wouldn’t.”

“I’m not trying to interfere, Lindsay, nor am I trying to make you feel bad about anything. I just 
see that you’re very hurt and very lonely and perhaps Brian seems like a safe harbor.”

Lindsay laughed. “Brian is hardly a safe harbor for anyone. He’s one of the least safe people I’ve 
ever known.”

“Is he? Because he seems utterly devoted to Boyd.”

Lindsay stared at her and then sighed. She put her face in her hands as she absorbed the fact that 
this woman who hardly knew Brian saw something so potent between Boyd and him. Maybe she 
was right. Maybe she was unable to see Brian at all anymore. Jane walked over behind her and 
began rubbing her shoulders gently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” Lindsay relaxed into her soothing massage. “Maybe I have been believing one 
way and acting another. It isn’t deliberate. It’s just that Brian and I have a history and it’s very 
hard for me to accept the changes in him.”

“If you love him, be happy for him.”

Lindsay looked back at her. “You’re a very nice person.”

“No nicer than you.”

Lindsay covered her hand with hers and within minutes, they were kissing. Passionately, arms 
around each other, warmed by the mutual touch. 

“Jesus Christ, I’ve gone blind,” Brian moaned and they sprang apart at his intrusion. He looked 
from one to the other and then shook his head. “This is so cliché. The nanny and…wait. Isn’t it 
supposed to be the Daddy?”

“I never get friendly with an employer, Brian,” Jane said with a smile. “I think I’ll go up to bed. 
Are you coming, Lindsay?”

She looked from Jane to Brian and nodded. “In just a second.”

Jane left them alone and Brian sighed as he opened the refrigerator and then opened a bottle of 
Evian. “You think this makes sense?” he asked after taking a long draw from the bottle.

“Since when does sex have to make sense to you?”

“Since it’s you. Not me. You may recall, that was one of the many, many, too many to count 
problems from our youthful indiscretion days. You wanted a boyfriend. I was just testing things 
out.”

“What a lovely way to put it.”

“Let’s face it Linds, we’re closer now than we were when we were fucking.”

“You think so?” she looked pleased by that and he shrugged.

“Don’t you? I had to be the worst lay of your life.”

“That’s not true, Brian. Was I yours?”

He laughed. “I have a much bigger field from which to choose. I’m just saying I don’t want you 
to go on some huge guilt trip when you decide to go back to Melanie.”

“What if I never go back to Melanie?”

“Then my curse worked.”

“You’ve been down here too long.”

He laughed and she kissed his cheek. “Goodnight Brian. By the way, your bed hair is adorable.”

He quickly smoothed his hair down as she left him there in the kitchen and trotted up the stairs. 

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

“When do I get it?” Minus asked the disembodied voice on the phone. He had turned off the 
television in his house and the noise from the swamp overtook the night, a cacophony of insects, 
bullfrogs and other animals calling out a warning or looking for a mate. 

“When your work is done and not before.”

“But I’m ready! I’ve been patient!” he complained, pulling at his puckered, seared skin. 

“And you’ll continue to be patient until I tell you otherwise.”

“You won’t forget?”

“Of course not. Do I ever forget?”

“How long?”

“Not long now. Soon.”

“I’m tired of waiting,” he was ever the petulant child.

“But you will, won’t you, Minus?”

“If you make me.”

“That’s right. Because you know what will happen if you disobey me, don’t you?”

Minus winced, scared by that reminder. “I know.”

“And you wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

“No.”

“Then we wait.”

“But soon, right?”

“Yes, Minus, soon.”

The line disconnected. Minus turned the television back on, determined to let the noise drown 
out the undulating rhythm of the swamp and the acrid taste of his own fear.
Current Mood: awake
 
 
05:45 pm - BURN Chapter 59


Boyd awoke with a boner that had Brian’s name on it. His partner still slept soundly beside him 
although his dreams were tinged with voodoo, Confederate ghosts and firestarters. Outside, dawn 
was on the horizon. Boyd thought about being considerate of his lover’s need for sleep, but his 
flesh pounded with heat and there was only one real answer for that need. He started by kissing 
the back of Brian’s neck, feeling him flinch from deep within his fog. Boyd then let his hands 
drift down Brian’s back, and across his ass. He turned his hand sideways to pass the edge down 
the separation between his buttocks and between his thighs. 

Touching Brian increased the heat of his passion and he moved against him, allowing Brian’s hip 
to cushion his erection. Brian moaned a little, and let his hand reach out and contact the flesh of 
his lover before his mind was fully engaged. Boyd sighed and gently took Brian’s shoulder, 
urging him over on his back. 

“Whassup?” Brian said groggily, the memory of a hard fuck from the previous night still fresh. 
He was confused by when that had taken place, and whether what his body was beginning to feel 
was a residual from that act or was it something new?

Boyd answered by slipping his tongue between Brian’s lips, as he spread out over him. Brian 
didn’t mind, letting the tension of sex replace the relaxation of sleep. His arms met behind 
Boyd’s neck, while his cock lengthened against Boyd’s hard-on. 

“I really want to fuck you,” Boyd said against his ear and Brian smiled.

“So who’s stopping you?”

The lube was fetched from the drawer beside the bed and Boyd moved Brian on his side, 
insinuating a leg between Brian’s strong thighs as he opened up a path for his penetration. He 
reached around to stroke Brian’s cock as he let his own prick move up the snug enclosure of his 
ass. Brian winced but the discomfort passed quickly, and the fucking erased any memory of it. 
Feeling Boyd’s strong body arch and retreat against his back in a solid rhythm was almost as 
much of a turn on as was the way his cock felt inside of him. 

“If you stop, I’ll kill you,” Brian groaned and Boyd pushed harder, knowing no power on earth 
could stop him now. He took a mouthful of Brian’s thick hair between his lips, tongued it until it 
was damp and then buried his nose in it, inhaling his essence. Brian reached a hand back to 
spread it on Boyd’s thigh, digging into his flesh with his fingertips. Boyd knew just how to 
stroke him, how hard to yank it, how fast, and he demonstrated that knowledge of his lover’s 
body, pulling with increasing speed and torque as his own orgasm loomed. 

They shot wad at the same time, or close enough, and Boyd kept his grip on Brian’s slowly 
softening dick as he stayed cocooned within his body. “Someone woke up on the right side of the 
bed,” Brian teased. Boyd leaned over to kiss him again before he reluctantly withdrew from his 
ass. 

“Sorry. I could’ve let you sleep, but…”

“But jerking off is so last year,” Brian finished the sentence for him. “Or wait, wasn’t that last 
night?”

They both laughed. They decided to share a warm tub and as they soaked, their backs against 
opposite ends of the oval, Brian rested a foot lightly on Boyd’s chest. It was still early and sleep 
would have been nice, but not as nice as this. “You want me to go with you today?”

“To my parents’ house? Why would I put you through that? Besides, you promised to take Gus 
to the alligator farm.”

“Yeah,” Brian rolled his eyes at that moment of weakness. “How could I miss that? I thought I 
might give you some moral support.”

“You just did. Having you there would only make things more difficult with them all, Brian. 
Especially my sister. She finds it convenient to blame you in some way for her asinine husband’s 
queer bone.”

“He never got that queer bone near me.”

“Not for want of trying.”

“Can’t blame him for that,” Brian said with a laugh as he let his toes trace the bumps and valleys 
of Boyd’s firm abdominals. “I’m not sure what you’re going to accomplish.”

“I’m not either. But I thought I’d give them one clear chance to disclose whatever the fuck is 
going on at the mill.”

“I’m worried about your going there.”

“Brian, whatever else they are, they’re my family. I don’t think they’ll make a chair out of my 
bones. Besides which, Homer will be there.”

He knew that would make Brian feel better and it did. 

“I want you to call me as soon as you leave and I mean that, Boyd. As soon as you leave.”

“Okay, I will. And I want you to promise me something, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t come home with any baby alligators. They try to tell you they make cute pets, but they 
die on you within days and that’s very traumatic for a kid.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Of course.”

“The only thing worse would be if they didn’t die on you and you end up with a twelve foot 
maneater sleeping at the foot of your bed.”

“I’ll settle for the six foot maneater sleeping in my bed.”

“Six-two, slut.”

“I beg your pardon.” Boyd brought Brian’s elegant foot up to his lips and kissed each wet toe in 
succession. Brian closed his eyes feeling the sensation in his groin. The best thing about waking 
up early was that there was always time for one more before others intruded into your day. 

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

After taking Daphne home around midnight, Bellamy, Charles and Pearl stayed up the rest of the 
night, talking, smoking cigars, and migrating from fine wine to chicory coffee. Now Charles was 
making homemade beignets as Pearl watched and Bellamy was upstairs, showering. 

“Is there anyone in your life, Pearl?” he asked as he dropped the batter into the hot oil. She 
picked up her coffee mug with both hands and sipped from the brew before she responded.

“No romantic interest if that’s what you mean. You?”

He laughed and joined her at the table for a few minutes before he had to stir the cooking bread 
to ensure it browned on all sides. “Look at me, I’m a silly old queen. The only thing left to me 
are paid escorts, and I’d rather go gentle into that good night than do that. I’m still in love with 
Andre, anyway, so why bother looking? The young ones just want my money and the old ones 
bore me.”

She reached over to squeeze his delicate hand. “I don’t want to think of you lonely, cher.”

He smiled. “I’m not lonely. I have my bridge club ladies, we play every Wednesday and Friday 
and I adore them and their gossip over mimosas. I have my weekly lectures at the university on a 
variety of subjects, I have my fellow ancient queens to shop with and reminisce about the wild 
times we never really had, and of course I have Bellamy. He’s a wonderful son. Grandchildren 
would be nice if he ever allowed himself to settle down.”

“He will, Charles. It’s politically expedient to have a wife and kids.”

“I was hoping more for a love match. This little girl Daphne is a doll. Very bright.”

“But so, so terribly young.”

“Old enough, girl. Back to you. You’re ageless and beautiful, Pearl. You need a man in your 
life.”

“You know my luck with men in my life, Charles. I have a connection with a gorgeous young 
man who touches me deeply.”

He got up to stir the beignets and then sat down with her again. “Every detail. Leave nothing 
out.”

“First, he’s gay, second, he’s madly in love with his partner.”

“Oh, that one. The one you two have been voodooing and hoodooing.”

“Lots of currents swirl around Brian, not all of them good.”

“I was thinking more of a love interest, Pearl, not a project for your talents.”

She laughed. “If only you liked women more, Charles.”

“I adore women!” He protested. “I think women are marvelous! I just don’t believe in fucking 
them. This is such a big part of your problem, Pearl. You’re a fag hag.”

“I’m no such thing.”

“Yes you are. You always felt more comfortable with my tribe than with heterosexual men. You 
allowed us to fill a void in your life that you should have been filling with eligibles.”

“You’re the one who used to piece together my broken heart and tell me I had terrible taste in 
eligibles, Charles.”

“I know. You do. You should just let me pick one out for you.” He began scooping the beignets 
from the oil and placed them on paper towels to drain. “Where is that boy? You have to eat them 
when they’re hot or they’re like eating paste.”

“I’m here and I’m no boy, Mom. I grew up while you weren’t looking.” Bellamy wore a silk 
robe and he took the confectioner’s sugar from the pantry so Charles could shake it over the 
warm beignets.

“I know you did and I’m still angry about that. You were such an adorable little boy and now 
you’re this big old willful man.”

“I came by that willfulness naturally.” He poured himself some coffee and Charles brought the 
platter of beignets to the table. 

“If you mean Andre, he could be a bit of a prick at times, God knows he was arrogant, but 
willful? Andre was so careful not to impose his will on others. I’m not sure I can agree with 
that.”

“I meant you. And her,” he shrugged at his other mother who shook her head.

“Take credit or blame for your own personality, Bell, it’s uniquely your own.”

He ignored her and said to Charles, “How long are you staying?”

“Am I in the way?”

“Don’t be coy. You know you can stay here forever, if you’d like. I just want to plan some time 
with you and I have a very busy calendar.”

“Let’s play it by ear. I have lots of friends here to visit and things to do. You live your life, 
darling boy. We’ll see each other when we can.”

“Should there be an occasion when we’re together with Daphne, again, please don’t hint at the 
connection between my paternal side and the metaphysical. Doesn’t she have enough to deal 
with knowing Pearl is a damned voodoo queen and that I have this…whatever it is I have?”

“You think she won’t find out about Andre?” Charles said with a laugh. “His talents were more 
well known than that, Bell, and I don’t mean his mainstream writing. He was a brilliant warlock 
the likes of which haven’t been seen in this state in centuries. But he was Glenda the Good 
Witch, darling. It’s not as if he conducted black Sabbaths and prayed to an upside down 
pentacle.”

“I know that, Mom. But most normal people don’t have a context for warlocks, good or bad. 
They only know what they’ve seen in movies or read in salacious books. I’m not up to 
explaining yet another parent to her.”

Charles reached over and rested a hand on Bellamy’s arm. “I can’t tell you how much it means to 
me that you care about what this little girl thinks. That’s a first.”

Bellamy shrugged and speared himself another beignet. “Don’t read too much into it. It’s too 
new for you to start knitting booties, and Daphne’s not my idea of what makes a good political 
spouse.”

“What does?” Pearl asked. 

“Not a career woman. Someone who puts her husband’s career first, someone who wants to be a 
mother and to take care of the family’s social obligations. Someone without a past would be nice, 
but at least no controversy in that past. Daphne’s a little out there to fit that bill.”

Charles laughed. “The woman you described would bore you speechless and that’s a terrible 
thing for a politician to be.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know the kind of girl you’re going to marry. Andre figured all that out when you were a tiny 
baby. He read the portents and made his predictions. I still have them written down in my little 
book. I’ll have to pull it out and refresh my memory.”

“Oogie-boogie bullshit,” Bellamy complained and Pearl laughed.

“You know better than that. Andre would chuckle over your pretending to be blasé about his 
talents.”

“Between the two of you, I am good and truly cursed. I loved my father very much for the genius 
that he was. Had nothing to do with the whole warlock aspect of his life. He was a brilliant man. 
And Charles gave me at least a shot at a normal parent. But you two…God, what a legacy you 
gave me.”

She smiled. “Embrace it, Bellamy, it’s who you are.”

“I’m trying to outrace it, not embrace it.”

“Stop running long enough for us to talk about a very important issue.”

“What’s that?”

“Brian.”

“What about him?”

“What shall we do for him? To protect him?”

“Hire a bodyguard,” Bellamy got to his feet. “I have to go to work. As for Brian Kinney, he’s not 
my problem, Pearl. He’s your hobby. You figure it out. I’ll call you about meeting for lunch, 
Mom,” he kissed the top of Charles’s head as he walked by. 

“Not too early!” Charles called after him. “I need to catch up on my beauty sleep!”

“He can’t turn from this,” Pearl said when they were alone. “That family needs our combined 
force.”

“Give him time, honey,” Charles said as he cleared the dishes from the table. “As Andre always 
said, every witch has to find his own path.”

She nodded. But she knew Bellamy was much more than a nascent witch. The power was in his 
blood. Charles knew it too. The only thing left for them to do was to help Bellamy accept it and 
to learn exactly what it meant.


Current Mood:  content
 
11:59 am - BURN Chapter 60
Sorry for the delay, Burniacs. I've been buried in the job and the kid. Big B



Brian was appalled. Boyd had warned him about the alligator farm, but he refused to believe it 
could be as bad as he said. Boyd called it a tourist trap and said the animals were pathetically 
treated, but Brian tended to discount his bleeding heart. Anyway, there wasn’t that much to do 
with a kid Gus’s age in Canard Rouge. Gus was as excited about it as Brian was dreading it. It 
was simple enough to find, a few miles outside of town, on the shores of the bayou, with a series 
of crudely drawn and lettered road signs directing the gullible to the farm. 

“You’d think they could spell alligator correctly,” Brian complained to his son, noting the lack of 
a second “l” on every sign. Gus was oblivious to his editing, asking for the tenth time,

“Are we there?”

Finally they were. Or at least Brian thought they were. There was a sign over the left-leaning 
front porch of a weathered house built on stilts that announced this was the alligator farm, 
spelled with the missing “l”. A reptilian stench greeted them as he unbuckled and lifted his son 
from the back of the car. 

“What stinks like poo?” Gus asked and Brian hiked him over his hip, finding it easier to navigate 
the marshy ground without having to worry about him, too. 

“I have a bad feeling it’s the alligators, Gus.” They went up the creaking steps to the porch and a 
woman greeted them at the door. She wore a faded floral dress made out of material so old, it 
was almost sheer. No shoes, a few teeth, but not many, and a pile of wiry gray hair contained on 
top of her head with an old rubber washer. 

Gus held tightly to Brian’s neck as he whispered, “Witch, Daddy! Run!”

Brian forced a smile, hoping she didn’t overhear his son’s observation. He needn’t have worried. 
“We’re here for the alligator farm.”

“Wha’ say?” She cupped her ear. “Can’t hear so good. Speak up.”

“We’re here to see the alligators!” Brian shouted, and a man appeared behind her in the doorway. 
He was an enormous creature, wearing stained overalls and nothing else, his eyes were too close 
together and he had only a few more teeth than did the old lady. 

“G’wan, Ma. I’ll handle it,” he moved the old woman aside and looked from Brian to Gus to the 
Rover in the distance. “Wha’cha want?”

“My little boy wants to see the alligators, but if this is a bad time…” Gus had burrowed his face 
so deep into Brian’s shoulder that Brian thought he might suffocate. 

“It’s five bucks a head and there ain’t no kiddie rates.”

Brian handed him a ten-dollar bill. A big, dirty hand was extended, his nails pitch black where 
they should be white. He snapped the bill in the sunlight, as if to see if it were real. Satisfied, he 
stuffed it in the breast pocket of his overalls and motioned to the rear of the house. “Go in back 
there. Just follow the signs. Best to hold onto your kid, some of them railings ain’t all that strong. 
You throw anything at the gators, I’ll send you in to fetch it. There’s no show today. My alligator 
wrestler done broke an arm.”

Brian stared at him. “Wrestling?”

“No, fell off a damned barstool.”

Fate dealt a comic hand. Brian couldn’t peel Gus off, so he carried him to the gate that was held 
with a little wire. He opened it and then made Gus stand down. “Hold my hand,” he insisted, but 
he needn’t have bothered. Gus not only held Brian’s hand, he also gripped the leg of his shorts 
tightly in his other fist, barely able to shuffle along with his pace. A wooden boardwalk with 
significant gaps between the planks criss-crossed a length of swamp. The stench was unbearable 
in the humid warmth, and insects swarmed over the reptiles, who were trapped in pools of rancid 
water, held captive by buried fences. 

One or two medium sized gators lounged listlessly in the sun on the bank, that was muddy and 
also fenced in. They were a funny color, with patches of skin that looked raw and peeling. Could 
alligators get leprosy, Brian wondered? These looked the part. Others were mostly submerged, 
occasionally breaking the murky surface with filmy, golden eyes. 

Gus stared at the pathetic gators and then at Brian, and began to cry. “I wanna go home!”

Brian didn’t think it possible to feel sorry for alligators, but he did. He picked up his crying son, 
soothed him, reassured him they were leaving, but that was easier said than done. This was a 
one-way path, and he followed it past a corrugated tin tank where baby alligators were for sale, 
the live ones anyway. The dead ones were already peeled of their skin that hung upside down 
from a tree limb to dry. Or they were being molded into humorous taxidermy caricatures, a baby 
alligator band playing plastic instruments, or a baby alligator on a toy motorcycle or a pair 
dressed like a bride and groom. What the hell was that for, Brian wondered? To use on top of the 
weddng cake of a very disturbed couple?

The small living gators looked like they would soon become a length of leather or a costumed 
soldier-gator, they were so still and miserable. Brian began to regret the prized alligator belt that 
Bo had given him. “I w-w-want to g-g-go home!” Gus was crying so hard now that he was 
choking on the syllables. 

“We’re going, we’re going!” they had to cut through the gift shop that was a lean to with an 
impressive variety of cheap alligator themed trinkets. The man who took his money was 
chopping pale pink meat, from a corpse that still held the vague tubular shape of an alligator. 
Brian put a hand over Gus’s eyes to be sure he missed it, as his breakfast turned in his stomach. 

“You wanna buy some gen-u-ine alligator meat? Fresh cut!” He held up a strip of pink and Brian 
glared at him.

“You should be ashamed! How can you treat animals this way? How do they let you get away 
with it?”

“Sissy yankee,” the man dismissed him with a chuckle. But for the fact he had Gus, Brian was 
tempted to go back and knock the fat fucker into one of his tanks with his captured animals. He 
buckled Gus into the car, promising him they’d go get ice cream, or go play whack-a-mole, or 
both, anything to shut him up. His nerves were on fire. Gus slowed from wailing into snuffling, 
and when Brian’s cell rang, he was so jumpy, he almost swerved off the road. 

“Did you buy one?” Boyd’s voice. Brian snapped,

“How could you let me go to that place with Gus?”

“I told you not to.”

“Not strongly enough! How does a place like that stay in business? Don’t you have any animal 
cruelty laws here?”

“Charlie’s been trying to shut that farm down for years, Brian. A lot of us, including me, support 
her, but the problem is, in these parts, it’s hard to drum up sympathy for gators.”

“Hunt them, if they have to, but why do they have to torture them like that? That place is a 
cesspool! Gus cried the whole time.”

“Oh. That’s bad. I’m sorry. It wasn’t that awful when I last went there, but let’s face it, I was 
eight at the time. No telling how badly the Fromier’s have let the place go since the old man 
died.”

“It’s criminal.”

“I love it that you can be passionate over the mistreatment of reptiles.”

“I’m not a soft-hearted whiney animal rights activist. I don’t like to see animals mistreated, but I 
don’t get ridiculous about it. But this…this is terrible. I’ll never forget that smell.”

“I’ll talk to Charlie, see where she is on her efforts.”

Brian calmed down a little. “Have you left the homestead yet?”

“No, we’re still in the preliminaries. That’s how things work around here. Mother has food 
served, my sister told me about Venice, as if I were here to be brought up to speed on her 
vacation, and only now is Daddy being informed of my presence.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Homer’s here, so is Madam Dhue. I knew you’d be anxious so I wanted you to know it 
was a delayed start.”

“Thanks.”

“Brian, do me a favor.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to leave Gus with that horrible impression of Louisiana wildlife. If you go past the 
town center to the Fish and Wildlife station on the bayou, they have a fascinating little living 
walk. You follow a trail and there are signs that tell you about everything you see from the 
flowers to the fish to the insects. It’s very well done, it’s educational and it’s a great overview of 
the beauty of the bayou. Inside the station, you can get some books and some maps all about the 
swamp.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this place before?”

“You can’t be guaranteed the sighting of a gator and I thought that was the point. None of the 
animals you do see are captive. But even if you don’t see one, there are buttons you push on a 
stand and they show a picture and give a little information on the particular animal or plant or 
fish you’re inquiring about.”

“We’ll give it a try.”

“I’m going to bring Gus something that I had when I was a kid, if I can find it here.”

“It’s not a stuffed baby alligator dressed up like a baseball player, is it?”

Boyd laughed. “I promise it has no shudder-factor.”

“Okay. Hey…are you asleep?”

Boyd smiled. “I love you too.” 

“Is that how you talk to him?” His sister walked in as Boyd hung up. He glared at her. This was 
the first time they had been alone since he arrived.

“You mean tell him I love him? Every chance I get.”

“When did you turn into such a queer? I remember when you used to be normal.”

“I’m still normal, Luann. I’m just gay.”

“That is the definition of abnormal. Men with men. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m not here to debate my sexual orientation, Luann. I’ll take it as noted that you disapprove.”

His father was wheeled into the room by his wife, the use of a wheelchair surprising Boyd. The 
old man looked much thinner, which was good, but also drawn and pale, which was bad. The 
ferocity in his eyes as he stared at Boyd was undiminished. “What the hell are you up to at the 
mill, boy?”

“Maybe I should ask you the same thing, Daddy.”

“We aren’t having fighting,” Boyd’s mother declared. “I told you that, Boyd. No fighting. Your 
father is not up to it.”

“Oh horseshit, woman,” his father growled at her. “This boy can’t get the better of me, even 
when I’m sick and in this chair. You’re a naďve spoiled brat, Boyd. You always had everything 
handed to you on a silver platter.”

Boyd shook his head. “Excuse me, Daddy, but I never saw you out in the sugar cane fields 
cutting the cane with a machete. You inherited everything you got from your father, as I recall.”

“I’ve invested my life in that mill, you little bastard. I never made you come into the business. 
You wanted to be a fucking lawyer, I let you be one. So don’t talk to me about who has done 
more for Coulter Mills over time.”

“Daddy, what is this about? I still don’t want to work for Coulter Mills. I’m not after your job! 
I’m just trying to keep things going there while you get better, because y’all asked me to! But 
I’m not a hand puppet. You can’t stick your hand up my ass and talk for me. And you can’t just 
shut me down because you don’t like something I’m doing. I have a lot of money invested in that 
business. If you’re doing something stupid, I have every right to protect my interest and the 
interest of my children.”

“You think blowing the top off things is protecting something? You stupid little turd. Blowing 
the top off things can start a shitstorm that could land half of this town out of work. Then who 
will be the hero?” Boyd’s mother tried to soothe her husband by patting his shoulder, but he 
shrugged free of her touch. “Leave me alone.”

“Daddy, what is going on? Tell me.”

“Nothing sexy and interesting, Boyd,” his father toned down slightly, taking a different tact. “No 
embezzlement, no skimming, nothing to spark your knight in white armor personality. Bring us a 
real drink, woman,” his father instructed his wife. “This may take awhile.”

“You can’t drink.”

“Watch me. Get it now. Some of that prime bourbon.”

“It’s a little early for me, Daddy,” Boyd protested. His father laughed. 

“Tell Madam Dhue to put it in that punch she makes, then the boy here can tell himself he ain’t 
drinking before sundown. Planter’s punch doesn’t count.”

“Daddy, why are you telling Boyd anything?” Luann complained and her father cut her a glare.

“Shut up, girl. If not for that weak husband of yours, we might not be having this conversation. 
He couldn’t keep his dick in his pants long enough to do his fucking job.”

Luann frowned, crossing her arms tightly across the silk bodice of her Hermes blouse. Boyd 
leaned back in the chair, staring past his family to the beautiful grounds beyond the French 
doors. He knew he wasn’t going to like what he heard. But he also knew he had to hear it. 

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

Mollified by the nature walk that Boyd suggested, Gus was happy again as he shared a pizza 
with his father. He was still talking about the birds they spotted and identified with the help of 
the guide posts, the bugs he was able to name, the swamp flora that Brian had never even noticed 
before. Gus now had a big book with stickers to affix to different spots in the swamp, depicting 
the creatures and plants they had seen on their walk. 

“Who is your Daddy?” Gus suddenly asked, looking up at his father with a face full of tomato 
sauce. Brian reached over to wipe it off as he said,

“My Daddy died, Gus.”

“Why?”

“He was old. He got sick and died.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the way things work. Old people die.”

“Are you old, Daddy?”

“Not quite yet,” he said with a smile. “I’ll be here awhile.”

“What was your Daddy’s name?”

“Jack.”

“Did he love you?”

Brian winced. This was strangely painful. “In his way, Gus. In his way.” A way Brian didn’t 
recommend. 

“Do you miss him?”

Brian met his son’s inquisitive eyes that were so like his own, in appearance, and admitted, 
“Sometimes.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I know, Gus. I love you, too.”

“Promise you won’t die?”

“Not for a long time.”

Gus came over to Brian and hugged him tightly, his messy hands leaving imprints that Brian 
didn’t mind. He hugged him back, feeling the pain of being adrift from his own father less 
acutely when he held his son. “I’ll stay here with you when Mama goes home,” Gus whispered 
and Brian smiled at that plot.

“We’ll see. You’re here now. Let’s just enjoy that fact. Now finish your pizza.”

“Is Boyd my daddy too?”

“Yeah, in a way, Gus. Like Melanie is your other mommy.”

“But Boyd doesn’t make you cry the way my other mommy makes Mommy cry sometimes.”

“No, Boyd makes me happy. He makes me very happy.”

“Because you love him?”

“That’s right.”

“Love is yucky,” Gus wrinkled his nose as he pried the last slice of pizza off the plate. “All that 
kissing and stuff. I don’t like it.”

“Give yourself a few years. I didn’t like it for a long time either, Gus.”

“Will I have a boyfrien’ or a girlfrien’?”

Brian shrugged. “I guess that’s up to you. I hope by the time you’re old enough to know, no one 
will care which one you pick. I know I won’t care.”

“I think I’ll just get me a dog instead,” Gus decided and Brian nodded, repressing a smile as he 
wished things would always be that easy for his son. Would Brian care if Gus were straight? No. 
Things would be easier for him if he were. Would he care if he were gay? No. Maybe he could 
even offer some sage advice if he went in that direction. 

“What will you name that dog, Gus?”

“Ginger if it’s a girl and Roy if it’s a boy.”

“Roy?”

“Roy Rogers, Daddy. I see Roy Rogers on that television channel with the old programs. He has 
a pretty horse and a shirt with all this fringe and he can sing!” Brian met his son’s amazed 
description with a smile. No mention of Dale, just the accoutrements that made Roy a cowboy 
icon. Maybe he’d better start brushing off that advice, he thought with a smile. Fathers and sons 
were a funny union, unchosen, unplanned, sometimes, unwanted, often, but capable of incredible 
importance. 

“You’re the one who should be dying, not me,” his own father said to him once. It still hurt 
whenever he thought of it. But Jack had it wrong. Looking at Gus, Brian knew one thing and one 
thing only. Jack lived on, not only through Brian, but through Gus, as well. These ties were all 
people really had of immortality. He hoped Gus wouldn’t settle for a dog named Roy or Ginger. 
And if it was a man who captured his heart, he hoped Gus would know a kind-hearted woman to 
bear him a child. Pass on the torch, keep them all alive. “My dad held you in his arms when you 
were little, Gus. You don’t remember, but he did.”

“Why?”

“So he’d know he could move on and yet still be here.”

“What does that mean, Daddy?”

“Nothing,” Brian said with a sigh. “You’ll figure it out when you’re older.”

Gus shrugged, finding adults very hard to understand sometimes. “Can we have ice cream?” He 
liked things simple. Pizza and ice cream and being with his father, that was enough for Gus. 

Brian nodded. After they ordered, he checked his phone but there was no call from Boyd. He 
sighed. Fathers and sons. If only it could be this easy forever. 


Current Mood:  nostalgic
 
10:43 am - BURN Chapter 61
Hi, this is Ran, posting for Big B, who is out at the moment. This is dedicated to Sandi, with 
love, from both of us, just because. We're thinking of you, girl. Enjoy, Ran (P.S. Sorry I forgot to 
cut, but I fixed it)

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

Brian wouldn’t admit this to anyone but himself. He was waiting for Boyd to come home. He 
stood by the windows in their bedroom, which were open to admit an unusually cool autumn 
breeze. The sheer draperies blew across him like ghosts. Boyd called him after his meeting with 
his family, but offered no details except to say it wasn’t great news and that he would rather talk 
to him about it when they were together. After the call, Boyd went to work. Brian handed off 
Gus to Lindsay and Jane when Ted came out to go over club-related expenses with him. That 
exercise in frustration took all afternoon. 

Now it was evening and Boyd was due home. Brian wasn’t so much worried as he was anxious. 
They hadn’t talked since their brief conversation earlier in the day, so now he was making stuff 
up. Embezzlement? Bones buried in the cellar? Insurance fraud? What in the hell could you do in 
a mill operation that was this troubling? 

The alligator farm horrors returned to him. He couldn’t stop thinking about those poor creatures 
living in filth and probably not for long. Those baby alligators thrown in that barrel, destined to 
be skinned and made into macabre imitations of human endeavors. It was one thing to hunt 
alligators, Brian didn’t understand the allure, but at least there was an element of sport to it. 
Capturing them and forcing them to live out what remained of their foreshortened lives in 
squalor and misery was something else. The odd color of their hides returned to him, the film 
over their eyes, the stench. 

Arms suddenly snaked around his waist, and he jumped, startled by this unexpected touch. Boyd 
laughed.

“You were lost in a daydream. Sorry. Seeing ghosts of Confederate soldiers out there?”

“I love that book,” Brian recovered. He turned to kiss Boyd just as Gus burst into the room 
waving a spring green baseball cap at him that had a bill made out of the plush head of an 
alligator. 

“See what Boyd give me, Daddy? An alligator hat!” He put it on, and Brian laughed as he 
realized his son looked as if a gator was chomping down on the top of his head. The hat may not 
erase the bad trip to the farm for Gus, but at least it was a start. 

“You look pretty handsome in that hat, Sonny Boy. Better watch out or the girls will be trying to 
kiss you.”

Gus looked horrified. “I won’t let ‘em!”

“That’s my boy.”

He ran out to share his treasure with the other kids in the house and Boyd closed the door and 
locked it. Brian raised a brow in response. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“I love you, Brian, and I always want to fuck you. But I really need to talk to you right now. 
There’s no one but you I can talk to about this.”

Brian nodded, poured them both a drink from their portable drinks cart and brought one to Boyd 
as he sat beside him on the bed. He massaged the back of his neck to soothe him. Boyd sighed 
and spread his hand on his lover’s thigh. “I don’t know how I ever got along without you.”

“So I’m not the iceberg to your Titanic?”

Boyd smiled. “You’re the gin to my fizz.”

“Or the fin to your jizz, whatever that means. Cole Porter we aren’t. Tell papa all about it, 
Boyd.”

Boyd didn’t know where to start. “It’s hard to make sense of it if you don’t know the sugar 
industry, Brian.”

Brian smiled. It was still difficult for him to think of sugar as a big business. “So educate me.”

“In this country, most sugar production is controlled by very few large, privately held 
companies, like Coulter Mills. There’s a big one in Florida, in Hawaii, in Texas, and a few 
smaller ones here and there. Probably seven big ones. There isn’t another huge industry with 
such concentrated and non-public control. Of course, there are more growers, both of cane and 
beet sugar, many more. Small farms and big ones. Between the growers and the processors, 
billions of dollars is earned annually.”

“Billions?” Brian’s eyes got wide and Boyd shrugged.

“I’ve tried to tell you before. This is high stakes, Brian. Because Coulter Mills and the other big 
processors are private companies, we don’t have to reveal our bottom line to the public. In other 
words, the money we earn never hits the street. But it’s huge. I know we live fairly simply, that’s 
my grandfather’s edict, but other sugar barons are quite flamboyant with their money. Especially 
the Florida contingency.”

Brian silently tallied up what he knew of the local Coulter holdings. The huge plantation, the 
house on the bayou, the house Boyd’s wife occupied, the mill house Boyd owned, the mansion in 
the Garden District of New Orleans, the mills and refineries, even that much was not too shabby, 
and he had no idea what else was out there. How rich was Boyd, he wondered again? How rich 
was rich? He didn’t really care. He’d love Boyd if he didn’t have a penny. But what was he 
living with? A Rockefeller or a millionaire-next-door? “This would explain why so many 
Americans are obese. You guys are peddling the crystal,” he tried to tease him out of his gloom. 
Boyd just sighed.

“You think that’s not true? Look at tobacco. We’re equally poisonous in our own way and it’s 
equally profitable. The sugar barons have always owned Washington. Sugar money is dependent 
upon Washington. So we divide and conquer. We split up the Republicans and the Democrats 
and use hard fund and soft money on politicians from the House to the White House. Not just the 
guys from Texas, Louisiana, Florida and Hawaii where sugar is king, but the ones who have 
control of the Agricultural Committee and foreign policy, any politician who can have an impact 
on the funding of sugar. All the way to the president.”

“And this is legal?”

“Yeah. The government’s for sale, Brian, that’s not new. There are rules about how you can buy 
them, corporations are limited, but you can form PAC’s, political action committees, and family 
members can give individual contributions, so the money is huge. Especially when you multiply 
it by the number of interested parties and the wealth we control.”

“Do you write these checks, too?”

“Yeah, I write the checks. It’s my financial stability, Brian. And that of my kids. There’s nothing 
wrong with it. Except there are politicians we buy who take other positions that I really hate, so 
giving money to them hurts, but you have to be smart, be practical. God, I hate listening to 
myself say this.”

Brian gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Come on, Boyd. You aren’t living with a starry-eyed 
idealist here. I understand the way the real world works. I understand the concept of payola. And 
if I only supported those candidates who thought gay marriage was a lovely idea, no business 
would get done. I do support the sweet and kind-hearted liberals, but I know that sometimes 
business exigencies require smart spending decisions.”

Boyd smiled at him before leaning over to kiss his lips. “I love you, but I hate this part of my 
business.”

“I know. Go on.”

“The reason we sink so much money in Washington is that the way we make money is based 
entirely upon a very delicate balance of tariffs, quotas and federal loans. We make money by 
keeping the price of sugar artificially high. Sugar is grown in places like Asia and Haiti and 
central America, Brazil, all over, for much less cost, even to the point of using child labor and 
practices we would never consider. If there were free trade in sugar, the prices here would drop 
so fast we’d all go out of business.”

“What does the government do?”

“One-two punch. Internationally, they set quotas on how much sugar can be imported and they 
tariff anything that is not in-quota so that it comes in at an uncompetitive price for a foreign 
producer. Domestically, they control the price by setting quotas on how much raw sugar we can 
process at the mills. That controls the growers. They only grow what can be processed. In a rare 
season when glut is the issue, they may pay a grower a small amount to plow under, but that’s 
not the way the scheme works.”

“Why don’t they let them grow more and have no imports?”

“Because the government is party to trade agreements, Brian. NAFTA, CAFTA, GATT, all kinds 
of trade agreements with Mexico, Canada, Central America and the European Union and beyond. 
The trade agreements cover far more territory than sugar. The politicians we own have to ensure 
that when these treaties are struck, sugar doesn’t get shafted.”

“And do they?”

“It’s generally believed that sugar is one of the best protected industries out there. So, by limiting 
production, and limiting cheap imports, the price of sugar remains artificially high. The 
consumers pay, but we stay fat and happy while we make them even fatter. Consumption of 
sugar has gone up exponentially in this country, every year, despite our so-called obsession with 
health. Some of it is just driven by the increase in population, but some is from the eating habits 
of our society. We don’t make our money selling refined sugar to your table, Brian. We make 
our money selling sugar products to the big candy companies and soft drink companies and 
processed foods. That’s what’s getting sugar to the masses.”

“Have you looked around lately?” Brian said with a sarcastic gleam. “Trust me on this, sugar is 
still king.”

Boyd laughed. “Don’t blame it all on sugar. Lots of bad habits involved with the fat of the land. 
Anyway, so we get rich, and there’s another way we make money. Unlike other agricultural 
products, the government doesn’t subsidize the growers. Usually the government pays farmers 
not to over-produce a crop. They get paid not to grow. In our business, they control by paying us, 
the processors, our mill operations, low interest loans that we use to buy raw cane from the 
growers for processing. In this way, we don’t even have to use our own capital. We operate on 
government money, below prime rate, and then pay the government back when the processed 
goods go to the refinery. However, the processors also have the right to forfeit the sugar rather 
than repay the loans. So if the prices drop, and it’s no longer cost effective to process all the cane 
we buy at the mill, we just forfeit it to the government instead of repaying the loan. That way the 
price to us is absolutely established. When the price of sugar is assured, there’s no real risk to 
anyone in the supply chain. It helps that we also own the refineries, so we’re completely 
vertically integrated. I know of no other industry that has that kind of guarantee.” 

“So far this whole scam is legal, right?”

“Yeah, legal and above board. Not particularly consumer friendly, but, hey, we’re talking 
government and big business. Consumer friendly isn’t part of the playbook.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Brian was surprised by how interesting this conversation was for him. He 
regretted Boyd’s stress and obvious dislike for a scheme that netted him millions, but the brief 
history on how his lover made his fortune was fascinating to the business side of his brain. “How 
much do you think you make from this governmental largesse?”

“I don’t have to ‘think’ Brian, I know. Last year the balance of these various programs netted 
Coulter Mills about thirty-five million. That’s just the governmental value to us, not even close 
to our net profits.”

Brian’s eyes grew wide. “Christ!”

“I know, and we’re probably number three among the sugar barons, and there are smaller ones 
behind us with their hands out. Do the math.”

“Okay, so that sucks. In a good way for you, but…”

“I know. Now we get to the good part. To keep processors from ‘forfeiting’ the sugar rather than 
paying off the loans, the government keeps the price of sugar artificially high by limiting exports 
to cover domestic pricing.” Boyd scooted back on the bed, his head on the pillows, and Brian lay 
beside him, propped up on one elbow. Not their usual use for the bed, but there was a time and a 
place for everything and right now the bed was the place for Brian to listen and learn. “I’ve been 
concerned about the drain of money from the books and there seems to be a new subsidiary 
named ‘Dr. Sugar’ that is profiting from this drain. I was mystified by it. I heard different things 
from my CFO and others, suggesting we were funding research into the health effects of sugar 
and ways to spin the risks. But no one could show me anything about that research and I began to 
suspect bullshit. For one thing, this subsidiary was incorporated offshore. For another, there’s not 
a single piece of paper related to their so-called research. But a huge amount of profit was being 
funneled into it. When profit comes off the top, that’s money not paid to me or to my family. I 
was told it was reinvestment, necessary to the business, the usual bullshit. But today, my father 
told me the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Dr. Sugar is really three hundred thousand acres of cane in the Dominican Republic. ‘Dr’ stands 
for Dominican Republic.”

“Why would your father want to buy sugar cane in Central America?”
Brian was trying to visualize the scope of three hundred thousand acres. Surely that had to be 
bigger than Rhode Island.

“Because of CAFTA, the Central American trade agreement. Given our system of limited import 
and high tariffs applied to sugar coming into the United States, guess which country has the 
highest permissible import quota?”

“I’ll take a flyer. Dominican Republic?”

“You win the jackpot. And guess who now owns the biggest sugar cane crop in the Dominican 
Republic?”

“Coulter Mills?”

“A/k/a ‘Dr. Sugar’. Now guess who was behind negotiating the highest guotas for import on 
behalf of the Dominican Republic?”

“The politicians you own?”

Boyd nodded. “Talk about sweet, this deal is saccharine, it’s so sweet. We get the artificially 
high prices here, due to limited import, we get the low interest loans, and we get the one importer 
who has a high quota. So while most sugar barons lose money on that segment of the market that 
is carved out for imported cane, we make money. We’re importing our own cane.”

“Okay, Boyd. Help me here. It sounds kind of shitty, but at the same time, is it illegal?”

“No. Unethical? Yes, probably. But not strictly illegal. What concerns me is the way we are 
playing both sides of the political fence. We are fighting to keep price controls in place in the 
United States, and limit imports, while we are also quietly pushing to increase the export quota 
for the Dominican Republic as we increase our holdings there. The plan seems to be that if sugar 
prices fall victim to import pricing, then we have our ass covered by becoming the major 
importer. What happens next? We buy up the processors and refineries in the Dominican 
Republic, and send refined and specialty sugars over the border along with raw product. The cost 
of running a sugar operation from field to refinery in the Dominican Republic is a small fraction 
of what the costs are here. At some future point in time, when the government says ‘fuck you’ to 
big sugar, and our offshore business is ramped to peak, we’ll decide it isn’t worth it to keep these 
businesses open and we’ll shut them down and become sugar importers.”

“Meaning Canard Rouge and towns like it will not survive. Because the industry supporting the 
town is gone.”

“Exactly. The growers wouldn’t have processing mills and their market would be eclipsed by 
low cost imports, the mills and refineries would close, along with all the jobs at these places, and 
a huge segment of the Louisiana economy would shrivel and die. But the Coulters? We’d just get 
richer.”

Brian absorbed what he heard and then reached over and spread his hand on Boyd’s face. “Let 
me say this in a way that will hopefully not cause you to hate me. I understand the negative 
impact on your hometown and this part of the world, Boyd. I don’t like the American 
government being part of a scheme to keep your business wealthy at consumer expense. But 
what your family is doing to cover its ass? It just sounds smart to me. Sorry, but there you go.”

Boyd smiled up at Brian’s handsome face. “I know. It is smart. But Brian, I can’t think in those 
terms. I know what this business meant to my grandfather and I presume to generations before 
him. Sugar has always had a checkered history. It was a plantation crop, in the truest sense of the 
word. Slaves made the business possible. We came into it as millers, not growers, but we were 
all part of that chain of human misery. And then when slavery was abolished, everyone said 
sugar couldn’t survive without it. But it did. And it prospered. Then they said it couldn’t survive 
without quotas, but when quotas were lifted, it did. And it prospered until it could get the quotas 
re-instated. And now we are all so dependent on this complex governmental scheme that I think 
if they open the borders, domestic sugar will finally crash. Whose fault is that? To me the fault is 
that we decided to buy Washington instead of just building a competitive market like everyone 
else. The problem with that kind of plan is that you are suddenly dependent completely on the 
vagaries of politics. How is that a good way to run a business?”

“So what do you do?”

“If it came out that Coulter Mills owned a huge crop in the Dominican Republic and that we 
were buying mills and refineries there, we’d have a revolution among growers and mill and 
refinery workers. They aren’t stupid. They’d start bolting from our business in droves, trying to 
find work before the whole industry was on the streets. Then what? Our offshore business isn’t 
ready to replace the domestic business, the safeguards aren’t yet in place, and it would be 
disastrous for Coulter Mills. Any light shined on the plant as the result of an audit could tip the 
public.”

“I see.”

“I have an idea but my father wouldn’t even listen to it.”

“What’s that?”

“Turn Dr. Sugar into a cooperative. Give current employees and even growers a stake in it, for a 
price. We’d get seed money. They’d have some vested interest in seeing the business succeed. 
And if the scheme that currently supports domestic sugar fails, and the business here closes or 
down sizes significantly, which is the more likely result, and Dr. Sugar becomes huge, they have 
income replacement. It’s not a handout, they paid for it. They’d have outlays over the years as 
the business builds. But when it pays off, they get money too. Coulter family gets a little less in 
their own pockets, I understand that, but I don’t think we’d feel the pinch. We aren’t complete 
villains, the money the people make off Dr. Sugar can fund other local endeavors and the 
bleeding is eased.”

“I think that’s brilliant,” Brian said with a smile.

“Not to my father, Dr. Greed.”

“What tools do you have to oppose him?”

“He and Rex and our CFO acted illegally when they formed Dr. Sugar without a vote from the 
Board and started siphoning funds into it. Now, is that the kind of thing the government would 
send him to jail for doing? No. If it were a public company, subject to certain laws, yes, but not a 
privately held corporation. What they did is called an ultra vires act, which means the 
corporation acted outside the scope of its authority. And he knows it. And he did it on purpose. 
And there is not one court in the country that would fail to find what they did was an ultra vires 
act. And reverse it. He knows I could file a shareholder action and bring down the hammer. He 
also knows if I do that, his whole scheme is exposed and the resultant outcry from the locals and 
the embarrassment to his political friends is devastating.”

“Does he also know you’d never do it?”

Boyd looked at Brian with a hard edge to his expression that Brian seldom saw in those familiar 
blue eyes. “If you believe that, you don’t know me at all.”

Brian smiled and leaned down to kiss him. “I think I do know you. I do know you’ll use it to 
bluff. I do know you’ll push him to the wall. But will you break it open to the public? I don’t 
know that.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” Boyd said with a smile, pulling him down on top 
of him and trapping him there by wrapping a leg over his calves. 

“If they let you live that long,” Brian whispered. Boyd laughed and smoothed his hand down his 
lover’s bare back, getting into the mood. As soon as he said the words, Brian wished he hadn’t. 
They didn’t seem to bother Boyd, but they kept echoing in his own head like the refrain of a bad 
song. 


Current Mood: indescribable
 
04:38 am - BURN Chapter 62
Hi Burniacs, posting for Brian. Sorry, was supposed to do so last night, got busy. Enjoy! Ran

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



“Come back to bed, Boyd,” Brian called out through the darkness. 

“I can’t sleep.”

“Doesn’t matter, just come back to bed.”

“I’ll keep you up, tossing and turning.”

“Get. In. Bed.”

Boyd recognized his lover’s tone of voice and went back to bed, crawling beneath the sheets and 
relaxing in Brian’s arms when he scooped him up to hold him. “I can’t seem to turn my mind off 
and relax.”

Brian leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “You can’t solve all the problems in the world 
tonight. Let go of it and sleep.”

“I just need to solve one problem in one corner of the world, Brian. Not all the problems. And I 
don’t know what to do.”

“I know. I wish I could help, but it’s too big for me, too. I think you should talk to your sister 
tomorrow. Lisette, of course. Sometimes it helps to bring in someone you trust who has a stake 
in the outcome.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Brian teased as he grasped Boyd’s cock and rubbed it up the length of his 
inner thigh until the head of it nudged against Brian’s balls. Boyd moaned with pleasure and 
Brian smiled as he felt his lover stiffen against his palm. He stroked the head against his testicles, 
and then turned to trap it between his thigh and his scrotum. Boyd reached up to kiss him and 
moved his hips to enable his dick to rub inside the warm envelope of skin that Brian provided for 
him. He took Brian’s hard phallus in his fist and pumped it as slowly as he hunched against him. 
It took longer to reach orgasm this way than it did with more conventional methods, but by the 
time the relief hit, it was intense from the build up. 

Boyd fetched a warm damp towel to clean up the residue and Brian pulled him on top of him. 
“Feel any sleepier?”

“I feel something,” Boyd said with a smile as he scrubbed his face against Brian’s long neck. “I 
think it’s called ‘good’.”

“I find that ‘good’ can often lead to ‘sleep’.”

“I find that ‘good’ exists on it’s own merit.”

Brian laughed. “Maybe you should talk to Bellamy.”

“Bellamy? How did he get in this bed?”

“He’s a politician. He understands all that quota stuff, doesn’t he?”

“Sure, he’s from Louisiana, he’d better. But he’s a city pol, Brian. This is big time.”

“City pol’s want to grow up and be bigger pol’s, don’t they? Bellamy strikes me as the nakedly 
ambitious type. Maybe he needs an issue. Maybe that issue can be provided by you.”

“I don’t even know what the issue is, yet.”

“Sure you do. Reform.”

Boyd sighed. “I don’t know, Brian. No politician can get elected to a state or national office from 
Louisiana if he opposes the sugar barons.”

“But Bellamy’s rich, isn’t he?”

“It’s not about that. That’s part of it, yeah, but it takes more than a personal fortune to get elected 
in today’s society. It takes support, too. If people around here thought he was taking a stand that 
could lose their jobs over time, he’d never have a chance. That’s the sad thing about the sugar 
barons. We have the regular people caught up in the web because their jobs depend upon us. 
People vote their dinner table, Brian.”

“You make a good point. I need to think about it some more. But right now, we both need to 
sleep. We’re in it together. We’re smart, your sister’s smart, we’ll come up with a plan.”

“Sometimes it takes more than smart.”

“Shh. Stop. Turn off your mind, Boyd, relax and float downstream.”

“Jesus, isn’t that a Beatles’ lyric?”

Brian laughed. “So? Like the Beatles weren’t philosophers?”
Boyd smiled and closed his eyes, resting his palm over Brian’s steady heart, soothed by the 
rhythm. 

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

In New Orleans, Daphne was awakened by an unexpected visitor. She pulled a robe over her 
flimsy gown and walked to door, peering out at her own personal vampire. “Moody, go home!” 
She pleaded as she opened the door, leaning in the threshold to block his entrance. “I was sound 
asleep.”

“You have to invite me in,” he teased, obviously a little tweaked. “That’s the way it works with 
vampires.”

“I’m kicking your ass to the curb.”

“Come on, Daph. I want to tell you something!”

With a groan, she let him in and he flopped down on her bed, wrapping his costume cape over 
him like folded bat wings. She sighed and locked the door, sitting on the side of the bed that put 
her at a distance from him. “What is it?”

“I did it tonight!”

“Did what?”

“I let Noel suck my blood,” he flipped on the bedside lamp and pulled down his collar to show 
her the marks on his neck. “It was so hot!”

“I thought they required some kind of medical something or other,” she said, wincing at the sight 
of his broken skin.

“They do. I got checked. I’m negative. It didn’t even hurt and it was so sexy, I almost came. 
Wait, I did come, but that’s another story. It was all part of the same thing, I guess.”

“You had sex with him?”

“This was sex, Daph! Really hot, really good, really interesting sex. And yes, I got off, too.”

“You went back to that club?”

“Well, yeah. I called but you didn’t answer. Where have you been, anyway?”

She didn’t want to get into her time with Bellamy. “Moody, those people are freaks. You need to 
stop going there. You’re going to get sick, or worse. What’s the attraction?”

He sighed. “It’s different. It’s new. I like it.”

“Any thrill will do.”

“What’s wrong with that? We’re young. We should be chasing thrills. Not settling in to boring 
routines with boring older people.”

“You’re young, Moody. And I’m one of your older people.”

He laughed and reached for her, but she avoided his touch. “Come on, Daphne. What’s up? Why 
are you like this?”

“You need to go. I can’t see you anymore, Moody.”

“Since when?”

“Since I grew up. I don’t want to go to vampire clubs and make believe I’m a bloodsucker or a 
victim. I don’t want to be your late night trick. I don’t want any of your thrill seeking or the 
aftermath of that thrill seeking.”

“In other words, you’ve been hanging with Mayor Frigid.”

“He’s not frigid and he’s not the mayor. See what I mean? Grow up, Moody. Just grow up!”

“You want to know freak, Daphne? He’s the freak. He’s the scary one. What is up with all that 
voodoo shit? He scares me. Noel’s just having fun. Bellamy believes in that shit. Why are my 
games no good for you, but his are?”

“First of all, it’s not a game. It’s an ancient religion and just because it has been sensationalized 
by the media so that we all think of it as supernatural bullshit, it was around and practiced long 
before there were movies to turn it into something silly. It’s an African based religion, Moody. 
Maybe that’s why I can see something in it and you can’t.”

He laughed. “You’re about as African as Colorado snow, Daphne. Get fucking over yourself. 
This has nothing to do with your roots, Kunta Kinte. This is all about the fact you’re hot for that 
big dude and you’re so outclassed by him. He is so going to leave you in the dirt. He’s a fucking 
player, Daphne. Trust me on this. I know, because I’m a player too, but I’m not in his league. 
Not yet. And I mean you no harm. I just want to have fun. What the fuck does he want from 
you?”

“Nothing,” she said with a glower directed at him. “He doesn’t want anything from me, Moody. 
We don’t play games.”

“Right,” he stood up, flipping his cape behind him with a dramatic flourish. “Okay, I’m leaving, 
but let me tell you something, Daphne. He’s bad goods. He’s going to lay a burn on you. You 
heard it here first. You’re crazy if you can’t see that.”

“Whatever, Moody. And maybe you should give some thought to the absolute idiocy of 
exchanging blood with complete strangers. Anyone can do the math on that.”

“They aren’t strangers and the blood is symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“Of…belonging. See you, Daphne,” with that, he let himself out of her apartment. In the alley, as 
he stalked back towards the street. Someone suddenly blocked his path, coming out of the 
darkness with quiet stealth. He gasped and faltered back, tripping over a trash can and falling on 
his ass on the cement. In a flash, Noel was bending over him, smoothing his curls from his 
forehead as he asked,

“Are you hurt?”

“Shit, Noel!” Moody scrambled to his feet, brushing off the indignity. “You scared the crap out 
of me. What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”

Noel smiled. He walked with Moody to the street as he looped his arm through his. “You flatter 
yourself. I was taking a shortcut to my crib and I heard you come from that garden.”

“You live near here?”

Noel motioned to a small apartment house behind an iron fence. “Right here. Come on up with 
me.”

Moody hesitated, but Noel smiled and urged him with a tug on his arm. “Are you afraid? Don’t 
be. Only one feeding is allowed every three days. You’re off limits for now.”

Disappointed in Daphne and feeling restless, Moody gave Noel’s handsome face a long look and 
then grinned. “Lead on, Nosferatu.”

Noel nodded, took his hand, and led him to the stairs.

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

“Never mind why, Ted, just do it and let me know,” Brian hung up as Boyd came from the 
shower. 

“What evil doing is Ted forced into this morning?” he asked as he scrubbed a towel through his 
wet hair.

“Nothing,” Brian said with a pregnant shrug that Boyd decided to let him have his privacy. 
Sometimes Brian needed his space to operate. 

“I thought I’d see if Lisette and Petra could do dinner this evening. We could meet them at a 
little plantation house restaurant between here and there that Lis and I both admire. What do you 
think?”

“Sure, great. I’m driving into the city later. I have a couple meetings, but I’ll meet you here and 
we can go together.”

“Brian, I know we had a deal that you’d be spending time in town, off and on. At the hotel. It’s a 
hassle to have to drive back and forth so often. Don’t feel compelled to do so.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Brian’s smile wasn’t all teasing. Old insecurities crept into it. Boyd 
sighed.

“Of course not. I just don’t want you to feel strangled.”

“Gus is here, Boyd. Even if I didn’t want to be with you, which I do, my son is visiting.”

Boyd grimaced and buttoned on a dress shirt. “Of course. What’s wrong with me? I’m just not 
thinking clearly.”

“That’s okay. You’re entitled to be other than boy genius occasionally.”

The phone rang and Brian picked it up. He scowled as he handed it to Boyd. “It’s the evil sister.”

Boyd winced. “Hello, Luann.”

“I heard what he said.”

“I don’t care,” he sat down on the edge of the bed, so weary he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. 
“What do you want?”

“I want to meet with you, Boyd. Just the two of us.”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to you separately from Daddy.”

“About what?”

“Boyd, will you meet me or not?”

“Alright, Luann, where and when?”

“This morning. Breakfast at that tacky diner.”

That seemed safe enough. Maybe he could avoid choking her with so many witnesses around. 
“When?”

“I can be there in a half hour.”

“Okay.”

“And Boyd, don’t bring your boyfriend.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said with a grim expression as he hung up the phone. Brian cut him 
a glance. 

“What did she want?”

“To meet me, away from Daddy. This should be good.”

“Want me to go?”

“You were specifically not invited.”

Brian chuckled. “Since when did that stop us?”

Boyd reached up to take his hand. “I think I need to field this one alone. See what the offer is, 
because I guarantee you she has an offer up her silken sleeve.”

“Your family makes the Borgia’s look good. Don’t let her drop any powder from her ring into 
your coffee.”

Boyd stood and wrapped his arms around Brian’s waist. “We have a half hour to burn.”

“Now what could we do with that?” Brian pondered with mock perplexity. When Boyd reached 
down and cupped his package and then pressed his mouth to his, the answer to that inquiry 
became obvious. 
Current Mood: awake
 
06:31 pm - BURN Chapter 63
Burniacs, it's a little rough, but my editor is under the weather. Thanks, Brian


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



Ted waved off a flock of mosquitoes as Brian forced him out of the car. “This is like something 
out of Deliverance,” he said with a glance not unlike a pig being asked to squeal. Brian cast him 
a cool glare that didn’t give away the horror he, too, felt when he first saw this place. 

“I think that was Georgia, Ted. Not Louisiana.”

“Like it matters? What is that stink?”

Brian shook his head. “Get used to it. It only gets worse.”

“Do you really need me for this? Haven’t I done my part?”

“You think I’m doing this alone? I want a witness.”

“To what? Your demise at the blade of a chainsaw?”

“Another movie metaphor. Come on, Scooby, let’s get it over with.”

They walked up the steps to the listing front porch of the shack and the woman Gus described as 
a “witch” showed up at the screen covering the portal, looking as scary as she did yesterday. 

“Wha’ chew boys wan’?”

“Is your…” Brian hesitated, trying to recall the relationship. “Son here?”

“You the one with the kid,” the big alligator skinner loomed behind the witch. “You here to start 
trouble?”

Ted cringed behind Brian. Brian shot the man a glare as he said, “No. I’m here to give you this 
check. Go ahead, take a look.”

The man reached out a grimy hand and squinted at the zeroes. “Whas’ that for?”

“This. All of this. You say yes, we sign the papers, it’s a done deal. You want to barter, the price 
goes down.”

“This ol’ place ain’t worth that,” he scoffed as his mother, the Donald Trump of the family, 
drove a bony elbow into his ribs. 

“Don’t go tellin’ him that, you dumb fuck!”

“Mama, some city boy offer us that kind of money for this place, must be oil on the property that 
we don’ know about.”

Brian rolled his eyes at that suspicion. “There’s no oil, no pirate’s treasure, nothing of value. I 
want this place shut down and I’m willing to pay for the honor of doing that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong, what you’re doing to those animals. You scared my kid. You made me sick. 
It has to go. And one other caveat,” he thought of a simpler way of saying it. “One other string 
attached. You can’t open a place like this within fifty miles of this spot. It’s called a non-
compete. I can’t stop you from being a monster somewhere else, but I’m hoping you use this 
cash to buy a trailer in some landlocked state and get the hell out of Louisiana.”

“I’m moving me to Nashville,” the old witch proclaimed. “I always wanna be in the music 
bid’ness.”

Brian blinked. Yes, country music was just waiting for her star to ascend. “Deal or no deal?”

“Well hell yes, deal,” the son said with a wide goofy grin. “You wan’ me to go shoot them gators 
out there so you don’ hafta deal wi’ ‘em?”

“No. I’m donating this land to the state to make it a sanctuary for alligators and other local 
wildlife. They told me they’d take over the stock and care for it. All you have to do is load what 
you want and be off this property for good in twenty-four hours.”

“How do I know that check ain’t rubber?”

“It’s a cashier’s check on a local bank. Call them.”

“Ain’t got no phone.”

“Give him your cell phone, Theodore,” Brian said, in no way willing to let that grimy hand touch 
his own phone. Ted winced but the man declined, saying he didn’t know how to use a cell phone. 
Ted heaved a deep sigh of relief. As they signed the papers, Brian made Ted go count the 
creatures, just to be sure the current owners didn’t decide to cull the herd before they left. He 
came back looking green, and Brian almost sympathized with him. 

“Do I include those lizards in the barrel?” he asked with a grimace.

“Those lizards are baby alligators, Theodore, so yes.”

Ted handed him a count and Brian nodded. “Tomorrow at one p.m., the State Wildlife officials 
will be on this property to claim the animals and take over the buildings. If you’re not gone by 
then, we call the law.”

“You yankee boys is plum nuts. Wonder you ever won the war,” the man said with a huff and a 
grin. Brian shrugged at that observation. 

“You know, that was so many wars ago, it’s hard to say at this point in history, but maybe 
sometimes in the great continuum of life, maybe good really does triumph over the not so good. 
Let’s go, Ted.”

Once they were inside the air conditioned, filtered atmosphere of the Rover, both Ted and Brian 
exhaled audibly and slumped in their seats. “Slavery is the ‘not so good’ now?” Ted asked and 
his boss just shook his head.

“I’m not re-fighting the war between the states with that genetic throwback. You’re sure you did 
all the tax research and there are no liens on this place?”

“I hired a lawyer to search the records, Brian. It’s free and clear.”

“So by virtue of this deed in my hand I own that blight on the landscape?”

“Until you deed it over to the state, yes.”

“Give me a pen. I don’t want to own it for another minute.”

“Brian, was it really worth fifty grand to you to save a few mangy lizards?”

“It’s a tax write off. It puts me in good standing with the state of Louisiana, where I’m now 
doing business. And it cleans up a corner of this town where my partner grew up. Gus’s name 
will go up over this sanctuary. I think that’s a great thing for a kid. It’s all good, Teddy, it’s all 
good.”

“I think you’re nuts.”

“The thing about people down here, they take so long to act. It’s as if the heat or the humidity 
slows them down. I see something, I come up with a plan, and I execute on it. Bang, bang. Done. 
The slow deliberative process is just not my style.”

“Sometimes deliberation is not the enemy, Brian.”

“So says the accountant. I’m a trigger man, Ted, not a plotter. Anyway, Boyd needs something to 
cheer him up, and I think this is just the ticket. Let’s go into New Orleans, I have a meeting and 
you need to deliver this deed to the state people.”

“Your deficit spending is getting scary, Brian.”

“It’s okay,” Brian replied with a slight smile. “I married well.”

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

Charles enjoyed making his son uncomfortable. Bellamy had a tendency to be far too serious 
about himself, so sometimes, just because he could, Charles was careful to twist him around a 
little. When Bellamy was shown to his table for lunch, Charles smiled at him and said, “I told 
them at the door to be on the lookout for a tall, handsome colored man, and bring him to my 
table. What must they be thinking of us?”

Bellamy laughed as he ordered a non-alcoholic punch. “I’ve been a member of this dining club 
for three years, Mom. I’m a city councilman. They know who I am. And they know you raised 
me. They probably think you’ve gone senile. Which I’m beginning to wonder, as well,” he 
slipped on his glasses to peer at the menu, enjoying Charles’s disappointment.

“In the old days, I’d get thirty righteous minutes from you, just for saying the words ‘colored 
man’. You’re no fun anymore.” 

“I know all your tricks, old lady. Think I’ll try the pompano in parchment.”

“Your father used to think he knew all my tricks, too, which only inspired me to come up with 
new tricks. The pompano here is always dry. Let’s have the snapper throats.”

Bellamy knew it wasn’t worth arguing about as he agreed to the snapper. When the waiter left 
with their order, he smiled at the mother of his heart. “So what was so important that we had to 
have lunch rather than discuss over dinner tonight?”

“What are your intentions towards that lovely girl, Daphne, Bell?”
Bellamy laughed. “This is a joke, right?”

“It is absolutely not a joke. I want to know. Is she yet another in your long line of conquests?”

“We cut a deal when I was sixteen, remember, Maman? I told you that, much to your sorrow I 
was not gay, and we agreed I wouldn’t delve into your sex life and you wouldn’t delve into 
mine.”

“I have no sex life to delve, so the bet’s off. I like her.”

“Fine, marry her, Mom. You’re a widow.”

“Don’t be a smart ass with me, Bellamy. I’m still your mother.”

Bellamy looked at the diminutive man and sighed as he reached over to squeeze his hand. “No 
disrespect intended, but I’m not getting into my relationship with Daphne with you. For one 
thing, I don’t know myself what’s happening here, so how can I tell you?”

“Oh!” Charles perked up. “That’s encouraging!”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re confused, that’s a positive sign.”

“If you say so.”

“I invited her to our house for dinner tonight.”

“Don’t you think you should’ve asked me, first?”

“No. Now, different subject. I had brunch with Caldwell Brady.”

Bellamy perked up at the mention of the senior United States Senator from Louisiana, someone 
who had enjoyed years of support for his campaigns from both Charles and Andre. He was a 
very powerful man, getting on in years, but still a power on the hill. “You’re eating brunch and 
lunch now?”

“Pish. It’s all about the meeting not the food. He mentioned the governor issue again.”

“It’s too soon for me to run for governor, Mom.”

“Caldwell says a man has to grasp a chance when it comes up, because it may never roll around 
again. He says there’s a lackluster field out there right now, and that people are hungry for 
reform. Who better than you?”

“I don’t have an issue, Mom, a cause. I need an issue to give me the push I would need to move 
up a notch. A clean sweep is not specific enough.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Bell. That’s just the crust under the pie. We can find you an issue and 
then all you have to do is fill it up and bake it.”

“I’m still a black man and outside New Orleans, the voting power in this state is white.”

“You have a white father.”

“You say that like it would be viewed as a positive thing.”

“Andre was a brilliant and honored artist, Bellamy. He’s a national treasure.”

Bellamy sighed as a headache began far behind his eyes. “I know that. I love my father and I’m 
proud of everything he achieved. But to the middle of the road voter, his fathering a child with a 
voodoo queen and raising that mulatto kid with his gay lover is just well, a little too colorful for 
them.”

“People aren’t nearly as parochial as you think. This is Louisiana not Kansas. This is the state of 
Huey Long and Edward Edwards, one colorful soul after another. You’re squeaky clean, Bell. 
Compared to the history of this state, you may as well be white.”

Their eyes met and they both began to laugh. “You’re still crazy, Mom.”

“Caldwell wants to meet with you this week, talk seriously about it. Take you fishing.”

Bellamy winced at the idea of spending time with the elderly statesman whose policies he 
supported by a fourth and rejected by the rest. Caldwell Brady was not his kind of politician. He 
was a relic from another era. “My schedule is full.”

“Well clear it off, you silly child. If you’re serious about having a career that goes beyond the 
city council of New Orleans, you don’t shrug off an invitation from Caldwell Brady.”

He was right. Bellamy knew he was right. “Okay, I’ll give him a call after lunch. Pick a time. 
Christ, I hate going out to the Bayou Teche on a flat boat and fighting off bugs while watching a 
float bob in the water.”

“I know. It’s absolutely primitive!”

Bellamy felt his phone vibrate and he glanced at the name and number calling in. He was 
surprised by it and asked his dining companion to forgive him as he answered, “Bellamy 
Beaufort.”

“Bellamy, this is Boyd Coulter. Do you have a minute?”

“I’m at lunch with my mom, Boyd. Can I call you back?”

“I’d like to arrange a meeting with you, away from your office. Could we meet for drinks? 
Tonight?”

“Uh, sure. What time and where?”

“Shall we say six? The Lunar Bar overlooking the Moonwalk?”

“I’ll see you there.”

“Tell Pearl hello for me.”

Pearl? Bellamy smiled as he realized Boyd misunderstood his “mother” remark. “Sure, goodbye, 
Boyd.”

“Boyd who?” Charles asked as Bellamy smiled.

“Boyd Coulter.”

“Coulter Mills Boyd Coulter, the sugar baron?”

“The younger, yes.”

“Well, now, you’re stepping in the high cotton, my boy.”

“Am I?”

“They own the system, now don’t they? People like the Coulters.”

“They own Caldwell Brady,” Bellamy said with a smile. “But they don’t own me.”

“Yet,” Charles said with a bright grin that made Bellamy laugh and shake his head. Charles kept 
his feet on the ground and he loved him for that. Their food arrived just in time and Bellamy 
tried to concentrate on the meal instead of allowing himself to get mired in recent engagements 
and intrigues. 
Current Mood:  energetic
 
:20 am - BURN Chapter 64
Ok, since I haven't felt well, Brian has nothing to do in the evenings, so here's another chapter! 
BWAHAAAA! Enjoy it, Ran (who is maybe feeling better and either way is taking him out of 
town this weekend, so.....don't get spoiled!)

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



Boyd left Brian at the hotel. Their plans had changed. They decided to meet Petra and Lisette for 
dinner in town and then spend the night. But first Boyd had a meeting with Bellamy. He 
discussed his plan with Brian before he left, and they agreed that he should go alone. Walking 
the few blocks to the private club where he was to meet Bellamy, Boyd felt the chill of a weather 
change penetrate his lightweight suit. People thought summer never ended in New Orleans, but it 
did. This brisk breeze off the river sent a reminder of the icy, damp blast that often made winter a 
miserable season. The transitional weather of autumn was short and seldom sweet.

He was mired in thought as he walked, questioning his decision, questioning his faith in 
Bellamy, questioning the outcome of this plot. For more than a century, rich sugar merchants and 
growers met with others at the River Room, striking deals and adding to their fortunes. The club 
had a severely restricted membership, with women allowed only as guests, and one or two 
minorities admitted only to quell the claim of racism. The Coulters had been members from the 
time they migrated to Louisiana. Boyd inherited a membership by virtue of his name, gender and 
money, and he wondered how excited they would be to have him as part of their elite register if 
they knew of his sexual orientation.

How strange it was to be meeting Bellamy Beaufort here, a man of color with an interesting 
parentage and a powerful future. They would sit at one of the small tables near a window 
overlooking what used to be the slave market in the city. Now it was a square of antique shops 
and galleries. He hoped Bellamy wasn’t offended by his suggestion of meeting at the River 
Room, but this was the one place in the city where pairings and what was said never left the 
walls of the club. 

Boyd arrived first, was shown to the predictable table, and signed a ticket with his membership 
number. He told them whom he was expecting. As he leaned back in the leather wing chair, he 
wondered if his father could have entertained an African-American guest here when he was 
Boyd’s age. He pretty well knew the answer to that question. As Brian complained, things 
moved slowly in the south. 

Bellamy was on time, greeting Boyd with a firm, politician’s handshake. They ordered drinks, 
and Bellamy asked, “How is my cousin, Homer? I haven’t heard from him in awhile.”

“Homer and Madam Dhue are both wonderful, as always.”

“Good people.”

“The best.”

“And your father? Is he recovering?”

“He is, thanks for asking. He still has a ways to go. His old habits haven’t helped him with his 
recovery. Overweight, sedentary, it takes a toll.”

“You’ve escaped those traps.”

Boyd smiled, “It’s still early.”

A flawlessly polite black man who was dressed in livery delivered their drinks. When they were 
alone, Boyd said, “How much do you know about sugar?”

Bellamy smiled. “As an additive or as an economic force?”

“The latter.”

“I’m a New Orleans born politician, Boyd. I reckon I know as much about the economic power 
of sugar as any man.”

“Then you know about Coulter Mills, as a player in that force?”

“Of course I do. Your sister is my constituent and has been a very vocal and generous supporter. 
My cousin Homer has been with your family forever. I know you’re heavy hitters, Boyd. What’s 
your point?”

“I own Coulter Mills.”

Bellamy blinked, taking that in. What was this handsome man’s game? He knew he and Brian 
were lovers, he accepted that as fact, and he didn’t really care about it. But it was difficult for 
him to sit here, now, and tally this masculine man as batting for the same team as Charles. But 
then, his father wasn’t effeminate either. But in that relationship, Charles wore the tiara. In the 
relationship between Brian and Boyd, they both seemed equally masculine. He supposed it didn’t 
matter, but Bellamy liked to feel comfortable with the playing field before the kickoff. “You 
mean your family owns Coulter Mills.”

“I mean I control the interest in the business.”

Bellamy was surprised by that revelation. “How did that happen?”

“A series of fortunate events, to borrow from Lemony Snickett.”

“Who?”

Boyd smiled. Bellamy was childless. “A children’s author my daughter adores.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, the fact is, I do control the business. As you know, it’s non-public.”

“Of course.”

“A large segment of the bayou and beyond depends upon Coulter Mills for their livelihood. Not 
just my employees. But the growers, the truckers, the businesses who support the workers. As 
you know, there aren’t many refineries and processors left in Louisiana. We refine for most of 
the state, not just this area, and without the refineries, Louisiana loses a hell of a big slice of the 
sugar pie.”

Bellamy smiled. “Boyd, I have to stop you. In my opinion, you people have had the sweetest 
deal in the country, no pun intended. Other businesses have to compete to stay alive and prosper 
in our free enterprise system. Sugar has it wired at the federal level to guarantee returns.”

“I can’t argue with much of what you say, but if you look at the recent history of sugar, you’ll 
see refineries closing shop in Texas and here, and the sugar industry in Hawaii has all but died 
out. Those of us who remain do quite well, yes. But even with the sweet deal the government has 
given us, nothing is guaranteed. And I believe that inevitably things will change. Our stalwart 
backers on the Hill in Washington are getting long in the tooth, and when they go, we lose a 
huge part of our bargaining power. Even as we groom newer, younger statesmen, we know they 
don’t have the same stroke as the old lions. And if the White House changes parties in the next 
election, there’s a strong possibility of reform.”

“And reform means?”

“The quotas are re-visited, the loan program is ended, price controls vanish and the domestic 
sugar industry tanks.”

“Boyd, I’m a city politician. I have very little to say about your industry. You own some pockets 
of real estate in my district, but the heart of your business is elsewhere, outside my jurisdiction. I 
certainly have no say over the federal policies towards sugar.”

“I know. I want to change that.”

“In what way?”

“I want you to run for Senate.”

Bellamy laughed. “State Senate? This is my day for people to wave Baton Rouge in my face.”

Baton Rouge was the capital of Louisiana, a city with dark overtones for Boyd since he went 
there to identify the corpse of his former wife. “United States Senate, Bellamy.”

“So skip the House and go straight for the big club?”

“Yes.”

Bellamy shook his head. “Last I looked, Caldwell Brady had that seat tied up, for what, thirty-
plus years now? The other seat isn’t coming up for election any time soon.”

“I think it’s time Senator Brady stepped down and endorsed some new blood to take his place, 
don’t you? The man is older than mud.”

Bellamy laughed. “Boyd, the Senate is Brady’s lifeblood. He thrives on it. He’ll give that old 
cracker Strom a run for oldest semi-living member of that august ruling class. Brady doesn’t 
even spend money on a campaign for re-election, his slot is so certain.”

“My business allies and I own Brady, Bellamy. If we agree it’s time for him to step down, it’s 
time for him to step down.”

Bellamy glanced at the bustling evening foot traffic in the square below them. People owning 
people had a bad connotation for him. “And now you think you can own me? A new generation 
of graft?”

“No, I have no illusion that I could own you. That anyone can own you. Believe it or not, 
Bellamy, our stars are aligned.”

“How do you figure?”

Boyd smiled and motioned for refills as he said, “Let me tell you how I figure, Bellamy, and then 
you can tell me to go to hell.”

Bellamy liked that approach. He leaned back in his oversized wing chair as he let the young 
sugar baron speak.d

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

“You’re as nervous as a cat,” Lisette said to Brian, spreading a hand on his arm, causing him to 
jump. They were seated in a quiet booth in a jazzy corner of a favorite café, waiting for Boyd. 
Petra ordered a good bottle of wine and an appetizer for the table as they waited. Brian didn’t 
seem particularly interested in either. 

“Sorry,” he pulled himself back into the conversation, but kept an eye geared for the door. “I 
just…nothing. So, I bought an alligator farm today.”

Petra laughed. “Is that where they come from? They grow them in the marshy ground like 
turnips?”

Brian smiled. “Seriously.”

“Where?” Lisette wondered. “Why?”

“Canard Rouge.”

Her eyes widened. “That nasty tourist trap? Ran by those inbred morons? I thought the humane 
society closed that place down years ago.”

“If so, it reopened. I took Gus there, not knowing how bad it was. He was absolutely terrified. I 
was sickened by it. So I bought it.”

“What will you do with it?” Petra was entranced by the idea and Brian shrugged.

“I already donated it to the state as a sanctuary for local wildlife. I think they plan to turn in into 
a marsh habitat.”

“Why did you do that?”

He sighed. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it, which was a waste of energy, so I put it out of its 
misery. I get a tax write off and goodwill. They agreed to name it in honor of Gus. The alligators 
get a reprieve and Canard Rouge is minus a blight.”

“What a wonderful thing to do,” Lisette leaned over the table to kiss his cheek. “I wish I’d 
thought of it.”

Brian was embarrassed, an emotion he didn’t feel comfortable with. He was no hero. He really 
did want to get the fucking thing off his mind. He really did want to erase the nightmare for his 
son. Where the hell was Boyd, anyway? As if on cue, his lover entered the café. His fair skin was 
pinked by the cool breeze, his blond hair ruffled. He slid in beside Brian, kissed him with chilly 
lips, and smiled as Brian ran an affectionate hand through his disarrayed hair. 

“Hello, ladies. What are we drinking?”

“Merlot,” Brian said, trying to read Boyd’s success or lack thereof in his expression. “But I think 
you’ve got a head start on us. Try the shrimp, you need some food.”

Boyd dutifully popped a couple boiled shrimp after bloodying them in red sauce. “Now can I 
have some wine, please, Mr. Fagin?”

“I believe that’s pronounced FAG-in,” Brian quipped as he poured some of the deep colored 
wine into a glass for Boyd. They tapped stems and Brian said, “Well?”

“Later.”

“What’s going on, here?” Lisette demanded. “If you were a female I’d swear you were about to 
tell us you had a bun in the oven.”

Boyd laughed. “Well, we haven’t been very diligent on the safe sex front, but no, no bun. No 
miracle. Not that I wouldn’t have his baby if I could.”

Brian nearly spit out a mouthful of wine over that remark, choking it down and coughing so hard 
that Boyd banged him on the back. “Sorry, I was just thinking of you in a maternity Armani 
suit.”

“I’d be glowing.”

“You’d look like your old man with that beer belly of his.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“So Brian was telling us about buying an alligator farm,” Lisette decided to try another tactic. 
Boyd laughed.

“Yeah, right.”

Brian shrugged. “Actually, I did.”

Boyd stared at his classic profile. “You bought an alligator farm?”

“Yeah.”

“The one in Canard Rouge?”

“Are they all over the place? Yes.”

“Without telling me?”

“My money, Boyd. You bought a house in New Orleans without telling me.”

Boyd took that blow. “What the fuck do you plan to do with it?” Brian explained the situation 
and Boyd said, “You didn’t even discuss it with me or tell me what you did?”

“I’m telling you now. It’s no big thing. We had truly big things to talk about, as you may recall. 
This didn’t seem to fit on the radar screen.”

“I’m pissed.”

“Get over it.”

“No, I am. I’m pissed. You should have told me. I’m going to take a leak,” he left the table and 
Brian rolled his eyes at the women. 

“He’s a little lit. He’ll get over it.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you two are drama queens?” Lisette teased.

“I wear the banner proudly. Maybe I’d better go talk to him.”

“Brian,” Petra said as he slid out of the booth. “This isn’t the kind of place for make up sex in the 
stalls.”

“I wasn’t raised in a barn,” Brian said as he walked towards the john. Lesbians just didn’t get it. 
Every place was the kind of place for make up sex in the stalls. All it took was a little stealth and 
a little speed, both of which he was willing to exhibit for Boyd.

Current Mood: busy
 
04:38 am - BURN Chapter 65
Burniacs, posting for Brian. Enjoy! ran

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



Boyd was standing at the sink, washing his hands, when Brian came in. Brian scanned the room 
to ensure they were alone and then walked over to a urinal and unzipped. 

“You’re spazzing out over nothing,” he said across his shoulder. Boyd nodded, watching him in 
the mirror over the sink.

“That’s right. When you do it because I make some big decision, it’s my fault for not keeping 
you informed. When you do it, I’m ‘spazzing out over nothing’.”

“It was fifty grand, Boyd. Is that really a ripple on your radar screen?”

“You got that whole place for fifty grand?”

“Yeah. Isn’t it amazing how prime beachfront real estate has tanked?”

Boyd forced himself not to smile as Brian hip-checked him out of the way to wash his hands, 
despite the fact two other sinks were unoccupied. “You should have told me.”

“I figured you had enough on your mind.”

“I was going to talk to Charlie about that joint.”

“So now you don’t have to. See how that works? Synchronicity.”

Brian dried his hands on a paper towel and then pushed Boyd up against the sink until the cold 
porcelain edge of it pressed hard into his back. “We have real issues to talk about, Boyd, not 
mutants who torture reptiles. What did he say?”

Boyd tensed. “So now you deflect by putting me on the spot?”

“No, this is deflection,” Brian leaned forward, thrusting his tongue between Boyd’s lips. Boyd 
resisted, but not for long. He finally separated his clenched teeth to admit the probe into his 
mouth. He closed his eyes as he clutched the sink with both hands while Brian pressed even 
closer. When Brian finally came up for air, he grabbed Boyd’s tie and pulled him into the nearest 
stall, slamming the door behind them.

“Not here,” Boyd said feebly and Brian laughed as he sat down on the toilet and yanked Boyd 
towards him by the hips, pressing his cheek to his lover’s closed fly and rubbing his face against 
the fabric and the bump and roll beneath the fabric. Boyd groaned as he buried both hands in 
Brian’s thick hair. Brian lowered Boyd’s zipper by catching the pull in his teeth and separating 
the folds inch by inch. When it was all the way down, he pressed his nose to the soft cotton of his 
underwear and inhaled him before using a hand to free his lover’s cock. 

Boyd looked down, seeing his dick arch midway between flaccid and full mast, as if seeking 
encouragement from Brian. Brian gave him what he needed, going down on it in one deep lunge. 
He took him to the pubes and then slowly withdrew, feeling it stiffen with each bit of flesh he 
exposed. Before the tip popped out of his mouth, he went down again, fast, hard, groping the 
crinkly golden hair at the base with his lip. Boyd’s cock scraped the roof of his mouth and 
lurched towards his throat. Brian relaxed his gag reflex and took him all the way back. 

“Shit!” Boyd said with a shudder as the searing heat of that caress ricocheted to the nerve bundle 
at the base of his spine to signal the mobilization of sperm. His testes throbbed and contracted, 
preparing for action, as Brian went up and down two more times with equal urgency. Boyd 
wanted to prolong it, wanted to make it go on forever, but his body rebelled. He shot before he 
knew what was happening, slamming one fist against the metal wall of the stall as the force flew 
out of his body and down Brian’s throat. Brian swallowed, withdrew his lips and licked the 
traces off the pulsating tip of Boyd’s cock. He smiled, obviously proud of his skills. 

Boyd looked down at him, smoothing the hair that he mussed as he said, “It doesn’t change 
anything. I’m still mad at you.”

“Yeah, but now you’re mad and happy at the same time. Confusing you is what I do.”

Boyd grabbed Brian’s arms and hauled him up, pushing him against the closed door as he kissed 
him and fondled his iron-clad erection. “What do you want to do with that, smart ass?” He hissed 
against Brian’s ear as he pulled, stroked, cajoled. Brian moaned, reaching down to open his fly, 
pushing Boyd’s hand inside. 

“You know what I want.”

“Do I?” Boyd grabbed Brian’s naked phallus and encircled it, pumping once, twice, circling the 
tip with his forefinger. “How does that feel?”

Brian grabbed Boyd’s ass, urging him forward against his own pelvis. “I want to fuck you.”

“You want to what?” Boyd took Brian’s cock and rubbed it against his fly, the bulge of his cock, 
prodding his balls with it, through the fabric of his underwear. “Where does this baby want to 
go?”

“Up your ass,” Brian’s hands slipped under the waistband of Boyd’s briefs to spread on his firm 
cheeks, kneading the flesh, pulling him closer. He was sweating, he was so hot. His cock felt like 
it had been dipped in menthol. “Fuck me.”

Boyd stepped back and pulled his pants down to his knees, lifting the tail of his shirt to expose 
himself fully to Brian’s eager gaze. “Like it?”

Brian took over the stroking of his own cock, running his tongue across his lips with eager 
anticipation. He watched Boyd turn around, display his ass to him and then he made his move. 
He shoved him against the wall, and kicked his feet apart, spitting in his palm to lubricate his 
cock as he entered his lover in one hard thrust. Boyd gasped but forced the relaxation needed to 
have a full penetration. Soon they were rutting in a familiar rhythm. Brian leaned over to nip the 
back of Boyd’s neck and Boyd reached back to clamp onto Brian’s hard thigh.

A few minutes later they were adjusting their ties at the mirror while avoiding the smug, 
overheated expression each was wearing. “Think they can tell?” Brian asked and Boyd laughed. 

“Do you care?”

“Not really.”

“Lucky for us, they don’t either. Of course they can tell, Brian. We look like we just ran a 
marathon.”

“Your idea. I just wanted to give you a nice little non-controversial blow job. You’re the one 
who turned it into a fuckfest.”

“And you’re complaining?”

Brian kissed his cheek. “Yeah, right.”

“We really are ridiculous with each other. If the world adopted our method of dispute resolution, 
there would be a lot fewer wars.”

“Have you seen those guys at the U.N.? I’d rather nuke them than fuck them.”

Boyd laughed. “Deep thoughts with Brian Kinney.”

Brian smirked at that observation. “Okay, Maggie Thatcher, so what did the voodoo king say?”

“Exactly what I thought he’d say.”

“Which is?”

“He wants to think about it.”

“That’s anti-climactic.”

“That’s smart.” 

They walked out together, trying to adapt a look of shared nonchalance. It was fooling no one. 
Lisette shook her head at them. “When you two get busted for fucking each other silly in the 
cathedral one day, don’t call me to get you out of jail. What is it? The thrill of being 
discovered?”

Brian grinned at her. “No, Lis, it’s just the heat overcomes you and nothing else matters. It’s a 
testosterone thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

“It’s testosterone poisoning,” Petra said with a smile. “They use it to cure meat, you know.”

“Cures my meat,” Brian retaliated and Boyd winced. 

“Enough. Are we going to eat, or what?”

“Poor thing,” Brian bumped an elbow into Boyd’s side. “It always gives him an appetite.”

“In that case I should be edging three hundred pounds by now,” Boyd said with a laugh. Brian 
touched the mark he left on Boyd’s neck as he observed,

“It looks like a vampire visited you in the night.”

“Yeah. A big Irish one. They’re the worst.”

“Or best,” Brian teased and they shared a private smile as the women ordered dinner from a very 
patient waiter. 

At another restaurant in the Crescent City, Daphne was aware of Bellamy’s pensive silence. 
They were supposed to have dinner with Charles, but Bellamy changed those plans. He wanted 
to see her, but he didn’t want to share her. More than that, he didn’t want to be prodded by his 
parent. The conversation with the young sugar baron still weighed heavily on his mind. 
“Did you have a bad day?” She finally tried as he pushed at his salad but didn’t eat much of it. 
He looked up, as if surprised by her question.

“Sorry. No, not at all. Just busy. You?”

“The same. I’m planning the opening campaign for the club. There’s a lot more involved in it 
than I thought. Media placement in several major markets, places with large gay communities. 
We’ve worked out some packages with local hotels, or at least that’s one of Brian’s brainstorms 
that I’ve been pulling together. Come to New Orleans for Halloween, stay at a great hotel and 
see the opening of the best gay dance club in the country. Packaging airlines and engaging travel 
agents is next.”

The waiter cleared their plates and Bellamy nodded. “That’s nice.”

“Nice?” She reached across the table to rest her hand on his wrist. “Are you even hearing me?”

He sighed. “Sorry, Daphne. I did hear you. I guess I just have a lot on my mind and the 
packaging of a queer dance club to the queer public isn’t getting through.”

She glared at him. “This is what I do, Bellamy. It’s my work. It’s important to me. And what’s 
with the ‘queer’ references? You suddenly down on gays?”

He turned his hand over to wrap hers. “I’m sorry. You’re right, it is what you do, and I’m not 
minimizing it and of course I’m not down on gays. I was raised by gays. Remember?”

“Do you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s the safe thing now for politicians to run their mouths about the gay agenda and how horrible 
gay people are and how they are undermining our perfect little society. I hope you aren’t taking 
that easy route in the future.”

“My political aspirations will never overtake my fundamental morality. And my fundamental 
reality is that equality is the only way for a society to function. Equality for all genders, races and 
sexual orientations. I’ve always stood for that and I always will. If people don’t choose to vote 
for me because they disagree with that philosophy, then fuck them. I don’t want to represent that 
kind of person.”

She smiled at his redemption. “I’d vote for you.”

“You would, would you?”

“Yes.”

“Then sign up. You’re a resident here now. Every vote counts.”

“Are you up for re-election?”

“Not at the moment, but you never know.”

“So do you plan to be the first African-American president?”

He laughed. “Baby steps, Daphne, baby steps. What do you think of Boyd Coulter?”

“Boyd?” She was surprised by his question. “I think he’s the best thing that ever happened to 
Brian Kinney. And my best friend, Justin, was Brian’s first love, so it means something when I 
say that. Justin was just too young at that time, and Brian was too wild. Boyd came along at the 
right time for Brian. They fit perfectly. I’ve known Brian for a long time and I’ve never seen him 
so happy.”

“I was thinking more what do you think of Boyd as a person than as Brian’s partner?”

“He’s a good parent. He’s handsome. He’s rich. He’s smart. He seems very stable and grounded. 
He’s nice. I like him very much.”

Bellamy nodded. “Shrewd?”

“I never thought of Boyd as ‘shrewd’ exactly but then I only know him socially. He may be 
shrewd in his business dealings. He has to have game to keep up with Brian, and he does that 
very well.”

“Is he invested in that club of yours?”

“No, that’s all Brian.”

“What about Coulter Mills? Does he talk much about that business?”

“Not around me. Why are you asking so many questions about Boyd? What’s going on?”

He sighed. “I’m just curious. Trying to understand the field.”

“What field?”

“It’s not important.”

“Bell, what are you not saying?”

“Boyd Coulter is deep water, Daphne. He looks like the inherited rich kid you see at the country 
club, all blond hair and a good golf game and a safe, huge income built on the backs of others. 
But he’s not. He’s not that at all.”

“I don’t see Brian being drawn to that, no.”

“He’s a power broker. A young one. But a power broker, never the less.”

“What is a power broker in this context?”

“A man who either controls power or has access to it, and uses it to broker what he wants to 
accomplish. He has a vision and it’s a big one. It’s a sea change for this region, for an industry, 
really. He needs a voice for that vision in Washington. And he wants that voice to be mine.”

“You mean he wants to hire you to lobby?” Daphne was still trying to reconcile the sweet, loving 
man she knew as Boyd with Bellamy’s power broker. 

“No, not exactly. I can’t lobby while I hold elective office, anyway.”

“Then what?”

“He wants me to run for a national office. He’s willing to support that bid. In a big way.”

“Is this about changing the anti-gay laws?”

“This has nothing to do with his private life, Daphne. This is about sugar.”

“Sugar?”

“Sugar. White gold. His family blood.”

“He wants to make even more money than he already does?”

“Not exactly. He doesn’t want to lose his fortune, that’s true enough, but this isn’t just about one 
man, or one company’s, greed. This would change the face of the industry forever, 
internationally, and that would make Boyd Coulter a pariah among his kind, domestically. He’d 
be the face of evil to the greed mongers.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

Bellamy smiled as their main courses were delivered. “Therein lies my dilemma, Daphne. Why 
indeed? What is his true motive? Is it what he tells me? Or am I missing something? How big are 
his balls?”

She smiled. “I could ask Brian.”

They both laughed. “Please don’t say anything to anyone, including Boyd and Brian.”

“I won’t. Are you considering it? What he said?”

“I never foreclose an opportunity, but I never jump in blind, either. I’m still trying to unravel it, 
and until I do, I’ll sit the fence. Part of that requires that I get behind Boyd Coulter’s very 
appealing façade to see what’s there.”

She nodded, feeling very uncomfortable with how her personal life and business life were 
beginning to collide, knowing exactly how Brian Kinney would feel about anyone trying to 
intrude into Boyd’s privacy, including Bellamy Beaufort.
Current Mood: enthralled
 
04:43 pm - BURN Chapter 66


The next morning, when Brian walked into his temporary office in the French Quarter, he was 
immediately confronted by a large terrarium. It was made of glass, warmed by golden-hued 
lighting, and a veritable forest of ferns, reeds and smooth stones banked against a few inches of 
clear water. Inside, resting on a patch of red mud with its mouth open and body motionless was a 
very small alligator. Tip of the snout to end of his tail, he was no more than eight inches in 
length. 

“Ted!” Brian shouted as he slammed his briefcase down on a desk. Ted came from the back, 
holding a book on caring for alligators, and a mug of coffee. He gave Brian a sheepish smile. 

“I see you’ve met Spike.”

“Spike?”

“Our little mascot.”

“You’re our little mascot, Theodore. What is that thing doing in here?”

“Before I left Canard Rouge, I thought it would be my last chance to get one of the little guys 
before the state took them over. They say that it’s difficult to keep an alligator in captivity but 
that’s because they give them to children and what do children know about such fragile 
creatures? If you build them a habitat, like this one that Frank put together from an old aquarium, 
they have a good chance. You don’t overfeed them and you keep them warm. He was a little 
listless when I brought him home, but since he’s been in the habitat, he’s much better. He ate, he 
took a little swim, and now he’s in his tanning booth.”

“Tanning booth?”

“The lamps. Keep him warm.”

“He’s a gay alligator with his own tanning booth?”

“Maybe. Look, Brian, if it’s the expense…”

“Yeah, Theodore, I’m going to dun you for that lizard. You can’t have a pet, Teddy. You won’t 
look after it and then Daddy and me will have to do all the work.”

“Ho-ho.”
“Well, get it out of here. This is a place of business, not a sideshow.”

“But he’s kind of cute,” Daphne joined them with a sheaf of papers she had been copying. “Let 
him stay.”

“See how cute you think he is when he’s big enough to crawl out of that tank and avenge his 
relatives that you’re wearing on your feet.”

“These are moc-croc. Animal skins aren’t patent leather, Brian,” she looked down at her flats. 
“You don’t pay me enough that I can afford real crocodile skin shoes.”

“Like he knows that. Okay, enough about the lizard. We have real work to do. Is Dora here yet?”

“I’m here now, Boss,” she walked in, her hardhat tucked under one arm. “But I should be at the 
site.”

“Sit down, Dora. We’ll get you back there soon. All of you sit down. We have another joining 
us, ah, here he is now.”

They turned to see the door open but no one was there. They tracked down until Sebastian came 
into their frame of vision. He paused at the terrarium and announced, “First thing, the alligator 
goes. Too precious for a New Orleans club.”

“This is Sebastian,” Brian announced to the others. “I’ve hired him to do the interiors of the club. 
I think we’re far enough along in the renovations where he needs to become involved. He has 
some fabulous ideas based on photographs I’ve given him of the church. Sebastian, take the 
floor.”

“If you’ll help me, darling,” he said to Daphne, handing her a presentation case that folded open 
to become an easel for his flip chart. She sat it up for him and he extended a digital pointer that 
collapsed like a spyglass. “Will you be my Vanna White and flip the pages for me?” He asked 
her. Daphne readily agreed, positioning herself near the easel. “Okay, go on, first panel. The 
exterior. I absolutely love what you did with the glass that goes in the windows of the church, 
Brian. With the proper lighting, it will look as if the place is on fire from the street, which is 
exactly what we want to suggest. Brilliant idea.”

“Yeah,” Brian said impatiently. “I know. But what are your ideas?”

Daphne flipped to the next page. The exterior of the club as imagined by Sebastian took shape. 
The flaming glass windows were lit and above the peaked door were red neon lower case letters 
that read “burn” in simple print. A red carpet stretched towards the street where a black wrought 
iron fence was featured. Each slat of the fence ended in what appeared to be a burning torch. The 
iron gate was shaped like leaping flames. It was the fence that would be around hell, if Satan had 
a sense of humor. Brian loved it.

Sebastion’s thoughts for the interior also went over well. The furnishings were simple and 
contemporary to counter the gothic feel of the building. Red couches were at the edge of the 
dance floor, orange leather bar chairs fronted the elevated bar, and torchieres with electric flames 
provided illumination. There was a cat-walk for the electronics, and lighting effects for the dance 
floor. Instead of the usual raised platforms where go-go dancers writhed, in Sebastian’s vision, 
they would dance atop the confessional booths, each lit with an individual spot. 

The back room was left with enough of the original crypt features to keep it creepy, and he 
cooled the lighting down there to pale blue and soft gray, that would bleach healthy skin into the 
color of a long dead corpse. He created dividers and privacy corners with diaphanous screens 
that looked like smoke in this light. One could see what was going on, but only through a veil, 
making the illicit sex even more tantalizing. “It’s perfect,” Brian observed with a smile. “I can’t 
wait to take Boyd downstairs for a visit.”

“Like you haven’t already,” Ted teased, ignoring Brian’s glare. 

“But wait, there’s more,” Sebastian motioned to Daphne and his pointer led them through the 
bathrooms that had smoked glass walls and doors on the stalls, carrying through on the sub-
theme of smoke. Again, peeking was possible, but seeing clearly was not, creating more 
tantalizing suggestion. The urinal was a trough with what appeared to be glowing coals in the 
bottom of it. A sound effect would give a sizzle to the urine hitting the coals, while a smoke 
machine provided an occasional puff of smoke to suggest the urinating customers were 
extinguishing a fire. Behind the trough, a wall of white art tiles were painted with red devils with 
hot bodies and prominent packages leering down as if to stare at the exposed dicks being shown. 

The outside tables of the café had red or orange umbrellas with sparkly lights on the underside 
ribs, the cushions on the metal chairs combined the colors in a flame stitch pattern. His 
suggestions for the offices, kitchen area, and the guest house were more traditional, comfortable 
and utilitarian, since they were all non-public areas. When he finished, there was a moment of 
silence and then Daphne felt squeeing was in order and she did so, clapping her hands rapidly as 
she bounced up and down and grinned at the little man. 

“I love it!”

“Contain yourself,” Brian said with a gruff smile. “I’m seeing dollar signs fly out of my ass. I 
just bought an alligator farm, man, I’m not made of money.”

They all laughed and then Sebastian reminded him, “To make money you have to spend money.”

“I have to have money to spend money. You’re already robbing me at the house, Dora is 
financing a bunch of drunk sailors doing the construction work, Theodore is a hopeless money 
manager, I’m going to be selling ads again if I’m not careful. Oh wait, I signed a non-compete 
with the people who bought my agency. Wonder if I’m too old to hustle?”

“I’d pay you for it,” Sebastian said and Brian raised a brow.

“Yeah? How much? Can we work this out in trade?”

“I’d wear you out. Let me pull the numbers together and get that to you before you queen out 
over the totals. But the big question is, do you like it or not?”

All eyes were on Brian. He shrugged. “I don’t hate it.”

“In Kinney-speak, that means he loves it,” Ted translated and Brian glared at him.

“Not sure about that smoke in the urinals. That’s weird. And is the whole thing a little too 
Satanic?”

“Superstitious?”

“No, but I don’t want to attract just the heavy metal crowd.”

“It’s classic. Architectural Digest will want to do a piece on it. It’s gorgeous.”

“But where will we put Spike?” Ted motioned towards the alligator, and Sebastian glared at him 
as he answered that question.

“In the swamp. From whence he came.”

“But…he’s my baby!” Ted cracked and Brian nodded.

“Sadly, that is what would come out of your ass, Rosemary.”

Any possibility for further intelligent conversation ended with that remark. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boyd’s butt was sore as he sat on the hard wooden bleachers, watching his daughter play 
basketball. Her team was losing, but not for want of trying. Was he sore from the wood or from 
Brian’s wood? Maybe both. He crossed his legs to take some pressure off and sensed someone 
coming over to sit beside him. 

“Is one of those future Chicago Bulls yours?”

Dressed in khaki work pants, an Izod shirt and old man’s fishing hat with an assortment of 
colorful lures attached to it, Bellamy Beaufort couldn’t have been better disguised.

“Nice hat,” Boyd quipped and Bellamy took it off, running a thumb across a lure that resembled 
a small green frog. 

“It was my Daddy’s hat. I’ve been fishing with the good senator from Louisiana, over on the 
bayou.”

“I see.”

“Pre-arranged.”

“Catch anything?”

“Nothing worth eating. So is one of them yours?”

“Yes. The blonde ponytail is mine.”

Bellamy stared at Belle and smiled. “I can see a resemblance. You’re lucky.”

“I am. I have a spare at home, too. A boy. And of course, Brian has a little boy. We’re blessed.”

“I was raised by a gay couple, you know. The kids are the lucky ones. I couldn’t have done any 
better.”

Boyd smiled at that. “Why were you not with your mother?”

“That’s a long and winding road, Boyd. Some other time. I don’t want to take you away from 
your little girl, but the lady who answered your office phone was only too happy to tell me you 
were slacking off.”

They both laughed. “I’m beloved at the mill.”

“You should be, if I understand your plot.”

“No man is a hero in his own home town, or something like that. What’s on your mind?”

“I want to talk to you some more. After fishing with the senator, I’m beginning to form some 
opinions. He made a strategic error with me. I know he’s an old man and old habits dies hard, but 
he said I was uppity. I guess you can imagine how well that went down. Calling me uppity is 
never going to work with me.”

Boyd stood, cheered his daughter’s two-pointer, returned her proud little wave, and reluctantly 
sat down again on his sore ass. “Were you being uppity?”

“He seemed to think so. I made the mistake of saying that I was a viable candidate when and if 
he decided to retire.”

“And?”

“He said that was uppity thinking. I was too young, not well known, I had a strange family 
history to overcome, wasn’t married, and was a nigger running in the deep south.”

Boyd’s eyes grew wide. “No way.”

“Okay, maybe he never said the N word, but I got the idea.”

“So now you’re pissed.”

“Yes.”

“Which makes you want to talk.”

“Correct.”

Boyd nodded. “Willing to watch the rest of the game with me or want me to set up an 
appointment for another day?”

“I’m enjoying the game.”

“Good. Afterwards, I’ll drop Belle off with her nanny and get her started on her homework and 
we can go to my law office and talk. I’d rather stay away from the mill.”

“Her name is Belle?”

“Yes,” Boyd smiled. “With an ‘e’ on the end.”

“I figured. Nice name.”

“Goes with your hat,” Boyd quipped and the two men shared a private chuckle as the game 
continued around them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Brian came home to the B&B, he found Belle working on arithmetic at the table with 
Jane’s assistance, while Mac and Gus were watching ‘Finding Nemo’ for the four thousandth 
time on the television upstairs with Lindsay. 

“Your Dad still at work?” he asked Belle, pausing to kiss the top of her head. She looked up at 
him with a smile. 

“No. Where you been?”

“Working. New Orleans. That should be nine, not seven. Did you win your game?”

“Yes, and I scored six points.”

“I’m calling you Shaq from now on.”

“Cool!”

“So where is your dad? Upstairs?”

“No, he’s out with some man,” Belle responded as she converted the seven to a nine. Brian 
looked confused.

“Some man? What man?”

“I don’t know. He’s a tall, handsome, kind of light brown man.”

Jane met Brian’s tense expression with a shrug. “I never saw him, Brian. Boyd said he had a 
meeting and to tell you he may be late.”

“So how handsome?” Brian hated himself for asking Belle who was on to a new problem. 

“I dunno. Like a movie star, kind of.”

Brian felt jealousy flare into full flame. What the fuck? He didn’t want to upset Belle, so he 
assumed a grim expression and headed for the stairs. “I remember his name, Brian,” she called 
out to him. He turned and walked back, remaining perfectly cool and composed despite the pain 
and misery welling up in him. “It’s Bell,” she said with a grin. “Like me. Isn’t that a funny name 
for a boy?”

“Does he have green eyes?”

“Yep.”

The jealousy went out of Brian like wind from a sail, leaving him limp, powerless and feeling 
like a fool. “Business,” he clarified to Jane, who gave him a bemused smile.

“Did you think it was anything else?”

“I’m going to take a bath before dinner. My back hurts from the drive.”
He went upstairs feeling disloyal to have doubted Boyd and yet too relieved to not take pleasure 
in the solution of the mystery. Was he still that insecure about his partner? Why? He stripped as 
the water ran and lit a blunt before he slipped beneath the water, letting the scented candles 
disguise the fragrance. He counted the reasons why as he soaked. Boyd was beautiful. Boyd was 
brilliant. Boyd was richer than God. Boyd was a good man. Boyd was a fabulous lover. Boyd 
was also loyal and Brian shouldn’t have doubted him. His mobile rang and he reached for it, 
clamping the dope between his teeth as he answered. 

“I’m taking Bellamy to dinner at the club. Can we swing by and pick you up?”

“When? I’m in the tub, getting stoned.”

Boyd laughed. “Bad day?”

“Getting better.”

“It will probably be half an hour. I can call you from the car. Bring a jacket for Bellamy to 
borrow. He didn’t come dressed for the country club.”

“What color?”

“You would ask that. His shirt is pink, his pants are khaki.”

“When did he join our team?”

“Brian…” Boyd warned. 

“Ok, I’ll find something of yours. I have that European build thing going on while both of you 
are more square.”

“I can still kick your ass, Kinney.”
Brian smiled and flipped shut his phone, his world falling back into alignment. 
Current Mood: accomplished
 
06:56 pm - BURN Chapter 67
My boo is working late tonight, so this is unedited and kind of rough, but wanted to post because 
tomorrow is a busy day. Thanks, Brian

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



Brian picked the perfect jacket for Bellamy to wear. It was dark gold, a silk blend, with a touch 
of rose in the cross fiber. That was enough to combine the pink of his shirt with his khaki pants. 
It looked great with Boyd’s coloring, but it also suited Bellamy’s contrasting skin tone. “This is 
nice,” Bellamy observed as he slipped into it. It was a little snug at the shoulders but otherwise it 
fit well. “Most white men have no sense of style, but the gay ones understand the rules.”

Brian laughed as he leaned across the seat, from the back, to kiss Boyd’s cheek in greeting, and 
then ruffled his hair. “Hey!” Boyd smoothed it down, checking his reflection in the mirror. “Bell, 
that’s a stereotypical thing to say. Plenty of gay men have no sense of style,” Boyd reminded 
him.

“I don’t need to know them,” Bellamy said with a smile. Brian laughed. 

“So we’re going to the country club where we had such a lovely dinner with your folks that 
time?”

“It can’t be worse than that, right?”

“Would have to go some to top it,” Brian turned and looked at the location of the alligator farm. 
There was a large sign on the road saying the place was closed and was now the property of the 
U.S. Department of Fish and Wildlife. No trespassing. Brian felt a self-satisfied smile escape. He 
did a good thing. Spike would be happy there when he could pry the damned thing out of 
Theodore’s misguided maternal grip. 

Boyd glimpsed his lover’s face in the rear view mirror and smiled. “You are so proud of 
yourself.”

Brian slumped down in the seat, feigning disinterest. “I don’t give a shit. It was just because they 
scared Gus.”

“Did I miss something?” Bellamy was confused.

“Brian bought a sideshow attraction and donated it to the government.”

“The government in the circus business now? Not that such an endeavor isn’t fitting for the 
current administration.”

“It was an alligator farm,” Brian explained with a glare at the back of Boyd’s head. “The animals 
were being mistreated and it scared my son, so I bought it and handed it over to Fish and 
Wildlife. It’s a tax write off. No big deal.”

“I think that’s very upstanding of you, Brian,” Bellamy told him. “I was a kid who used to cry at 
zoos because I felt so sorry for the animals that were caged up. I asked my Dad to buy me the 
elephants so we could set them loose,” he laughed at the memory. “So my father wrote a story 
about elephants roaming wild in Louisiana and won an award for it. He could make any 
nonsense seem magical.”

“My father had a magic trick, too,” Brian mused. “He could make a fifth of whiskey disappear in 
under an hour.”

“Brian,” Boyd warned but his lover just chuckled. 

“True is true.”

“Sorry, Brian,” Bellamy said, causing Brian to shrug.

“Why? Not your fault he was a drunk. Speaking of, I could use a nice martini about now.”

“I thought you loosened up in the tub?” Boyd teased.

“Not loose enough. Never loose enough.”

As they pulled into the porte-cochere fronting the graceful white building with Doric columns 
and a uniformed doorman, Bellamy sighed. “The balls shrink as the black man faces another 
bastion of white gentility and wonders if he’ll be admitted.”

Brian clapped his back as they entered the club. “Relax. You’re in the company of faggots. You 
know how popular we are with the conservative right.”

Of course, no one overtly commented on Bellamy’s race or the fact that Boyd Coulter, who was 
“homosexual, you know”, had brought his lover to the club. The Coulters controlled far too 
much of the local economy to draw more than a covert shake of the head and a whispered 
expression of sympathy for the elder Coulters. 

They had a drink in the bar overlooking the eighteenth green. Boyd and Bellamy casually 
discussed their golf games as Brian listened with one ear. Finally, he said, “I’m proud that I’ve 
never played a single hole of golf. There were times when it might have come in handy while 
trying to close a deal, but not worth it. No other game welcomes so many un-athletic old white 
men wearing bad clothes. For every hot golf pro, there are a thousand of those old geezers.”

Bellamy laughed. “I heard there’s a club in Dallas that got around the ‘no women’ discrimination 
rule by telling the members they had to play the back nine in the nude.”

“See, that would be hot if not for my mental image of golfers. Because of how most of them 
look, it would be the death of the erection forever.”

Boyd rolled his eyes at his lover. “A sledgehammer directly applied to your dick wouldn’t be the 
death of the erection forever, Brian.”

“There’s a lovely image to eat by,” Brian teased as the maitre de fetched them and led them to a 
prime table near the windows. As they perused menus, someone intruded, saying,

“Do you not return your phone calls now, Boyd?”

They all looked up at his sister, Luann, who looked elegant and beautiful in her black Chanel 
sheath, with her silver-blonde hair pulled back in a simple chignon. Her eyes scanned and 
ignored Brian, and then landed a gaze on Bellamy. He stood with well-schooled politesse and 
introduced himself. She shook his hand as she gave him her name and said she was Boyd’s 
sister. 

“I know Lisette,” he responded. “I didn’t know Boyd had two beautiful sisters.”

“I’m the black sheep of the family,” she explained with a wicked smile. “I’m not queer.”

“Zinger,” Brian said with a chuckle. “You just turn men queer.”

Luann glared at him. “”I thought that was you.”

“No, I prefer the more practiced ones.”

“Did you call me, Luann?” Boyd interrupted.

“All afternoon.”

“I was at Belle’s basketball game. Is something wrong?”

“We don’t want to bore your guests with family issues, Boyd. Call me tomorrow.”

“Would you care to join us?” Bellamy offered, unaware of the baleful stares from his dinner 
companions. She gave him a blazing smile. 

“Why thank you, but I’m with friends.”

Bellamy watched her go and then sat back down again. Boyd shook his head. “Don’t mack on 
my sister, Bell. She’s arsenic.”

“Is she now? Married?”

“Divorced and older than she looks.”

“Much older than Daphne,” Brian threw in and Bellamy nodded, taking his subtle point. 

“Just making polite conversation. So, how’s the grouper?”

Boyd shook his head. “Dry. They make a mean etoufee, however. Either with crawfish or 
shrimp. Brian, you may want to try the alligator boules.”

“I guess I never thought of alligators having boules, but since there are baby alligators, I guess 
they must.”

Bellamy laughed. “A boule is made when they take a little implement shaped like a scoop, 
midway between the size of a melon ball scoop and an ice cream scoop, and they dig the meat 
out of the alligators tail, roll the little ball in seasoning and breading and then deep fry it. It’s 
very tasty.”

Brian stared hard at him, trying to discern whether he was being clowned. He decided he was 
not. These people were not normal. They didn’t eat like the other forty-nine states. “That’s 
disgusting.”

“It’s the best part of the gator.”

“This is the best part of the gator,” Brian motioned to his belt. “I’ll have the shrimp etoufee.”

Bellamy talked himself into the boules, and Boyd went for the horseradish- encrusted salmon. 
They shared an appetizer of fresh oysters served on a bed of crushed ice. Bellamy let his gaze 
slip to Luann who was at a table with two other women, and more than once she smiled at his 
attention. Brian noticed it but Boyd was oblivious, his back to his sister. When Bellamy excused 
himself to go to the men’s room between courses, Brian leaned over and held Boyd’s arm as he 
said, “You think it might put your old man over the line if your sister dated a black man?”

“He’s not a racist, Brian.”

“Right. I think Bellamy is hot for your sis and she seems to find him pretty cute, too.”

“He’s too young for her, for one thing.”

“She looks pretty well preserved, Boyd. Do you see nothing? He’s checking her out.”

Boyd shrugged. “He’s a player. Surprise. You tried to warn Daphne. But I think my sister is a 
cold fish. He’ll get nowhere with her.”

“Want to bet? Twenty bucks.”

“Brian, do shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” he said with a shrug. “Looks potential to me. I did try to warn Daph. Women. 
Can’t live with them, can’t throw them in a pit and make coats out of their skin.”

Boyd reached over to slap Brian’s hand as Brian laughed. “It’s not funny.”

“Lighten up.”

“I’m serious. I’m trying to enlist Bellamy in my cause, Brian. It’s not about games tonight.”

Brian refused to be chastised. “Bellamy doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who will be enlisted 
as sugar’s newest pawn.”

“It’s not about being a pawn. It’s about reform.”

Brian covered his lover’s hand with his own. “I love you, Boyd, but whether it’s a platform or a 
cause, what you want is someone you can control to do your bidding on the Hill. I’m not saying 
it’s wrong, I know how the game is played, but don’t…shall we say…sugar coat it.”

Boyd pulled his hand free, aware of the unpleasant stares they were drawing with that small 
intimacy. “You make it sound uglier than it is. I’m trying to change the face of a hundred years 
of self-dealing and cronyism. He can help me and I can help him.”

“How many times do you think your Daddy said those exact words to the people he controlled in 
Washington?”

“Are you against me, now?”

“I’m never against you. I will never be against you. But I don’t want you to wrap yourself up in 
the caped crusader’s leotards when we both know there’s a financial incentive at the heart of this 
largesse, Boyd. Nothing wrong with that. It’s your money, your family’s money, and protecting 
your fortune is not a criminal act. But it’s not Mother Theresa, now is it?”

“You mean like your little gesture with the alligator farm? I’m not being that selfless and 
philanthropic? Is that what you mean? You’re the white hat in the family?”

“Don’t queen out on me, loverboy,” Brian’s tone turned serious. “I never claimed to wear the 
white hat. I just don’t want to see you fool yourself about your motive so that when the shit 
storm comes, as it always does when big money and big politics collide, you look like a damned 
fool claiming on CNN that you’re only in it for the people.”

“Believe it or not, I do care about the people, Brian!”

“I know you do. Keep your voice down. People are staring. These are your people, Boyd. Don’t 
give them breakfast table gossip about the queers.”

Boyd leaned back in his chair, letting his anger pass as he spied Bellamy talking earnestly with 
the maitre de. “Okay, we can discuss this later when we’re alone.”

Brian looked stunned. “I had other ideas for when we were alone.”

Boyd met his gaze and had to laugh. “Why can’t I stay mad at you?”

“Because I’m so adorable.”

“You really are.”

“Yeah, right.”

Bellamy joined them and their entrees were quickly delivered. “I sent your sister and her friends 
a bottle of wine. Because I’m not a member and they don’t take cash, I put it on your tab, Boyd. 
But please let me know the amount and I’ll repay you.”

“Did you ask him to poison it?” Brian inquired with a smile. “If so, it’s on us.”

“If I wanted to poison her, I wouldn’t need his help,” Bellamy reminded them, and then speared 
a breaded ball with his fork and said, “Want to try one, Brian?”

“Not so much on a fork. I’m more accustomed to snuffling my own morsels out, like a truffle 
pig.”

“Some kind of pig, anyway,” Boyd mused and as they laughed, Bellamy met Luann’s pleased 
smile when his wine was delivered and he raised a glass to her in a salute. “She’s the enemy,” 
Boyd gently reminded him and Bellamy shrugged.

“You know what they say about politics and bedmates, right?”

“Does it have something to do with breaking Daphne’s young heart?” Brian asked. Bellamy 
laughed.

“You do get right to the center of it, don’t you, Mr. Kinney?”

“I have been accused of doing so, Councilman.”

Brian reached over and speared a boule from Bellamy’s plate, popping it into his mouth and 
biting down on it as he ingested it with obvious gusto. The two men awaited his verdict. “A little 
salty, but then what good is a ball without a little salt to enhance the flavor?”

“Where were we?” Bellamy asked, ignoring Brian’s salacious remark as Boyd conceded, 

“Hopelessly mired between the mundane and the toilet humor.”

“I have an idea,” Brian said. “Sugar quotas and international investments and export controls and 
preferential pricing. Talk amongst yourselves.”

Boyd cut him a glare and then said to Bellamy, “Do we have something to talk about?”

“Of course we do, Boyd. My Daddy taught me, never shut the door in the face of a man who can 
have an impact your future.”

“I think we can have an impact on each other’s futures, Bellamy.”

“I’m feeling jealous,” Brian remarked and Boyd shook his head at him as Bellamy smiled and 
picked up his wine glass. 

“Here’s to positive impact.”

They all tapped crystal and then Luann paused at the table again, obviously on her way out. She 
gave Bellamy a big smile. “Thanks for the wine, sir. Very nice of you.”

“My pleasure.”

“May I buy you lunch next time I’m in town to pay you back for your kindness?”

“Only if you let me pay,” he handed her a business card and she nodded and tucked it in her bag. 

“Goodnight, Boyd. Sorry, I forgot your friend’s name.”

“My partner’s name is Brian,” Boyd seethed as Brian grinned at her.

“You can just refer to me as Boyd’s bitch.”

She cast him a glacial chill and then left with a final smile at Bellamy. “Boyd’s bitch?” Boyd 
repeated as Bellamy chuckled and watched Luann leave. 

“I didn’t want her to think she held the exclusive bitch title in the room tonight. What’s up with 
you, man? Is she your type? She’s about as sensual as this spoon.”

Bellamy took the spoon from him and slowly ran his thumb up the stem of the flatware and 
circled the plump bowl until the metal warmed to his touch. “I find this spoon to be very 
sensual.”

“You may be responsible for my first cutlery induced hard on,” Brian said and all three of them 
laughed, the tension disappearing in the sound of their pleasure. 
Current Mood:  bitchy
 
09:00 am - BURN Chapter 68
Sorry Burniacs, been real busy. Hope you like it, Brian

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



BURN 68


The owners of the B&B being inhabited by the Kinney and Coulter clan were reading in bed 
while Letterman interviewed some Young Hollywood star neither of them recognized. They 
heard Brian and Boyd come home, climb the stairs, close the door to their room. Within minutes, 
the familiar noises began. They shared a knowing look and smile. Predictable. There was the 
sound of a body being slammed a little roughly against the common wall and then the action got 
even better, even louder. 

“It has to be Viagra,” Jon speculated as his lover sighed.

“All the Viagra in the world wouldn’t give us that much passion, darling. It’s called youth and 
love and intense attraction. My goodness, Brian is in good form tonight,” he heard Boyd cry out 
his lover’s name, heard Brian moan, heard the weight of two men hit the floor. 

“Oh, and that hardwood is so inhospitable!” Jon referred to the flooring, but Peter giggled.

“That hard wood is welcome in my room any day!”

Jon laughed at his little joke. As if Brian or Boyd would ever give either of them a tumble. “You 
want to….?” He asked as the sound of a protracted orgasm was followed by another matching 
explosion of release and emotion. 

“Wouldn’t it be a pale imitation?”

“It’s what we have, Peter, take it or leave it.”

Peter shrugged, closed his book and turned off the light. 

One room down, Brian sat up on the floor at the end of their bed, rubbing his knees. “Shit, that 
hurt.”

Boyd looked up at him from where he lay, with one arm behind his head, one knee bent. “Try 
being on bottom. And my ass was already sore.”

“Complaining?”

“Help me up,” he extended his hand to Brian, who stood and then hauled him to his feet. He 
grabbed him and pulled him close to his body. 

“It just keeps getting hotter.”

“I know,” Boyd rested his forehead on Brian’s shoulder as his hands wandered over Brian’s 
naked ass. “Scary, isn’t it?”

“Why do you think that is? Shouldn’t we be cooling off by now?”

Boyd looked up and kissed Brian on the mouth. “I guess when you make the ultimate 
connection, it stays lit.”

“I don’t mind, but then my ass isn’t taking the pounding yours is. Not with as much frequency, 
anyway.”

“I can change that.”

Brian moved out of his embrace and smiled as he dug a joint from his stash and lit it while 
stretching out on the bed. “I said those exact words to Justin the night we hooked up.”

Boyd joined him, took a toke, and smiled. “In response to what?”

“He said he wasn’t doing anything special, something like that, and I said ‘I can change that’.”

“And so you did.”

“He was the trick who wouldn’t go away. And then he did. With a fiddler.”

Boyd ran his hand over Brian’s smooth chest. “Thank God.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d never have met you if not for that fiddler.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure. Do you miss him?”

“Yeah,” Brian nodded, his expression soft. “He’s a great guy. He’s so talented and funny and 
smart. I do miss having him in my life, except over the phone system. We were good friends on 
top of everything else. He understood me. He’s doing what he should be doing now, for his 
career, but someday I hope we’re living in the same city again and our friendship can continue. 
Would that bother you?”

“Sure, a little,” Boyd admitted. “I’m not made of stone. But I trust you, Brian. And I believe you 
love me. I believe this is where you want to be.”

Brian reached over and combed his fingers through Boyd’s fair hair. “You’re my home, baby.”

“I know.”

They both were startled by a sharp knock at their door. “Brian, Boyd, it’s Jon. Please open the 
door!”

Boyd stepped into his briefs as he crossed the room, but Brian didn’t bother to cover up. “What’s 
up, Jon?”

“I just got a call. Your house is on fire.”

“My house?”

“The mill house. The fire department is there, but it’s an inferno.”

Boyd turned to Brian, who was already up and reaching for his clothes. 

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

By the time they reached the mill house, they had to park down the road and run towards the 
building. Fire trucks and other emergency vehicles were in the way. Homer was there, and he 
spoke to the parish cop who tried to stop Boyd and Brian from approaching. 

“He owns this place.”

“Are there any people in that building, sir?” the cop asked and Boyd shook his head, staring in 
horror at the flames that escaped through every window, and burned through the roof. Two trees 
were also on fire and the water being aimed at the conflagration didn’t make a dent. The 
temperature was intense, even from a distance and the smell of char and floating ash made it 
difficult to breathe. 

A cry went up and fireman scattered in several directions as an outside wall of the old building 
collapsed, exposing the burning shell within. Boyd held tightly to Brian’s arm, unable to think of 
anything he could do to help. “What happened?” He said to Homer, who shook his head.

“I seen a glow when I was driving by the bayou and I followed it over here. I knew you was 
staying in town, and by the time I got here, it was already blazing. I called the fire department 
and I tried to get you on your cell phone, but you didn’t answer. So I called the B&B number.”

“What started it?”

“I don’t know Boyd, but I think the firemen suspect foul play. They asked if I seen anyone when 
I drove up. Someone said an old place like that ought not to burn that fast without help.”

Boyd thought about what he lost. Furnishings he liked, some of the music he left behind, some 
books. But the art was stored and most of the items he treasured most were removed from the 
premises. He thought about what he didn’t lose. People he loved. His life. Overall, he was lucky. 
The old building deserved a better fate, but leaving had been the right thing to do. If the fire was 
started by an arsonist, they had to know the family wasn’t staying there. It was either a senseless 
act of vandalism and destruction, or it was a graphic warning. 

“I need to get back and make sure your mama and daddy know you all okay before people start 
to call and ask ‘em about you. Take care of him, Brian,” he patted Brian’s shoulder as he went. 
Brian slipped an arm around Boyd’s waist. 

“You okay?”

“I feel like I should help.”

“Just stay out of their way, Smokey the Bear. Let them do their job. They don’t have time to 
rescue your amateur ass.”

It took two more hours to quench the fire. Even then, embers still smoldered and the smoke 
hovered over the bayou like black fog. The mill house was a sad skeleton consisting of three 
partial exterior walls enclosing a burned out interior. All the glass was gone from the windows, 
the roof had been consumed, even the floors were history. The fire chief walked over and talked 
briefly to Boyd. 

“It’s not safe to enter. It’s still hot and those walls aren’t sufficiently braced. Tomorrow, you 
need to get a bulldozer out here to knock them down otherwise they may fall on someone. But 
don’t do anything until our investigator examines the ruins. You got that?”

Boyd nodded. “What caused it?”

“Is this building insured?”

“Yes,” Boyd said numbly and he didn’t miss the man’s suspicious expression. 

“Was it insured beyond its mortgage value?”

“It had no mortgage,” Boyd responded with a glare. “I owned it outright.”

“But you haven’t been living there?”

“No. We’re staying in town.”

“Why is that?”

“Because we’ve had threats. I didn’t feel safe.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“Listen,” Brian interrupted. “Do you know who this is? This is Boyd Coulter, of the Coulter 
family who owns this fucking town. If you’re trying to construct some ridiculous self-initiated 
arson to collect the insurance theory, guess again, Colombo. Boyd probably owns the house 
you’re living in. We’re targets of hate and retribution because we’re queer and we’re a couple 
and we don’t apologize for it. There’s no deep dark mystery here. No hidden motive. It was some 
crazy ass firebug fag hater, that’s who it was. Go look for his crazy ass and leave Boyd alone. 
Hasn’t he been through enough?”

“Brian, please,” Boyd rested his hand on the small of Brian’s back as the fire chief glared at them 
both. 

“Like I said, don’t disturb the scene until our investigator comes out here at first light. And it’s 
not safe to go in there at all. None of your goodies survived, so don’t go digging for some 
keepsake. It’s all melted. You understand?”

Boyd nodded, and sat down on the ground, resting his forehead against his knees as Brian sat 
beside him and rubbed his shoulders without bothering to say anything. What could he say? 
Watching a home burn down was a terrible thing, even without loss of life. The scorched trees 
were twisted silhouettes of gnarled branches reaching for help from the cold and distant moon. 
They would have to be cut down. Wildlife that scurried from the area when the flames erupted, 
drifted back, their noises from the swamp sounding disapproving to Brian. They didn’t 
appreciate this intrusion into their natural peace. 

The firemen wetted down the ash to prevent a stray ember from floating free and sparking any 
other flame, and then packed up and left. The ground around the mill house was churned with 
mud and heavy equipment, all decorative shrubbery was gone in the blaze. The wind rattled 
through the open structure, causing the brick to moan. 

“We should get back,” Brian attempted. “Nothing we can do here.”

Boyd didn’t seem to hear, he made no attempt to rise. In the moonlight, Brian could see the ash 
that darkened Boyd’s hair and smudged his pale skin. He supposed he had the same fine powder, 
but it showed more on the blond. He kissed Boyd’s cheek. He tasted of smoke. “It’s my fault, 
isn’t it? I did this.”

Boyd looked over at him. His eyes looked ghostly blue in the dark smudge of his flesh. “Don’t 
do that.”

“Let’s be real. It’s either our relationship or my issues with the church crowd or both.”

“So it’s better that I never met you and that I be living my little life of quiet desperation alone in 
Canard Rouge?”

“At least you were safe.”

“If it hadn’t been you, eventually it would have been someone, and we both know that, Brian. I 
will never regret one minute of loving you. So stop. I can’t deal with your insecurity and that 
fucking Irish sin eating tonight. Okay?”

Brian sighed. He supposed it was selfish to put his own fears out there for Boyd to handle at this 
moment. But his fears were real. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened, Boyd. I know you loved 
this place.”

Boyd squeezed Brian’s hand tightly. “No, I liked this place, Brian. A lot. It had potential. I had 
plans for it. I hate that it met this fate after so many years of existence. But I didn’t love it. I love 
you, and the kids. I love people, not places. I’m going to bulldoze this site down to the ground 
and let the swamp take it back. That’s where it came from, anyway. It’s reclaimed land. The 
lease is up.”

“That may take a century or so.”

“This is Louisiana. All it would take is one catastrophic hurricane and the whole landscape 
changes. We live in tentative peace with nature around here. We all know that.”

“And yet it was man who did this little deed. We need to find out whom, Boyd. We need to put 
him away.”

“I know. I’d like to go poke around a little, Brian, see if…”

“No,” Brian put his hand over Boyd’s mouth to quiet him. “No. You heard the man. It’s not safe. 
There’s nothing left. We’re going back to town and take a shower, and go to bed for a few hours. 
We can come back tomorrow when the inspector is here.”

Boyd nodded and Brian helped him stand. They walked back to the car in silence, holding hands, 
words failing them both. A slip of paper was tucked under the windshield wiper of the Rover. 
Brian flicked his lighter to illuminate the child-like print. “Next time, you in it,” was all it said.

Brian held it by a corner and placed it carefully in the glove box. “They may be able to get prints 
off of it.”

“He was here,” Boyd realized. “He was standing here, watching the fire, watching us, and no one 
saw him. He was celebrating his destruction.”

“I think that’s what pyromaniacs do, Boyd. They get off on it.”

“This is more than a pyromaniac. This is a murderer waiting to happen.”

“I know.”

“I feel sick. I think I’m going to vomit.”

“Go ahead.”

But he didn’t get sick. Instead, the nausea passed and he slipped into the car, leaning heavily 
against the headrest as Brian started the motor. “There’s really nowhere to hide, is there? Money 
doesn’t insulate you from tragedy. It’s just that I feel so vulnerable and more than that, I worry 
for the kids. And you.”

“Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself and we’ll both take care of the kids.” Brian 
held his hand as he drove, looking at any shadow that moved across the road, searching for a 
man of smoke and fire. 
Current Mood:  depressed
 
05:34 am - BURN Chapter 69
Hi guys, posting for the big b. ENJOY it! Ran

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



Brian woke from a restless sleep just before dawn. He found himself alone in bed. Pulling on a 
robe, he went in search of Boyd. He didn’t have to go far. Boyd was seated in a chair by the 
window in Belle’s room, watching her sleep. Mac was sprawled across him like a shield, 
sleeping soundly. Brian wasn’t sure if Boyd retrieved Mac from his bed or if Mac awoke Boyd, 
but it didn’t really matter. He understood what was going on. Boyd wanted to be reassured that 
his children were safe. He started to leave without disturbing him but Boyd looked up and 
motioned him in. 

Brian sat on the padded window seat and reached out to take Boyd’s hand. They said nothing. It 
wasn’t important that they speak. For now, it was only important that they feel secure. 

Over breakfast, Boyd was deliberately matter-of-fact as he told the gathering of kids and adults 
about the fire. “Did you leave the stove on, Daddy?” Mac asked and Boyd smiled.

“No, Mac. We don’t know yet what happened. The firemen will tell us that.”

“What about the picture you painted on our wall?” Belle demanded to know. Boyd shrugged.

“Gone. We’ll have to paint another one in the new house.”

“I liked that one,” she lapsed into a pout as Boyd told her she could choose her own theme for 
the new one. 

“Are you going to rebuild?” Lindsay asked. He shook his head.

“It’s a complete loss. There’s no reason to rebuild. All of the character of the place is gone. I 
don’t need a house there anymore. I’m just razing it.”

“I don’t like it anyway,” Belle announced. “That bad man shot Brian in that house.”

Brian touched his body where the bullet went in. Sometimes he managed to forget that it 
happened. Other times, he could still feel the bullet exploding inside his torso. He was moved 
that Belle cared enough for that incident to color her view of the house. 

“Who shot Daddy? No one shot Daddy!” Gus interrupted the flow and Brian and Lindsay 
exchanged a look. She broadcast that she hadn’t told Gus what happened, and Brian found he 
couldn’t argue with that decision. Why scare the kid?

“Belle,” Boyd warned. She shrugged as Gus glared at his father.

“Someone shot you, Daddy?”

“No, it’s nothing, Gus. Not important. I’m fine, as you can see.”

“With a gun?”

“Can we drop this?”

“What if you die?” Gus’s eyes welled with tears and Brian picked him up, feeling him cling to 
him like a monkey to a banana tree. He patted his back to comfort him as he said,

“How am I going to die? It happened a long time ago and as you can see, I’m just fine. Don’t 
worry about it, Gus. It’s over.”

“A man shot my Daddy with a gun!” Gus wailed and Brian walked him out of the room, trailed 
by Lindsay. He figured Boyd had enough to deal with absent this drama. In the parlor, Brian 
glared at the boy’s mother. 

“Why didn’t you tell him after I recovered?”

“Because it would just upset him, as it has.”

“So it’s better to lie?”

“Sometimes.”

Brian frowned and rocked Gus gently against his body until the child finally stopped crying. 
“You see that Daddy’s fine now. Right, Sonny Boy?”

Gus nodded, chewing on his lower lip, still upset. Brian tried,

“You want to see where the bullet hit me?”

Gus’s eyes widened and he nodded with the natural enthusiasm of a young boy. Brian lifted his 
shirt and pointed out the scar. Gus touched it and then pushed gently. Brian moaned, as if in pain 
and Gus looked horrified. “I hurt you?”

Brian chuckled. “Gotcha.”

Gus giggled as he emerged from his fear. “It still in there?”

“Nope, the doctors cut me open and took it out.”

“Were you asleep?”

“Yeah, they don’t make you bite on shoe leather anymore.”

“Can I have it?”

“The police kept it.”

“What happened to the bad guy?”

“The police killed him. Protecting me. And Belle.”

“Good,” Gus said with brutal honesty. “I’m happy they did.”

“The lesson from this is that guns are bad, Gus,” Lindsay tried to make a morality tale out of it 
and Brian chuckled at that attempt. 

“Especially in the hands of bad guys. You okay now, Sonny Boy?” Gus nodded. “Good. Then 
hop down and go finish your breakfast.”

When they were alone, Lindsay asked, “Was it arson?”

“Looks like.”

“God, Brian.”

“I know.”

“What about your house in New Orleans?”

“It’s not the same. It’s fenced, alarmed, in the middle of a heavily trafficked area. I’m not going 
to obsess about this and live in fear, Linds. We’ll deal. We’ll help them find this crazy 
motherfucker. But we can’t live in a fireproof vault.” He met her worried expression with a sigh. 
“Maybe you should take Gus back to Pittsburgh.”

“We’re fine,” she said. When she wanted to be, Lindsay could be incredibly stubborn. “I have to 
help Boyd with his gallery, and Gus is having a grand time with you. Vice versa, I expect.”

“Yes, but I’d rather him be safe than entertained.”

“He will be. We all will be. We have to believe that.”

“Would part of your reason for staying here be the lovely Jane?”

“We’re not going there, Brian. You and I. We aren’t discussing Jane.”

“Fine, Linds, but you have unfinished business in Pittsburgh. You can’t live your life that way. 
Finish your veggies before you hit the dessert cart.”

“Relationship advice from Brian Kinney. Call out the press.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Whatever you say, Brian.”

Boyd walked in. “Private?”

Brian patted the sofa beside him. “I was just telling Lindsay how to live her life.”

“He’s so good at his own,” Lindsay glared as Brian slipped an arm over Boyd’s shoulders.

“I have no complaints.”

She said something sympathetic to Boyd about his house and then left them alone. “Sorry about 
Belle,” Boyd leaned against Brian’s arm. “Gus seems okay.”

“She didn’t know he didn’t know. Hell, I didn’t know that, either. He’ll be fine. He had to work 
through it, but he did. Now it’s just a cool fact about his old man.”

Boyd smiled and spread his hand over Brian’s scar. “One of many.”

They kissed, interrupted by Mac. “Ew,” he complained, with the typical disdain of a child 
towards parental displays of affection. “Are you taking us to school, Dad?”

“Yes. You want to ride along, Brian? We can go out to the mill house afterwards.”

Brian agreed and Boyd was still telling Mac that he couldn’t go with them, all the way to the 
school. When they were alone, Brian laughed. “Persistent little shit, isn’t he? Wonder where he 
gets that?”

“Yeah, really. Stepfather maybe?”

“I suspect it’s closer to his genetic pool than that.”

As they pulled up to the charred skeleton of the mill house, they found the sheriff’s car and the 
car of the parish fire inspector parked side by side. “We forgot to bring the note,” Brian said. 

“That was stupid,” Boyd acknowledged. “At least we know where it is. Are you going to be 
civilized today or are you going to go off again and explain to the guy that I may own the house 
he’s living in?”

Brian chuckled. “I don’t make any promises if he pisses me off.”

“And that’s so hard to do. God, it looks even more miserable in the light, doesn’t it? There’s just 
nothing left.”

Brian cuffed the back of Boyd’s neck with his hand as they picked their way over the debris and 
rutted ground to the ruins. Sheriff Carter greeted them and introduced them to the inspector, a 
jovial African American man with a native Louisianan drawl. “Someone left a note on the 
windshield of our car last night,” Boyd told them. “It said ‘Next time, you in it’. We presume it 
was left by the arsonist.”

“Where is that note, Boyd?”

“It’s in the glove box in Brian’s car. Parked at the B&B in town.”

“Leave it where it is. I’ll stop by and pick it up. There may be some evidence we can get from it. 
Car locked?”

Brian shrugged and fished in his pocket, removing his keys. “Here. Just leave them with Jon or 
Peter.”

“What do you think?” Boyd asked the inspector who was bending over a heap of ash in a corner. 

“I think someone used a crudely made device laced with accelerant to ignite the blaze. You can 
see evidence of what’s left of it here.”

Brian and Boyd looked at each other after quickly determining there was no way they could 
make any sense out of the ashes. The inspector was taking photos and when he finished, he put 
some charred items into a large plastic bag and sealed it. “You have any idea who would do that, 
Mr. Coulter?”

“Some nut case, the same one who threatened us before. The same one we caught poking around 
here one night, but couldn’t catch. The same one who left the note on the car. He’s either a 
religious fanatic or a homophobe or both. A pyromaniac, obviously. We couldn’t identify him, it 
was too dark. That’s why we moved out of here and into the B&B, because of him.”

“You make some enemies?”

“Just by being who I am, a Coulter, I have some built-in enemies. People fired from the mill 
operations, people with a grudge against my family. And then there’s the fact I’m gay. That 
comes equipped with standard issue hate and prejudice. What else? Maybe they don’t like 
blonds? I don’t know.”

“How about you, sir? What’s your name?”

“Brian Kinney.”

“You live here too?”

“I did, for awhile. With Boyd. Lots of people hate me, too. I’m building a gay nightclub in an 
abandoned church in New Orleans. That’s created a lot of notoriety among a certain element of 
the Christian community. Our relationship got local press when I was wrongly accused of a 
crime, which went nowhere, by the way,” he shifted his eyes to Carter, who maintained a stony 
expression. “But this isn’t just about Boyd and me and whether our relationship bothers people. 
Fuck that. We have kids who live with us. Three of them. Our kids. What kind of bastard would 
threaten the lives of three innocent children because he doesn’t like the way we live?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Kinney, some zealots view children as collateral damage.”

“Do you know how sick that is?”

“I do. Has anyone tried to get money from either of you? Extortion?”

“My former father in law,” Boyd volunteered. “And he’s a crazy old drunk. But he would never 
endanger his grandchildren just to get at me. Not with fire. And frankly, he’s not swift enough to 
set that kind of blaze. Nor has he been very mobile since he ended up in the hospital after 
threatening Brian and me with physical harm.”

Carter added, “I can give you the report on that, but that ol’ fool didn’t do this here.”

“I don’t try to find the culprit, Sheriff. I just find the cause of the blaze. The rest is up to your 
boys. I’ll be filing a report within the week and it will be listed as arson. Do you know what the 
value of this property is, Mr. Coulter?”

“It’s insured for just under a million with three-quarters of a million for the personal property, 
although most of the valuable things had already been removed and stored. Of course that was 
just for the structure. The land is something else altogether. It’s a five-acre package. But you 
don’t insure dirt,” he kicked at the topsoil. “It’s still here.”

“You should get your insurance people out today and then get this building destroyed before it 
falls and hurts someone. It’s very unstable. I’ll be putting signs up before I go, warning away the 
curious.”

A car from the plantation house pulled up. Homer was behind the wheel. Boyd’s mother and 
oldest sister got out, bringing a groan from him. The sheriff said he was going back to town and 
would stop and get the note on his way to his office. The inspector went to get his signs. Boyd’s 
mother held a hand up to her mouth as she stared at the shell in horror.

“Who would do a thing like this?”

“It could be someone who doesn’t like homos, Mother,” Luann suggested. Boyd glared at her. 

“Why are you here?”

“Boyd, you need to move those children into our home,” his mother demanded. “They aren’t safe 
with you, right now.”

Boyd felt Brian tense so he put a restraining hand on his arm. “My children are fine, Mother. 
They’ve had enough upset in their lives, lately. It’s important that they be with me now. The 
house we’re in is alarmed and has sprinklers and is in town. We’ll be moving out of this 
stinkhole as soon as our house in New Orleans is ready.”

“That’s so typically selfish of you, Boyd,” Luann said. “You don’t care about doing what’s right 
for those kids, you just want what’s yours, the way you always do.”

“Boyd has always done what is right for his kids,” Brian flared. “He’s an exceptional father. 
What the fuck do you know?”

“I know that raising two children with two daddies is sick. I know it’s not natural. I know they’d 
be better off in an environment where people aren’t trying to burn you down because of your 
sick and twisted relationship.”

“Where were you last night?” Brian shot back. “You know how to set a fuse?”

“How dare you!” Boyd’s mother joined the fray. 

“How dare you let her say those kind of things about your own son!”

“Brian,” Boyd smoothed his hand between Brian’s shoulder blades. “Stop. It’s not worth it.”

“I’m going to have a smoke,” Brian reached for his cigarettes as he stalked back to Boyd’s car, 
giving him the space with his family. He knew he couldn’t restrain himself from attacking them 
if he stayed where he was, and he didn’t want to add to Boyd’s tension. Boyd watched him go 
and then stepped closer to Luann as he said,

“You make one stupid move towards my family and I will ruin you, sister. I will take that 
company down. I will turn it into a nationwide scandal, what’s been done there, and you’ll find 
yourself looking for honest work for the first time in your lousy, parasitical life.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Boyd. You hurt my pocket, you hurt your own pocket.”

“But unlike you, I’ve diversified. I have a portfolio of unrelated stock and bonds and cash that 
would support me quite well for the rest of my life and the lives of my children. I bought land, 
Luann. Here, there, everywhere. Grandpa told me when I was twelve, ‘Boyd, the end is in sight 
for sugar. Maybe fifty years, maybe less, but this gravy train will end. Spread out.’ And so I did. 
And I know what Daddy did. I know about Dr. Sugar. You can tell him that. And I know he 
misused corporate funds to buy it. It’s over, Luann. The big bad secret he was so afraid my 
auditors would find, I found on my own. So you back the fuck off or I swear to God I will ruin 
you. I will take this family apart.”

“Don’t talk that way, Boyd,” his mother looked genuinely scared by this aspect of her son that 
she had never seen before. “What’s he talking about, Luann? What does Dr. Sugar mean?”

She glared at her mother. “Never mind him, Mother, he’s just bluffing. Let’s go. Oh, and Boyd? 
You better hope that the next time something like this happens, you aren’t in it.”

Boyd felt a chill as they walked back to the car, the similarity between Luann’s parting shot and 
the words in the note landing hard.

Current Mood:  stressed
 
08:57 am
Posting for Brian, gulp. Posting and RUNNING. GULP. Ran

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


In the car, Brian said nothing, responding only when Boyd spoke to him. Boyd's concern grew as 
he drove. When they reached the B&B he said, "I have to go into the office for awhile, Brian. I 
don't feel much like working all day. But I'll call my insurance company and probably meet them 
out there, and arrange to pull down what's left of the building." 

Brian nodded. Boyd reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me." Brian met 
his eyes. Boyd saw an unfamiliar guarded expression cool Brian's gaze and he thought his ruddy 
complexion looked unnaturally pale. "Do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Do you want to meet for lunch?"

"Yeah, okay. Call me."

"Brian, do you want me to stay home?"

"Go do what you need to do," Brian said and got out of the car. Boyd watched him walk into the 
house. He didn't even kiss him goodbye. Was it a delayed reaction? Was it something more? 
Boyd's instincts told him to follow Brian into the house and make him open up to him, but he 
had to get that damned structure down before someone got hurt. He would finish what had to be 
done and then make things better with Brian, later. He put the car into gear and drove away, his 
lover's quiet mood haunting him even more than the fire.

Inside the house, Gus rushed up to his father, who picked him up, kissed his cheek, and handed 
him back to Lindsay, telling her he had something to do. He went up to their room and locked 
the door. He sat down on the bed and stared at the floor. He felt like that alligator tail that some 
chef had attacked with an ice cream scoop, hauling out mounds of his entrails and leaving a shell 
of skin behind. He slipped into a memory.

He was five.

It was Christmas morning.

Santa Claus brought him a soccer ball, new cleats, and a miniature goal that could be set up in 
the back yard when the snow melted so he could practice goal kicks. But for now the snow was 
thick, the net would have to wait and he had the impatience of a young boy with a new toy. 
While Jack hit the egg nog, Claire sulked in her bedroom because she didn't get the pink parka 
with the rabbit fur lining she wanted, and Joan dressed for church, the young Brian put on his 
cleats with his pajamas and manuevered the ball around the living room and dining room with 
the clumsy skill of a child just finding his legs. He upended a plastic laundry basket to serve as a 
goal, safely placing it against the wall in the hallway. He dribbled upfield, he shot, and the ball 
careened off the corner and hit the Christmas tree in the living room. The big fir teetered as Brian 
watched in frozen horror and then crashed to the floor. Ornaments shattered, lights popped, water 
spilled from the reservoir. The offending ball rolled free. 

The entire family rushed into the room. His mother gave out a little yelp of surprise and horror 
while Claire stared at her brother with the satisfaction of knowing he was about to get slammed. 
Jack took it all in, and then cut a drunken stare at his son, who was by now shivering with fear, 
still unable to move. "You. Did. This." Jack said.

"It was an accident," Brian managed to say and then Jack clamped the back of his neck in a vise 
and drug him over to the tree, throwing him down beside it. The shattered glass of the ornaments 
cut into Brian's palms and knees, shiny slivers working their way beneath his skin like decorative 
splinters. He began to bleed. "Clean it up," Jack commanded of him. "All of it!"

"I can't!" Brian began to cry. "I can't move the tree, it's too big!"

"You figure it out and don't leave this room until you do," Jack slapped the back of Brian's head, 
hard enough to make him dizzy for a minute. His mother came into the room with towels, a 
broom, a dust pan, a trash can. Brian looked up at her, her image blurred by his tears.

"I hurt my hands, Mama. I'm bleeding."

He held them up to show her the blood running down from his palms and she picked out the 
glass pieces and wiped the blood on a towel. "Quit babying the little bastard!" Her husband 
complained. "You want to turn him into a queer, the little crybaby?"

"He can't pick up this mess with glass in his hands, Jack," she said, and her husband replied, 

"Bitch, you want to help him then get on your fucking knees and you clean it up, you and your 
queer little girly boy!"

Brian snapped out of that memory. It hurt too much to stay there. The pain was emotional as well 
as physical. His mother did help him clean up, but his hands and his knees were throbbing with 
pain the whole time and he couldn't stop crying. She told him he had broken ornaments that had 
been in the family for generations and that they could never replace. She told him he had 
destroyed memories of Christmases past forever. She fed him the guilt that accompanied the pain 
that Jack delivered. He snapped out of the memory again. Jack and Joan were both dead. It was 
over.

You.Did.This.

That would never die.

Brian picked up Boyd's robe and pressed it to his face, inhaling the scent of the man he loved. 
Boyd had been a quiet and closeted family man when Brian met him. Maybe his life was quietly 
desperate, but it was quiet. His ex-wife, the mother of his children, was alive and well, if 
somewhat horrific. His extended family was intact. And then it began. It began with Brian. This 
spiral they were in. For every rung they climbed higher on their personal relationship, something 
horrible happened below. Murder, false accusations, arrests, threats, heart attacks, leaving Boyd's 
home, children endangered, shots fired, Christians on a rampage, the forced outing, and now the 
fire. With threats of more fire to come.

You. Did. This. 

Brian felt the tears burn, but he refused to give in to that emotion. He wasn't five anymore. He 
was a man now. And men didn't cry. He got up, walked downstairs and said to Lindsay, "Pack. 
I'm taking you back to Pittsburgh."

"I'm not going."

"Yes you are."

"You can't make me, Brian."

"I won't pay for your rooms here. You have the money?"

"That is just...evil."

"Pack. I won't have you guys in danger. I won't be responsible for anything happening to Gus. If 
you want to stay at my loft there so you don't have to see Melanie, fine. But you're getting out of 
here. So pack. Now."

He went back to his room and called Boyd. "Are you feeling better?" His lover asked. "You 
looked so pale."

"I'm fine," Brian was ice. "I'm taking Lindsay and Gus back to Pittsburgh today."

"Uh, why?"

"Why do you think?"

Boyd paused. "Okay. But when you say taking them..."

"Yes, I'm flying up with them."

"Why, Brian?"

"I'm seeing them safely home."

"Are you afraid to stay here? With me? Because of the fire?"

"No, I'm not afraid for myself. But...maybe the fanatics will back off you a little if I'm not around 
for awhile. Maybe the focus of this isn't so much you as it is us. Maybe your family will be 
appeased somehow."

"What are you saying? You're going to be gone for how long?"

"I don't know. Until things cool off, I guess. Bad joke, but you know what I mean."

"I don't think I do know what you mean, Brian. Are you leaving me?"

Brian winced, pressing his palm to his chest as those glass slivers from that long ago Christmas 
fiasco seemed to penetrate his heart. "I love you, Boyd." His voice cracked, an annoying 
weakness, as Boyd gasped.

"I love you, too. Don't you dare leave me, Brian."

"I don't know what else to do."

"I'm on my way home. Just wait for me."

"No, Boyd, don't. I'll be gone by the time you get here." He couldn't look at Boyd and keep his 
resolve. He would cave, he would weaken. 

"Brian, don't do this. Don't do this. This solves nothing. Don't leave."

"I will always love you," Brian whispered as he hung up the phone and turned off his mobile. 


 




Current Mood:  crushed
 
05:24 am - BURN Chapter 71
Ok, Burniacs, he worked long hours to get this for you, so here it is. Not over yet! BWAHAAA! 
Ran

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




As Lisette left the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals following her oral argument before a three-
judge panel, the skies opened up and dumped buckets of chilled rain on the Crescent City. She 
knew that hailing a cab was useless in this weather, so she opened her umbrella and started 
walking. She was resigned to being soaked by the time she reached her home. It was already late 
afternoon. She proved her worth to the firm by delivering a brilliant fight on behalf of a client. 
Now was the time for a hot bath, a warm cup of tea and a little relaxation before her partner 
came home from the hospital. 

Her pants legs and shoes were soaked from the water that accumulated in gutters, splashed on 
pedestrians by passing cars. She was beginning to feel the chill in her bones, grateful when her 
house came into sight. Fumbling for her key with numb fingers, she gasped when someone 
stepped from the shadows and grabbed her arm. She dropped her umbrella and her briefcase, 
prepared to defend herself. Then she saw that the bedraggled stranger, who was soaked to the 
skin, was her younger brother. “What the fuck, Boyd? You terrified me! Why are you standing 
out here in the rain? You have a key.”

“I forgot it. He left me, Lis,” Boyd said with pain in his voice that cut through her anger. “Brian 
left me.”

Inside the security of her home, Boyd looked a little silly in Lisette’s too small black velour robe 
while she dressed in flannel pajamas, her damp hair wrapped up in a terrycloth turban. She 
poured each of them a couple fingers of amber bourbon as they pulled their chairs closer to the 
blazing hearth. To hell with tea; stronger measures were called for with this news. Using a 
robotic inflection, Boyd stared into the flames as he told her what he knew. “I went to the B&B,” 
he added. “But he was already gone. I drove to the airport, but he wasn’t on the plane I figured 
he would take, so I missed him there, too. He’s…gone.”

She reached over and took his hand in hers. “He’ll be back.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then you’ll go up there and bring him back.”

“How? Kidnap him?”

“Brian’s not a coward, Boyd. I refuse to believe he would be scared away. Yes, he might want to 
remove his son from harm, but himself? No. That’s not his style. He took a bullet for your 
daughter. Remember?”

Boyd winced. “You don’t get it. This isn’t about running away because he’s scared. This is about 
running away because he blames himself.”

“For what?”

Boyd stood, moving his arms apart to encompass the world. “For every fucking thing that has 
ever gone wrong from the Garden of Eden forward!”

She smiled. “Oh, that.”

“It’s not funny, Lis. This isn’t the first time he’s tried to leave me for ‘my own good’. He just 
made it out this time. I’m hurt and I’m crazed but I’m also angry. We’re supposed to be a team. 
We’re supposed to be here for each other. So now I’m left to deal with everything on my own. 
What kind of shit is that? And what about his business? Our house? Belle and Mac? What am I 
supposed to say to them? What about our life together? What about those things? We just pull 
the plug without even discussing it?”

“What are you saying? You give up?”

Boyd winced. “How can I give up on him? That’s like saying I give up on my right arm, my left 
lung, or my heart. He’s part of me. I love him, Lis. Brian’s the love of my life, the one. We’re 
paired. But this hurts. I feel mad and left behind and sad and scared all at once.”

“Sit down, brother. You’re giving me a headache. One drama queen at a time,” she refilled their 
glasses. “Remember when you were a little boy and you kept trying to catch that big Monarch 
butterfly who skittered around our garden?”

He took a sip of whiskey as he collapsed in a chair, glaring at her. “Vaguely.”

“I told you to leave it alone. That just because you thought it was pretty, that didn’t mean you 
would be able to keep it. I said butterflies are fragile and to hold one is to take on a great 
responsibility because of that fragility. They’re like tissue, so easy to tear apart. Rain drops can 
beat holes in their little wings, a strong wind can tear them to shreds.”

“So what’s your point? I left it alone.”

“Yes, but in some ways Brian is that butterfly, Boyd. He’s beautiful, he’s hypnotic to watch, but 
he conceals a delicate fragility. When you were drawn to his beauty and decided to capture him, 
you took on a responsibility for that fragility. It falls to you to protect him from the raindrops and 
the ill winds that tear him apart. Even if those raindrops come from within. Now his beautiful 
wings are torn, and that ill wind is blowing through them. Are you just going to leave him there 
to fade away? Or are you going to accept the duty you assumed when you fell in love with a 
fragile soul and bring him home to heal? What’s it going to be?” 

“Pearl says Brian is a hurricane, a force of nature. You say he’s a butterfly, beautiful and fragile. 
Which is it?”

“Maybe both, in different ways. But whatever analogy you choose, if you don’t act, Brian will be 
lost. And by the way, brother, so will you.”

Boyd finished the last of the whiskey in his glass as he stared at the fire and thought of 
hurricanes and a storm of butterflies, with Brian Kinney standing in the dead center of both. 

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

Going back to the loft was difficult for Brian. He carried a sleeping Gus, but every footstep felt 
heavy as he climbed the stairs, not waiting for the elevator. Lindsay took over once they were 
inside. She put Gus to bed and then said,

“Where will you go if we stay here?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Why did you feel you had to fly back with us, Brian? You didn’t say a word on the plane.”

“I have things to do. I’ll talk to you later.”

“When are you going back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Brian…” her frustration rang in her voice, but he waved her off and escaped into the night. He 
didn’t go visit Michael and Ben, or Debbie and Vic, or Emmett or Claire. He didn’t want to see 
anyone he knew. He didn’t go to Babylon or the diner. He bundled himself in his too-light 
jacket, remembering what a hard autumn chill really felt like, as he checked into a hotel and 
made his way to his room. He didn’t turn on the lights or take off his clothes. He didn’t even pull 
back the linens on the bed. 

He stretched out on his side, bringing his knees up slightly, his hands folded between them, his 
cheek on the pillow. Unable to sleep, he stared out the window at the neon that lit a distant night 
and tried to make his mind a blank. 

Sometime, in that utter darkness of the soul, he mercifully fell asleep. He was awakened later by 
a persistent knock at his door. He immediately thought, “Boyd”. He got up, threw the door open 
and focused on the blond who was wrapped in a down-filled parka to combat the cold. The pie 
slice of light from the hallway illuminated Brian’s disheveled appearance as the blond said, 

“You look like shit. Can I come in?”

“I thought you were in Italy,” Brian said, still numb with surprise.

“I was. I’m back.” He walked past Brian, turning on the light as he entered the room. He took in 
the closed leather duffel, the slightly mussed but still made-up bed, the signals of Brian in deep 
and private distress. 

“How did you…?” Brian closed the door, smoothing his hair with both hands as his vanity 
kicked in.

“Lindsay called me,” Justin sat back on the bed, propping up against the headboard as he stared 
at Brian. “We’ve stayed in touch while I was in Italy. Sharing the art experience, I guess. She 
said you were acting strangely. But you know what I really think it is? I think she saw a rift in 
your romance and decided this was an opportunity for her to make a move. To use me as a 
weapon.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s jealous of anyone you love, Brian. Duh. So, is she right? Is there a rift?”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“You first.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t love him anymore?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t. But do you?”

“I’ll always love Boyd.”

Justin smiled. “Then why are you here?”

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”

“Okay, cool, we don’t have to talk at all,” Justin threw off his jacket and pulled his turtleneck 
over his head, revealing his bare torso. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Brian picked up his fallen sweater and threw it back at him as 
Justin deflected it and slipped out of his boots. 

“I’m stripping. Take your clothes off.”

“Why?”

“Because fucking is so much easier to do when you’re naked.”

“I’m not fucking you!” Brian was getting angry now, his numbness penetrated by this annoying 
confrontation.

“Why not?” Justin looked innocent as he stopped removing clothing and stared at his former 
lover. “Don’t you want to get off? The sex was never our problem. Isn’t this just what you 
need?”

“It’s maybe the last thing I need right now,” Brian sat down heavily in the desk chair, swiveling 
towards the bed. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you turning me down?”

“Because I’m…because I don’t want to fall out of the pan and into the fire.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“You don’t want to fuck me because you’re so in love with him that you can’t even see yourself 
with anyone else right now. Because your heart is breaking because you ran away from him. 
Because you pulled a typically stupid Brian Kinney move to ‘save someone’ from your curse, 
and now you have no idea what to do with yourself.”

Angry, Brian stood and threw off his jacket, pulling his shirt over his head. His undershirt rode 
up to reveal his flat abs, but he didn’t take it off. “Don’t act like you can read me. You want to 
fuck? Fine, let’s do it.”

He pushed Justin back on the bed, kissed him hard on the mouth, recalling other tumbles, other 
times, with this same mouth, this same body, this same boy. But this time, it just didn’t feel quite 
right. He moaned as he rolled off of him and threw an arm across his eyes. “Get out.”

“Brian, I’m not here to seduce you,” Justin said, running a soothing hand over Brian’s stomach. 
He felt him flinch beneath his touch. “That may be Lindsay’s plan, but it’s not mine. She thought 
I would seduce you while you’re vulnerable. That way, I could further complicate whatever 
issues you have with Boyd, and ensure your misery. But I know you better than she does, which 
is something she’s never been able to admit to herself. You’ve changed enough where even I 
don’t know you like I did, but I still know the kid at your core. That never changes.”

“I repeat,” Brian removed his arm from his eyes to stare at Justin. “Why are you here? And how 
did you know where I’d be?”

“Easy. I knew you wouldn’t want to be around other people. You prefer to lick your wounds in 
private. There are only three hotels in the immediate area, so I called all three and asked them to 
ring your room. Voila, here you are.”

“My phone never rang.”

“I hung up and headed over, once they confirmed. I used my baby blues on the gay clerk at the 
desk to convince him I was your lover, here to surprise you. He wouldn’t give me a key, but he 
did give me your room number.”

“He should be fired.”

“It’s not his fault. I’m irresistible, remember?”

Brian smiled. “I have a dim memory of something like that.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Have you talked to him?”

Brian shook his head. Justin sighed. “Don’t you think you should? Don’t you think he’s going 
crazy? Don’t you think you owe him more than this?”

“Let him think I’m a total bastard. In the end, it will make it easier for him to forget.”

“Brian, he already knows you’re a bastard. Anyone who lives with you knows that. But he’s the 
guy you chose to be your life partner and vice versa. Whatever happened, you can’t just sneak 
off without even having that final confrontation. And it’s clear you’re still in love with him. Why 
are you torturing yourself?”

Brian sat up, his expression turning grim. “I know you’re trying to help, but stop. It’s none of 
your business, what happens between Boyd and me. I don’t want to discuss it. Now I’m going to 
take a shower. When I come out, please be gone.”

Justin watched him walk into the bathroom, and then picked up his mobile beside the bed. It was 
off, but when he turned it on, it began to buzz with one frantic message indicator after another. 
Almost all of them were from Boyd’s number, or at least Justin supposed that number belonged 
to Boyd. He pushed the “call back” option, but went to voice mail. It was Boyd’s voice on the 
message, as he expected. He said, “He’s in the Westin Hotel on Liberty Avenue and Tenth. 
Room 314. You need to come here. He’s in bad shape.” He ended the call and turned the phone 
off, replacing it where it was.

When Brian came out, wrapped in a robe, and rubbing a towel through his hair, he glared at 
Justin, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t dressed. “Why are you still here?”

“I ordered food. I’m waiting for it.”

“Get your own damned food!”

“I did.”

“Justin, please leave. I want to be alone. Can you understand that?”

“Only too well, Brian. Can you? I was the victim of more than one cliff-push by you. Now it’s 
Boyd’s turn. You know what it is, that tendency of yours? Cowardice wrapped up in self-
sacrifice.”

Brian lit a cigarette and opened the mini bar, removing a small bottle of Black Jack. He poured it 
in a glass with the melting remnants from the ice bucket. “Fuck you.”

“It’s true. It’s a hell of a lot easier to run than to hang around and work your way through the 
problems. Because with every reconciliation of an issue, you make yourself even more 
vulnerable, reveal another weakness, move a little closer to your lover. Better that you run and 
not let him see your seamy underside. Did he cheat on you?”

“No,” Brian shot an acid glare at him. “That would be you.”

Justin took the arrow and smiled. “Did you cheat on him?”

“No. It’s not about cheating. It’s about security. It’s about what is best for Boyd and his kids. It’s 
about the damage our relationship has done to him in his community, in his life. How it’s put 
him and those kids in actual danger.”

“Because of you, personally, or because of the queer thing?”

“Both. My association with the church-cum-gay club hasn’t helped.”

“So now that you fled, he’s no longer reviled as a queer? Or is he just reviled as a queer with no 
partner there to help him get through the hatred?”

“I really don’t need some underaged Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder telling me what’s right. 
What the fuck do you know?”

“I know I’m not underage and haven’t been for some time. And I know bullshit when I smell it.”

“And I know it’s none of your fucking business.”

A knock at the door interrupted and Brian admitted the room service waiter, who sat up the table 
by the window with food for two. He smiled tensely at Justin as Brian signed. Justin smiled 
back. Let him think whatever he was thinking, Justin didn’t care. When they were alone, Brian 
said, “Eat and then leave. And would you mind putting on your sweater?”

“Why? Is the sight of my tits making you crazy?” he went over to the table and lifted a silver 
cover to reveal Brian’s steak, and his own hamburger. “Come on, eat with me.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Try.”

Brian sat down in the other chair, staring down at the steak, baked potato, asparagus. He already 
missed Louisiana cooking. Justin dug into his burger and fries with typical gusto. “Why are you 
back, anyway?” Brian picked up a spear of asparagus and bit off the tip. 

“My time in Italy was up. The course ended. And I’m making my move.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m moving to Manhattan with a couple friends from school. We’re getting a small place in 
Chelsea or East Village or somewhere. One wants to be an actor. She’s really talented. The other 
is an artist, like me. I think I’m ready to give it a shot.”

Brian nodded. “Manhattan makes sense,” he cut into the steak. He took a bite. “What will you 
live on?”

“I have a job lined up, doing spec commercial art for a small advertising firm. Just to pay the 
rent.”

“At least you have some experience at that. You need to get an agent. Boyd knows…” Brian 
stopped, frowned, put down his fork. It no longer mattered who Boyd knew. His link to Boyd 
was broken. Justin sighed. 

“Don’t do this, Brian. Don’t punish yourself, or Boyd, or the family you guys have put together. 
Don’t deny yourself the chance to be happy because you believe that, fundamentally, you don’t 
deserve it. You do deserve it. You’re a good man. Let yourself find that out.”

“I can’t let my own personal desires outweigh the safety and security of people I love, Justin. If 
anything happened to Boyd because of me, or to his children, how do I live with that?”

“Let me ask you something. How do you live with it if something happens to them and you’re 
not even there?”

Brian leaned back, as if absorbing a physical blow from Justin. He hadn’t thought of that. He just 
assumed if he left, all of the bad karma flowed with him and the Coulters would mend their rifts 
and Boyd and his children would be safe again. Protected. The thought of them being 
endangered and alone made him want to throw up the food he just ingested. “It…it wouldn’t be 
that way.”

“How do you know?”

“I…it just wouldn’t.”

“But how do you know, Brian?”

Brian stared out the window, his appetite gone as the first snow of autumn began to fall, 
shrouding the neon in an alabaster wash, like the false light of morning. He felt equally cold 
inside, and Justin’s question tightened the ice. A sense of panic rose in his fatigued and 
emotionally drained mind. He glanced at the phone, and then at the clock that read twelve-thirty 
four. He had no idea what to do. His clear path suddenly forked and each road led to potential 
disaster. 
Current Mood:  distressed
(Leave a comment)
04:30 pm - BURN 72
Hi, Burniacs. I needed to get this written. Thanks, Brian


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


Boyd was physically exhausted and emotionally drained. He slumped down in the back seat of 
the taxi, huddling deeper into Brian’s leather jacket. He saw the jacket when he opened their 
closet at the B&B. He pressed it to his face, inhaling Brian’s blend of nicotine, soap and 
masculinity. He wanted to cry as he held it, but instead, he put it on over his clothes. It would be 
cold in Pittsburgh. How cold, he didn’t yet know, but cold. 

His weather prediction was accurate. Brian’s jacket was hardly enough to cut the chill. Boyd was 
a southern boy, not used to snow in autumn, or ever, really. He found this city as hard and 
unyielding as the steel that made it famous. He pulled a stocking cap over his fair hair and 
plunged his hands in his pockets, trying to sort out his mood. He seemed to be all over the place, 
unable to land on any one emotional reaction.

So Justin was with Brian. Perfect. Did Brian seek Justin out? Or did Justin come calling? He 
reminded himself that Justin affirmatively tried to help by alerting him to where Brian was 
staying. He knew he shouldn’t feel jealous, but what the fuck? Why not one more set of 
emotions to add to the maelstrom? God knows, he had been through every other possible 
reaction. Why not jealousy too?

He was scared more than he was jealous. Scared that Brian wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t listen, 
had his mind made up about leaving. Scared of facing life without Brian. Scared of being unable 
to handle that pain. He was also hurt. Hurt that Brian would risk their love, would even consider 
voluntarily leaving him; that he put so little value on what they shared. He was even a little 
angry. Angry that Brian considered running to be a valid method of protecting the people he 
loved. Angry that he would do so without even talking it through with Boyd before he went. 
Finally, he was sad. Sad that Brian was so damaged by others that he felt responsible for external 
forces, and that the world was so harsh and unforgiving to homosexuals that self-hatred and guilt 
was always packed in their luggage. 

He wondered if he was enough man to overcome Brian’s wounds? Could he ever make him feel 
secure and loved enough to stay put? Would he face these flights every time things got tense? 
Because he wasn’t sure his own ego was secure enough to live in fear that the love he felt for 
Brian was built on a marshy foundation. He deserved to feel secure himself, to be able to count 
on his partner to be there when he needed him most. 

“This is it, sir,” the driver pulled into the porte-cochere at the Westin. Boyd paid him and 
sprinted into the warmth of the lobby. He didn’t pause at the desk, going straight to the room 
number Justin left for him in his message. Once there, he stood in the hallway, staring at the 
door, but not knocking on it. 

Dread encased him like a body cast, immobilizing him completely. What if they were in the 
middle of it? How would he handle that devastation? What if Brian wouldn’t even talk to him? 
What if Brian said it was over, go home? He pulled Brian’s jacket tighter around his body, as if it 
were the arms of his lover, seeking comfort from that forlorn embrace. And that was when the 
door opened as Justin said, 

“At least come hold the door, Brian, so it doesn’t close on me and lock me out.” He was pushing 
a room service cart laden with half-eaten food and dirty dishes. He looked at Boyd, surprised to 
find him there. Boyd took in Justin’s bare chest, bare feet, and felt something within him sink. 
Justin smiled and shook his head. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like what?” Brian’s voice, from behind him in the room. Justin shoved the cart out and 
grabbed Boyd’s arm, pulling him inside. The door shut behind them. Boyd glimpsed Brian, 
seated in a chair, staring out the window, dressed only in a robe. That tightness in him became 
suffocating. 

“And now for dessert,” Justin remarked as he picked up his discarded sweater and pulled it over 
his head. He sat on the bed to put on his shoes and socks as Brian was saying,

“I don’t want dess…” He stopped. He saw Boyd standing there in his cap and Brian’s leather 
jacket and he couldn’t move. Justin picked up his coat and paused at the door.

“Good luck, guys,” he said, and then he was gone. Boyd glanced at the bed that was still made, if 
mussed, and then at his lover. Brian hadn’t moved. 

“Did you fuck him?” Boyd heard himself ask, not exactly how he pictured this going. He hated 
hearing his own voice. He hated the childish insecurity and hurt that echoed in his words. 

Brian said nothing. He just shook his head. No. Boyd sat down on the end of the bed, staring at 
the floor as he asked, “Did you call him?”

“No.”

Boyd pulled the triple band ring off his left hand and threw it at Brian. It hit his chest and 
clattered to the table. “If you’re going to walk out on me, you may as well take your fucking ring 
with you. Pawn it. Throw it in a fucking steel furnace, I don’t care. But if you’re not with me, the 
ring has no meaning whatsoever.” No, this was definitely not the scene that he played in his 
head.

Brian picked up the ring and slid it down his knuckle to rest above his matching ring. “Do I get 
my jacket back too?”

Boyd stared at him. “Fuck you.”

“You came up here to say ‘fuck you’ and give me this ring?”

“You’re killing me, Brian! Do you know that? You’re killing me! How can you do this? How 
can you just leave? We have a life together. We have kids, a house, a relationship. You’re the 
most important person in my life. While everything else around me may be falling apart, at least 
I thought I could count on you to be there.”

Brian’s expression was impervious to detection. “Live and learn.”

Boyd stalked over and grabbed Brian by the lapels of his robe. He hauled his surprised lover out 
of his chair in one smooth motion and slammed Brian’s back against the wall beside the window. 
Boyd held him there as he said, “Stop it! Drop this ‘I’m so cool nothing gets to me’ bullshit! 
Don’t you dare act like you don’t care. I know you, Brian Kinney. I’ve seen you cry. I know 
what’s behind that pretty little mask of yours. So don’t try your moves on me because they won’t 
fucking work!”

“Let go of me,” Brian demanded with a calm tone of voice. Boyd released him after a second 
shove against the wall and placed both hands on top of his cap as he walked away from Brian, 
his frustration building with each step. “I don’t want to hurt you, Boyd,” Brian’s voice followed 
him.

“Too late!” Boyd spun to face him. “Too fucking late! You left me, when I really needed you to 
be there, Brian. You think that doesn’t hurt?”

“Don’t you see that my being there has put you and your children in danger? Why can’t you see 
that? If not for yourself, see it for them. I did this! I caused you to come out, and brought down 
the wrath of your family. I lit the fuse with arsonists and other fanatics. That was me. I did that. 
I’m the one who’s fucked up your life and made you a target!”

Boyd threw his arms up in complete frustration. “I knew you’d say that. I knew it. I knew it. I 
knew that’s what it was. You need help, do you understand that, Brian? I thought that giving you 
a strong, loving and supportive partner would heal your ancient wounds, but that was naďve on 
my part. I’m no more magical than you are. I can’t fix you. And you can’t fix yourself without 
help, because the issues you carry around that force you to take the blame for every evil in the 
world run way too deep. You need to get professional help to deal with those demons and put 
your responsibility in perspective.”

Brian glared at him. “I don’t need anything like that. I know my demons very well. I’m fine with 
them. Any rational person tries to protect the people he loves.”

“By leaving? You aren’t all that, Brian. I have huge issues at work, with my family, with the 
community, that go beyond the fact I’m gay. And I am gay, you know. You can’t just say you 
brought me out therefore you’re to blame for any backlash I may get as a gay man. I was gay 
before I met you and I will be gay from now on. It doesn’t go away. And even if you leave me, 
you think people who have a problem with my being gay are going to say, ‘Brian’s gone, so 
Boyd’s not queer anymore. Cool.’ No. It doesn’t work that way. The cat is out of the fucking 
bag!”

“But the club…”

“Fuck the club, Brian. That little clot of Christians who oppose the club are the least of my 
problems right now. Fuck them. And what about the club? You just abandoning it, too?”

“No, I…”

“You didn’t think about that, right?”

Brian shrugged. Boyd went on. “You need to tell me right now if you’re no longer in love with 
me or if you don’t want to be tied down or whatever. Because if that’s the power behind this act 
of yours, then you best be honest with me. Be a man and tell me so to my face.”

“I love you. I’ll always love you, Boyd.”

“But from afar? You no longer want this relationship between us?”

“If we lived in a perfect world, I would never spend one day away from you, Boyd.”

“Really? Well that’s an achievable goal. All it takes for us to have a relationship is a perfect 
world. News flash, Eve, God closed the Garden. This is the real world. This is where we live. Do 
you have the balls for it or not?”

“I can’t live with the thought that my love for you causes you or your kids harm, Boyd. I can’t. 
I’d rather live in misery by myself and know you are all safe than live in happiness with you 
until the boom falls.”

“All you accomplish by living in misery apart from me is to make us both miserable. You don’t 
protect us from harm. You can’t. Period. I can’t even guarantee the safety of my own kids. No 
one can. The most perfect Norman Rockwell family in the world can’t stop a pedophile from 
kidnapping, sexually torturing and killing little Billy. It fucking happens. No one is safe. And 
you know what? If something unspeakable happened to someone I love, I would need you with 
me more than ever to help me get through it. That’s what love is, Brian. Being there for your 
lover. Not running away using some false pretense of protection.”

Brian felt all the steam escape from him as he collapsed in the chair, resting his head in his 
hands. “I fucked it up. I knew I would fuck it up. I always fuck it up.”

Boyd softened as his rage faded in response to Brian’s obvious pain. “You’re in the process of 
fucking it up. It’s not a done deal yet. You can make it so, however.”

Brian looked up. “How do I do that?”

“By letting me leave here without you. I adore you, Brian. You’re my life. But I can’t make you 
do something you don’t want to do. I won’t chase you endlessly trying to make you see the light. 
I have other responsibilities in my life, too.”

“You promised me you wouldn’t give up on me even if I do.”

“And that’s why I’m here.”

Brian stood, hugging his arms across his body as he said, “You’re so mad. I don’t know what to 
say. Take off that stupid hat.”

Boyd did so, shaking out his hair. “I’m not mad. I’m wrecked.”

“Where are your kids?”

“Jane took them to stay with Lisette.”

Brian nodded. “What do I say? I don’t know how to do this.”

“Why are you shaking?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know I was. I feel it now.”

“Are you cold?”

“I don’t know. Yes, inside, frozen.”

“Jesus, Brian,” Boyd walked over and enclosed him in his arms. Brian tensed, his eyes shutting 
as he inhaled Boyd’s scent, absorbed his warmth. His arms were still crossed between them. 
“Relax, would you? You’re like hugging a two by four. This is Boyd Coulter, your lover, your 
partner, not some maiden aunt you can’t stand to have touch you.”

“I am fucked up,” Brian whispered, his emotions suddenly freed of imprisonment. He slipped his 
arms around Boyd, pulling him close, sliding under his own jacket to feel Boyd’s body. “I am so 
fucked up.”

“I know,” Boyd rested his forehead on Brian’s shoulder. “I know you are, Brian. And I love you 
in spite of it. But we can’t live this way. I was in a relationship that had me on an emotional 
roller coaster before with Jared. I won’t do it again. You have to get help.”

“What kind of help?”

“A shrink. Someone who can help you face and deal with your ghosts. Until you do that, we’ll 
always be on a razor’s edge. I’ll go too, if you want. I mean as a couple. Or individually, I don’t 
care. But if we intend to make it long term, we need to be on even ground. I need to be able to 
rely on you and I also don’t want to see this pain continue to torture you. It hurts me, too.”

“I was raised by wolves. It took a toll.”

“I know. Me too. But I had grandparents and Lisette and other support structures you lacked. We 
can’t change the way we were brought up, Brian, but we can put it to rest. I have, for the most 
part. But maybe seeing a shrink would help me too, why not? I’ll do it if you will.”

“I don’t know.”

Boyd reached up to hold Brian’s face in both hands. “If you won’t agree to get help, then we 
should just call it quits. Because we’ll never be able to avoid this kind of thing in the future and 
the insecurity of that will make me crazy.”

“Are you giving me an ultimatum? I don’t like ultimatums.”

“I’m telling you that you need help and if you refuse to get it, I won’t be your enabler. If that’s 
an ultimatum, so be it.”

Brian smiled slightly. “I love it when you go all butch on me.”

“You haven’t seen the half of how butch I can be if you ever leave me again.”

“What are you going to do? Beat me up?”

“You think I couldn’t?”

Brian considered that, deciding that he could. “I think you wouldn’t.”

“That’s true. Brian, tell me what you want to do.”

“I really want to fuck you.”

“I can feel that. That’s not what I mean.”

“It tore me apart to leave you, Boyd. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I want to be with you. 
But I’m so fucking scared. Not for myself. For you, and the kids. Now I see that my leaving 
really doesn’t solve anything. Despite what you say, I feel responsible. I did this, Boyd.”

“And that, my love, is why you need to see a shrink.”

Outside, dawn was breaking as grey as steel, covered with a lace doily of snow. They kissed 
against this cold backdrop and the warmth of that moment transcended the weather. “Why do 
you want to be in love with a crazy person?” Brian asked as the kiss ended. “Two crazy people? 
First Jared, then me? Bonnie wasn’t too tightly hinged either.” Boyd smiled at that inquiry.

“You’re all crazy in different ways. Maybe I’m a collector. Or maybe I hate boring, I don’t 
know. Get dressed.”

“Dressed? Don’t you mean undressed? Don’t we get makeup sex out of this?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Boyd said with a glare. Brian winced. 

“You aren’t going to withhold sex as punishment are you? That probably won’t work with me.”

“No, but get dressed.”

Brian reluctantly dressed, pulling fresh clothes out of his bag. They were still too light for the 
weather. Boyd said, “No coat?”

“Just the one you’re wearing,” Brian eyed the leather jacket and Boyd zipped it up.

“Not today. It’s all I have. We’ll buy something. Put on that jacket for now.”

“It doesn’t go with this shirt.”

“Brian, don’t make me nuts. You can wear the hat.”

“Like I’d be caught dead in that thing.” 

They both laughed, the tension still between them, but less so than before. Boyd pulled the hat on 
and Brian stopped him at the door. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going? Should I take 
my bag?”

“No, we’ll be back. Come on.”

“Wait. Why are you carrying a bag? Leave it here. Are you leaving?”

“Brian, come on.”

“Put this on,” Brian held the ring on the palm of his hand. “And don’t take it off again.”

Boyd extended the ring finger of his right hand and Brian slipped it on for him. They kissed 
again, holding tightly to each other. Boyd sighed and reluctantly let him go. In the lobby, Boyd 
arranged for the hotel limo, talking quietly to the driver while Brian watched from afar, curious 
but not pressing the issue. 

He dozed in the car, his head against Boyd’s shoulder, their hands joined on Brian’s thigh. He 
didn’t wake until Boyd shook him gently. “We’re here. Come on.”

Brian squinted through the snow at the white landscape broken with shrouded tombstones, stone 
crosses and weeping angels bending over graves. He shook his head as he stared at his lover. 
“What the fuck?”

“Come on,” Boyd took his hand, leading him through the ankle deep crust covering the path. He 
carried his bag in the other hand. Brian stopped when it finally became clear to him what was 
happening. 

“No.”

Boyd’s blue eyes were unflinching. “Come on,” he tugged Brian’s hand. “Come.”

“No, Boyd.”

“Don’t be a coward.”

Brian flared at that, lighting a cigarette as they walked. Boyd paused at the pink granite 
tombstone that fronted the graves of Brian’s parents. Both of their names were engraved on the 
marker and Boyd brushed the snow off the top of the stone before he opened his bag and 
removed a bottle of whiskey. He opened it, drank a swig for warmth, and passed it to Brian, who 
did the same. “Now give it to your father and say goodbye.”

“Can we drink it first and give it to him recycled like that old joke?”

Boyd’s glare suggested otherwise and Brian sighed at the waste of good booze and poured it out, 
watching it sink through the blanket of snow in a figure S pattern. “So long, Jack, you old son of 
a bitch.”

Boyd pulled roses as white as the weather from his bag and handed them to Brian. “For your 
mother. Say goodbye.”

He placed the flowers on her grave and said, “Goodbye Mother. I hope you’re enjoying that 
vision of heaven your precious church sold you.”
He then turned to Boyd. “Can we go now? I’m freezing. I don’t want to join them after a bout 
with pneumonia.”

Boyd nodded, linking his arm through Brian’s as they returned to the limo. Rubbing his hands 
together in the warm interior, Brian said, “It’s not that easy you know. Saying goodbye is just a 
ritual. They never really let you go.”

“In that case you’ll let them win, Brian. Is that what you want?”

Brian frowned. “No.”

“Think about that. I’m hungry. Are you?”

“Yeah. Room service? In bed?”

Boyd smiled. “Let’s go to that diner we went to when I was here before.”

Brian sighed, disappointed, and gave the driver the address for the Liberty Diner. He wouldn’t 
feel that anything was settled between them until he was inside of Boyd. Sex was his weapon, his 
good thing, his reason why someone might be willing to put up with him. He wanted to remind 
Boyd of that. He wanted to feel safe again. Boyd smiled and squeezed his hand. “We’ve got a lot 
of work to do. Up to it?”

“If you are.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Boyd twisted the ring on his finger. And here was where he intended to stay. He wished he could 
get one of those ankle alerts for Brian that would let him know if he left a certain range. The 
thought of that made him smile. Making his lover feel like a prisoner was a bad result but 
sometimes his own insecurities needed venting. 

“I’m sorry,” Brian said. Boyd looked confused. 

“About?”

“Everything.”

“Take the world off your shoulders, Axis.”

“This doesn’t even feel like home anymore,” Brian watched the city slip by the windows.

“That’s because it’s not,” Boyd’s response was soft and warm. “Your home is in Louisiana now. 
With your family.” 

Brian let that fact sink in, those words filling a void created by the unexpected visit to the 
cemetery. His family. Minus one. He thought of Gus and how much he enjoyed their time 
together. He thought of Lindsay and what Justin told him about her motives. “I want Gus,” he 
said, causing Boyd to glance at his profile.

“Of course. I just assumed Gus is part of the family.”

“I mean I want Gus,” he emphasized and Boyd nodded.

“Then we need to mend your internal fences, don’t we?”

Brian shrugged, resting his cheek against the leather of the arm of his own jacket, wondering 
why it never looked so good on him.





Current Mood: crazy
 
03:11 pm - BURN, Chapter 73
Ok, Burniacs, just edited and posting for big b. Enjoy! Ran


***********




The sound Debbie made when she saw Brian and Boyd could only be compared to the wail of an 
air raid siren from a British movie about the Blitzkrieg in London. It silenced all conversation in 
the diner, and dogs a block away yelped. Brian tensed for the incoming embrace, but instead the 
blousy redhead threw her arms around Boyd and said, “My favorite southern boy! It’s been so 
long! How the hell are you, honey? Still hanging in with our resident drama master, I see.”

Brian glared at her, feeling miffed that he was her secondary hug. He tensed when she finally 
grabbed him and held him close. “Please Debbie, I need my spine. You’re fracturing it.”

She released him with a laugh and then her mood shifted quickly as was her way. “What the 
fuck? You weren’t even going to let me know you were in town?” She punched Brian’s arm and 
Boyd gently took her wrist and said,

“No hitting.”

She laughed. “He’s used to me and my love taps.”

“He’s had enough love taps to last him a life time, Debbie,” Boyd managed to maneuver Brian 
into a booth and sat beside him. She plopped down on the other side, facing them. Boyd’s subtle 
hint failed to penetrate. 

“So how long you boys in town?”

Brian glanced at Boyd who shrugged. “I think we’ll leave today. Right?”

Brian nodded but Debbie would have none of it. “Over my fat ass. You can’t come all the way to 
Pittsburgh and not have dinner at my house. Don’t even act like you aren’t missing my lasagna.”

Brian winced. “We have kids at home, work…”

“One night, Kinney. Give me a fucking break. Your old friends want to see you.”

“No, they don’t. And I don’t really want to see them, but…excuse me.” He slid out of the booth 
and they both watched him approach a group of young men who obviously were coming off a 
hard night of partying. They still had glitter in their hair from the dance floor and glitter in their 
eyes from the party drugs. 

“Oh shit,” one of them said as Brian approached. Brian clamped a hand on his shoulder. “What 
are you doing here?”

“Better question, aren’t you supposed to be in that fucking military school I’m paying for?”

His nephew, John, glared at him. “Even the penitentiary gives us a weekend off occasionally, 
Brian. We have a teacher in-service thing on Friday and Monday so I came home to touch base 
with my dear old mother.”

“And which one of these princesses would she be?”

The others sniggered at that and took a table as Brian pushed John down on a stool at the 
counter. He had gotten taller, much taller, and his body was getting that lean, muscular Kinney 
look to it instead of being boy-slim. Brian was amazed that his sister and her ex could breed a kid 
this handsome. The arrogance may have come laterally, from John’s uncle. He looked at John 
and saw many signs of himself, but maybe even worse. Brian always had a burning ambition to 
succeed. This kid seemed to have no ambition at all. Just resentment, burning sexuality and a 
penchant for hedonism. “I see that the school has made no change at all in your world view.”

“Did you really think it would? Did you think I’d turn into a good little soldier? Would you have 
done so at my age, dude?”

Brian frowned. “I thought you might at least learn a little self-discipline.”

“Why learn self-discipline when it’s so much more fun to have a stranger discipline you 
instead?”

Brian rolled his eyes with disgust. John’s tough talk was so transparent that it made him want to 
laugh in his face. “Does your mother even know you’re here?”

“Here as in the diner or here as in Pittsburgh?”

“Pittsburgh.”

“Yeah. She thinks I’m spending the night with my friend, Ricky. Hey, Ricky! We spending the 
night together?”

One of the club boys waved a nail-lacquered hand at him and said, “We just did, baby!”

Ricky was obviously John’s junior Emmett. “The fact that they let you underage dangers to 
society into a club is still amazing to me. You don’t even look sixteen. Doesn’t anyone care 
about their liquor license anymore?”

“I’m tall, I can get away with it. Besides, they all know I’m your nephew and they want to get in 
on the ground floor of the next generation of queer Kinney.”

“John, you’d better get your shit together before you end up on a slab somewhere from overdose 
or rough trade or both. You don’t have the self-preservational instincts I had to survive. You’re 
just raw meat, ripe for the abusing.”

“Fuck off, Brian. You were so much more fun when you were an outlaw. Now you’re 
just…boring. Age sucks.”

“Funny I was just thinking that looking at you and remembering how I used to be, for the first 
time I realize just how pathetic I was. I know enough to understand I can’t tell you to do 
anything and expect you to do what I say. So I’m just going to say if you find yourself in a 
situation, call me. Night or day. I may kick your ass later, but I promise to deal with it at the time 
you call. Understand?”

“Whatever. See ya, Brian, your ‘wife’ is waiting for you.” He went back to his friends. Before 
Brian could return to the booth, strong arms enclosed him in an embrace from behind and wet 
lips touched the back of his neck. He smelled Chanel and said “Hi, Emmett,” without even 
turning around.

“Mr. Kinney! Did you bring Theodore with you?”

Emmett released him, looking typically fabulous in a white shearling coat, and matching hot pink 
gloves, scarf and earmuffs. “Is that Ralph Lauren?” Brian asked. “That coat was extremely 
expensive. Catering paying off, Em?”

“Omigod, my label queen friend has failed me. It’s a knock-off, sweetie. But a good one. Is that 
Boyd? Of course it is! He’s so delicious in your old leather jacket, and how sweet is that?”

After Emmett greeted Boyd, the three of them ordered breakfast. Debbie had returned to her 
chores after sealing a time for dinner with Brian’s partner. “I really think we need to get back 
tonight,” Brian complained and Boyd shrugged.

“We’ll leave after dinner.”

“I don’t know of a direct flight to New Orleans in the late evening and if we have to connect, 
we’ll be in the air for hours and hours.”

“We don’t need to worry about that,” Boyd assured him and Brian bore in. 

“Why?”

“I got it covered,” he glanced at Emmett and then at Brian as if signaling something, but Brian 
couldn’t quit shaking that limb. 

“You got Delta to reschedule for us?”

“No, Brian. I brought the Falcon.”

“The who?”

“The Falcon 900 EX. The company jet.”

Brian’s brow shot up. “Your sugar company has a jet?”

“And a helicopter, yes.”

“And you’re just now telling me this?”

“It’s not mine, Brian. It belongs to Coulter Mills. As acting CEO, I have the right to order it’s 
use, but we try to limit it to business travel to ensure its tax deductibility.”

“Omigod, Brian,” Emmett gave them a wide, gap-toothed grin. “All that sex appeal and he’s Ari 
Onassis on top of the pulchritude!”

“You’re the one with the Jackie O fetish, Em, not I. So there’s a private jet just waiting to whisk 
us back to New Orleans?”

Boyd shrugged. “I have to give the pilots enough advance to file a flight plan, but yeah, pretty 
much. You have a problem with that?”

Brian smiled at his lover. “You never cease to amaze me, Boyd.”

“At least I’m not boring you,” they kissed as Emmett beamed at them. 

“Still in love. So divine!”

The two men communicated with a look, having no intention of sharing with him their recent 
trauma. 

Back at the hotel, there was a moment of awkward uncertainty as they closed the black out 
shades, put the do not disturb sign on the door, and contemplated the “heavenly” bed so heavily 
promoted by the Westin. They were both exhausted. Boyd began to undress as Brian sighed. 
“How can we feel so tense about going to bed together?”

“I know.”

“I want to hold you, Boyd, kiss you, fuck you, but…”

Boyd walked over and put both hands on Brian’s shoulders. “I love you, Brian. It’s okay. I’m 
still me. Feel,” he put Brian’s hand on his crotch. Brian rolled Boyd’s cock against his palm and 
smiled. 

“Feels familiar.”

“Don’t talk, just do.”

They kissed and the tension melted away as they relaxed into a familiar routine that had never 
lost its magic. Brian’s leather jacket was trapped beneath them as they began to fuck. There was 
an urgency to their coupling that suggested the fear and loneliness they both felt during their 
close call with separation. Once he shot his load, Brian collapsed in Boyd’s arms, unable to 
move. The release of his orgasm combined with his emotional misery and physical exhaustion to 
render him completely spent. He squeezed his eyes shut against unexpected and inexplicable 
tears, but one rolled free and then another, tracking warm paths on the skin of Boyd’s shoulder. 
Boyd reached up and spread his hand on the back of Brian’s head, whispering, “I know, but it’s 
okay, Brian. It’s going to be okay. I love you. I’m here.”

Brian could say nothing, do nothing, but cling to Boyd in the desperate hope that what he said 
was true. Hours later, when he awoke, Boyd was gone. 

Panicked, Brian went from unconscious to fully alert in seconds. He threw off the sheets and 
noticed that his leather jacket had fallen to the floor. He stumbled over it, switching on a light as 
he felt the icy grip of fear clutch his heart in a vise. He threw open the bathroom door and found 
Boyd seated on the edge of the tub, smoking a cigarette, while wrapped in the hotel robe and 
talking on his cell phone. Startled, Boyd looked up at him and said, “What?”

Brian felt relief drain him in a gush of dissipated adrenaline and he walked over to the toilet to 
piss, acting as if nothing was wrong. Boyd went back to his call. 

“No, I think ten is fine. If we’re running late, I’ll let you know. Thanks, Bill. See you later. What 
about the weather? Could that delay us? Okay, great. Bye.”

“Why are you calling from the bathroom?” Brian flushed and then splashed warm water on his 
face at the sink. His image in the mirror didn’t thrill him. He wiped the water off as Boyd 
replied,

“I didn’t want to wake you. You were sleeping so soundly.”

“Okay.”

“Brian, you aren’t going to wake up one day and find me gone. I don’t operate that way and I 
don’t believe in tit for tat.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry, but it’s true. You need to let that fear go.”

Brian nodded. “What time is it?”

“We have about an hour before dinner.”

“So what can we do in a hotel room for an hour?”

Boyd shrugged, smiling at that question. “Watch pay for porn?”

“How about performing porn for no pay?”

“What did you have in mind, Mr. Stryker?”

“I thought we might fluff up with a little oral, progress into some sixty-nine, pump up the 
volume with some hard anal probing and then deliver the money shot in each other’s faces.”

“Every time we do that it burns my eyes.”

Brian laughed. “There’s no romance in your soul.”

“There’s too much acid in your jizz.”

“Close your eyes.”

“No facial. Otherwise, I like it. And if you want me to come in your face…”

“You tell me it leaves red blotches on my skin for hours. I don’t want to be explaining that at 
Debbie’s.”

Fully negotiated at last, Boyd dropped his robe and the action commenced. 

*******

A little over an hour later, relaxed and freshly bonded, Brian and Boyd entered the fray at 
Debbie’s house. Justin was there with a girl he introduced as Heather, his former classmate who 
was going to be one of his roommates in New York. Gus ran up and demanded that Brian hold 
him. Lindsay sulked in one chair, Melanie in another. Michael and Ben were on the sofa while 
Emmett and Vic helped Debbie in the kitchen. They exchanged greetings, some warmer than 
others. Brian wondered why Melanie showed up at all. He presumed it had something to do with 
Lindsay and nothing whatsoever to do with him. Michael was chilly, but Ben was genuinely 
welcoming. As Brian chatted with Heather, Boyd lured Justin to the side.

“Thanks,” he said. “I didn’t get the chance to say that when…well, earlier. But thanks.”

“I just want Brian to be happy. If that means you’re it, it’s cool. He could have done worse.”

“You’re a good friend to him, Justin. He needs that. You’re always welcome in our home. I want 
you to know that.”

Justin grinned at him. “With or without a shirt?”

Boyd laughed. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

The doorbell rang and Claire came in, accompanied by her two sons. She hugged Boyd and her 
younger boy sat on the stairs playing a hand held video game, while John scanned the room with 
a deliberately bored expression. “Go say hello to your auntie,” Brian prodded Gus who loped 
over to hug Claire and then sought out the boy with the game, fascinated by the action in his 
hands. 

“Well now, whose little boy are you?” Emmett cooed as he zeroed in on John. John laughed and 
responded, 

“Not so little.”

“You are so much like that rascal uncle of yours when he was your age!” Debbie observed. She 
gave a quick look to Claire’s stricken face and added, “I mean in appearance only, of course!”

John rolled his eyes and looked around before he said, “I like all your kitsch. It’s very retro.”

“This is all high fashion to Debbie, son,” Vic warned him, offering him a canapé from a tray he 
and Emmett had crafted together. John took one and sat down beside Ben on the sofa. 

“You’re hot. Who are you?”

“My partner,” Michael said with a glare. “Also known as old enough to be your father.”

“As are you,” Ben reminded him gently. Jennifer arrived last, explaining her daughter was on a 
school trip. She hugged Brian and Boyd and then her son, patting his cheek as she said, 

“I am so glad to have you home.”

“Not for long, Mom. Don’t get too comfortable.”

“I know, I know, but I’m blocking that whole New York City thing, so say nothing more about it 
tonight.”

“Dude, you’re going to New York City?” John was on his feet, approaching Justin, and they 
began discussing his move as Jennifer went in to assist Debbie. 

“Daddy, he won’ lemme play,” Gus complained. Brian said, 

“It’s his game, Gus, and you don’t know how to do it anyway. Just watch.”

“I want one!”

“You can’t always get what you want.”

“Thanks, Mick,” Boyd quipped and Brian smiled as he leaned over to kiss him and then 
motioned to Lindsay. 

“Can I talk to you upstairs?”

She went up with him, and he shut the door to Michael’s room. Downstairs, Michael said, “At 
least we won’t hear anything breaking this time,” a thinly veiled comment on Brian and Boyd’s 
noisy escapades from their last visit here. Boyd just smiled and said, 

“Don’t be too sure.”

“At least you acknowledge the unspoken crap between them,” Melanie observed so Boyd moved 
his attention to her. 

“I wasn’t concerned that they’d get romantic, Melanie. I was thinking more self-defense.”

“Why?”

He shrugged non-committally and said to the pretty girl who came with Justin, “So you’re the 
next bright light on Broadway?”

“Or sales girl at Bloomie’s, whichever comes first,” Heather replied with a laugh.

Upstairs, Brian closed the door and sat on Michael’s old bed as he said, “Thanks for sending 
Justin over.”

“What do you mean?” She looked innocent but sounded tense. 

“I mean it was your suggestion that he seek me out, wasn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t call it a suggestion.”

“What would you call it?”

“Nothing, information. I just said you were here.”

“And at a hotel, and acting strangely bla, bla, bla. Well, it worked out exactly as I’m sure you 
intended, Linds. Justin came over and talked sense to me in that very blunt way he has. He may 
well be the one person who could’ve gotten through to me at that time. So it was a stroke of 
genius to send him. Thanks.”

She glared at him. “You’re welcome.”

“He called Boyd and told him where to find me, did you know that?”

“No.”

“Surprised?”

“I don’t know, Brian. Why are we having this conversation?”

“You shouldn’t be surprised. See, Justin is a true friend. True friends want what is best for their 
friends, even if it doesn’t work out perfectly for themselves. He knows I belong with Boyd and 
that I’m plagued by certain behavior, and he sawed his way through my act and got things started 
with Boyd and me. We’re going to be fine, now. His intervention couldn’t have worked out any 
better than it did.”

“Swell, Brian. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me why you don’t want me to be happy?”

“I do want you to be happy.”

“But only if I’m alone.”

“Honestly, I think that’s how you’re happiest. Being free and wild. You’re not the domesticated 
type.”

“God I hope not. But I’m also at a point in my life where I’ve pretty well done the ‘wild and 
free’ thing. And being in a relationship doesn’t mean domesticity, not by your definition. 
Whether you agree or not, what matters to me now is being a good partner to Boyd, a good dad 
to Gus and a good stepfather to Belle and Mac. I also want to be a good friend and I want my 
business to succeed. If that doesn’t comport with your image of me, then maybe you need to 
update your Brian Kinney software.”

“It’s just a matter of time before you implode and blow this thing apart, Brian. You’re better off 
doing it now before it gets any more complicated.”

He stood and grabbed her shoulders, giving her a little shake. “I won’t let you or anyone else 
fuck up my relationship with Boyd. Do you read me? Either you’re supportive of me, or you’re 
working against me. Stop thinking so much about what might have been and never will be and 
think about your own fucked up life and relationships and about your son, for once. What’s best 
for him. Because I am, Lindsay, I’m thinking about Gus more and more every day.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Brian released her and walked over to the door as he replied, “Not a threat, a fact.”

He left her there and returned to the others, after walking around his nephew and his son where 
they sat on the step with the game. He walked out on the porch, signaling Boyd that he was 
going to have a smoke and Boyd joined him there. He lit a cigarette off of Brian’s stick and they 
both inhaled. “You didn’t say anything about custody, did you?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. We need to cool things down in Louisiana if we want to show how perfect we are to raise 
Gus.”

“I know. I wouldn’t bring him into a potentially dangerous situation anyway, Boyd. You know 
that.”

“So what did you say?”

“We just talked about software,” Brian said with a smile. Boyd shook his head, knowing when it 
was useless to push. 


Current Mood: indescribable
 
07:15 am - BURN, Chapter 74
Thanks so much to Sandi for the beautiful graphic on my home page and to Jen for posting it. It 
really dresses the place up, doesn't it? I have been working on some serious business so my time 
hasn't been my own since we got back. Sorry. But I finished this up. Ran hasn't had the chance to 
edit, but since it's been awhile, I thought I'd put it up warts and all. I know I'm behind on 
comments and WAY behind on email, but I promise to catch up this weekend if not before. 
Thanks again, Brian

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




“This is the height of decadence, and I know decadence,” Brian said as he leaned back in the 
taupe leather seat and tipped his Baccarat champagne flute in Boyd’s direction. The jet sped 
quietly through the clouds, above the snowline, so the going was smooth. On the sound system, 
Eminem complained about his mother, and the burled wood door leading to the cockpit was 
closed, per Boyd’s request. They were the only passengers in a jet configured to hold twelve, 
plus crew. They sat across the aisle from each other in padded captain’s chairs, their feet propped 
up on the empty seats facing each of them. 

Boyd smiled. “I knew letting you find out about this jet was dangerous precedent.”

“And we fly commercial because?”

“Because it costs a fortune to put this baby in the air, and because we try to keep the business 
deduction pure on it.”

“Then why did you bring it to Pittsburgh?”

“Truth? I was too tired and stressed to deal with the whole airport and crowded commercial 
flight scenario. If that’s decadent, so be it. I wanted to get to you fast and I wanted the flexibility 
for our return.”

“Who knew I could be such a drama queen?”

“You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?” Boyd lit up a cigarette as Brian raised a 
brow. 

“We can smoke?”

“It’s my party, I can smoke if I want to.”

“God, I love the good life,” he lit a cigarette of his own. Boyd reached across the narrow aisle to 
rest a hand on his arm. 

“You haven’t forgotten your promise to me, have you?”

“Which one?”

“That you’ll see a shrink.”

Brian recoiled from him, shifting his gaze to the dark void outside the cabin windows. 
“Whatever.”

Boyd’s grip grew tight. “No whatever. You promised, Brian. I’m holding you to it.”

“I have no confidence in shrinks. Self-indulgence.”

“Fine. Go for me.”

“I want a gay shrink. I don’t want some straight asshole that views my queerness as something to 
fix. I want someone who understands.”

“I’ll talk to Petra. She’s plugged in with the local medical community.”

“Petra? Why not take out an ad for the whole world to know?”

“She’s a doctor, Brian. She doesn’t talk. But fine, I’ll say it’s for me. Are you ashamed of seeing 
a shrink? If so, get over it. There’s no cause for shame. It’s about caring enough about our 
relationship to work on your demons.”

“I suppose you’re mister perfectly composed,” Brian said, his handsome features pulling into a 
scowl. Boyd smiled.

“No, I intend to talk to this guy myself. Or someone else, if he thinks we need separate doctors. I 
don’t know how all that works.”

“I’m doing it for you, and because I told you I would, but I’m going on record as believing it’s 
shit.”

“Fine.”

Brian smoked in silence and then cast a glance at his lover. “What were you saying to Justin at 
Deb’s?”

“I told him to stay the fuck away from you from now on, and if I caught him in your hotel room 
again, I would kick his ass.”

Brian looked shocked and then smirked. “Shut up. Really. What did you say?”

“I thanked him.”

“For?”

“For being a friend to you when you needed one. For calling me to tell me where you were 
staying.”

“When did he call you?”

“I don’t know, Brian, but he did. I was already on my way to Pittsburgh, when he called. But I 
picked up his message when I landed and it saved me time.”

“Sneaky little devil,” Brian shook his head while smiling. 

“He’s a true friend, Brian. You’re lucky.”

“I know. Odd how we ended up, but nice, too. He’s moving to New York. It will be great for him 
there. I expect big things of his career.”

“I’m certainly willing to help if I can. I know a few people in the art world.”

“Would you really?”

“Of course I would. Why not? Friends help friends.”

Brian reached over and rubbed Boyd’s biceps. “I can go from wanting to smack you to loving 
you in ten seconds flat.”

“Ditto.”

Their hands linked as they both chuckled. “Are we okay?”

Boyd squeezed Brian’s hand. “We will be. It will take more than a hydrogen bomb to destroy us, 
Brian. Much more than your manic moodiness.”

“Can you not accept the fact I really did feel like I was protecting you and your children by 
leaving?”

“Yeah, I accept that fact and that’s why it’s so essential that you see a shrink, Brian, because that 
way of thinking is just so fucked up.”

Brian smiled. “This is what I like about you. You always just call it to my face, straight up.”

“That won’t change.”

“And you won’t let me run.”

“Don’t keep testing me on that, Brian. I have ego issues, too.”

Brian leaned across the aisle and kissed Boyd on the mouth. “What kind of a moron would flee 
from a man who has his own jet?”

“So it really is all about the money?” Boyd smiled. Brian shrugged. 

“What else could it be?”

Boyd stood and crossed over to straddle Brian’s outstretched legs. He pulled off his sweater and 
opened the waistband of his jeans while Brian stared with a bemused smile. “I thought maybe 
this had a little appeal to you,” Boyd smoothed his palms down his pec’s and his flat abdomen, 
plunging one hand inside his jeans as the other opened the buttons of his fly. 

“What about Sky King and Penny, in there?” Brian motioned to the cockpit. 

“They won’t come out until we land.”

“Sure about that?” Brian ran one hand up the outside of Boyd’s thigh, and rested it on the bare 
skin at his waist.

“Do you care?”

“No.”

“Thought not,” Boyd rolled down the waistband of his jeans and then slipped them down to 
expose his lengthening cock. Brian relinquished his champagne flute as he leaned forward to run 
his tongue up the length of his lover’s organ. It tightened when he hooded it with his mouth and 
slid his lips down to the base. Boyd groaned and rocked forward, resting his hands in Brian’s 
hair. Soon they were both naked and Boyd positioned himself on Brian’s lap, his calves resting 
on either side of Brian’s head, against the back of his seat. Brian wrapped strong arms behind 
Boyd to anchor him as they fucked. They both glimpsed their reflection in the glass of the 
windows and smiled at the symmetry of their union. Midway through the fucking, Brian 
repositioned Boyd so that his hands were flat on the opposite seat, his ass turned to Brian, who 
stood and penetrated with a vigorous thrust. He could go deeper this way, pound harder, and he 
wanted to do both.

Boyd got off first, and then Brian. Warm towels were retrieved from the bathroom, and then they 
reluctantly dressed and resumed their former seats. Brian smiled at him, taking in Boyd’s flushed 
face. He loved that about blonds, the way they wore their excitement so close to the surface of 
their skin. 

“I can’t say I haven’t already joined the mile high club, but I will say it was never so comfortable 
and so hot.”

“This is a first for me,” Boyd admitted.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, Brian. I wasn’t wild and crazy in my youth and Jared and I never flew together.”

“Welcome to the club. I’ll have some wings made for you and introduce you to the secret 
handshake at our next meeting.”

“Is it the hand you guys shake?”

They both laughed. “I suspect that’s a first for this jet, too. At least of the gay flavor.”

Boyd shrugged. “Remember, Rex used the plane.”

They shared a sly smile. “You’re not looking at your blackberry right now. Tell me it can’t be 
true.”

Boyd glanced up from his handheld messaging device and shrugged. “Why not? I got mine.”

Brian laughed. “What’s so fascinating?”

“I have a message from Bellamy. He wants to get together to discuss my proposal.”

“Or to get your evil sister’s contact number.”

“Luann will play the game, but she doesn’t have the balls to date a black guy, not even one like 
Bellamy. Assuming he were interested.”

“Who wouldn’t date Bellamy? Shit, I’d date Bellamy if he were on our team and you weren’t in 
the picture.”

“Yeah, me too, Brian. But that’s us, and Luann is a country club loving matron. They still have a 
color barrier out there in case you didn’t notice when we had dinner. They may bang black men 
on the side, who the hell knows, but they don’t bring them out in that crowd. With my parents, I 
don’t what offended them more, the fact Jared had a dick or the fact he was black.”

“I’m guessing the dick.”

Boyd shrugged. “The south still has a dark side, Brian, excuse the pun. Don’t kid yourself. 
Bellamy could tell you, I’m sure. New Orleans is a very racially blended place, with a power 
structure that puts African Americans in high jobs. Even there you find a have and have not 
mentality. Outside New Orleans, it gets much uglier for minorities of any stripe.”

Brian shrugged. “There’s prejudice in the north, too.”

“No doubt, but perhaps not as fused. You know what I mean? As subtly dangerous?”

“I feel that way about queers in your beloved swamp, Boyd. I think New Orleans is basically 
open to fags, except for the usual zealots and bigots. But in the swamp, I feel like I’m wearing a 
target on my back.”

“That’s because you are. We are. No doubt about it. We share that with Bellamy in a different 
way.”

“It’s so stupid. Bellamy’s rich, handsome, brilliant, shit, he’s also half-white. Why would anyone 
care about the other?”

“Don’t be naďve.”

“What a beautiful world we live in,” Brian said with a shake of his head. “Hanging black men 
from trees in the not too distant past, dragging them to death behind trucks very recently, staking 
fags to fence posts in the west, and burning down your house. Lovely.”

Boyd reached over to take Brian’s hand and squeeze it gently. “But we have each other.”

Brian kissed him and then said, “If only that were enough to be safe.”

“No one’s safe,” Boyd observed and Brian nodded. He knew that he was right.

***********

The next morning when they went to fetch Boyd’s children from Lisette, Brian shared a cup of 
coffee with Petra, while Boyd was upstairs with the kids and his sister. It was Saturday, so Petra 
was lounging instead of having to report at the hospital. She was looking forward to having two 
consecutive days off, assuming no emergencies intervened. 

“Why gay?” She asked when Brian gave her his parameters for a psychiatrist.

“Why do you think?”

“You’ll tell me its so he will know from whereof you speak. That he won’t try to place the root 
of your issues on your homosexuality, but that’s just silly, Brian. No trained psychiatrist from 
this century considers homosexuality an illness or aberrant behavior. They do understand, 
however, that society places undue pressure on gay men and women and that can cause extreme 
emotional issues for the person. No one is going to try and turn you straight. I fear you want a 
gay man because you think you can use your obvious assets to control the situation. Manipulate 
him.”

Brian looked up with a sly smile. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I know you, darling, and I know how much control means to you. Of course any good 
shrink could identify and avoid those efforts but you’d be a challenge. I’m not saying you 
shouldn’t have a gay male psychiatrist, I’m just saying you shouldn’t limit yourself to that 
criteria. More important that you feel comfortable with the person and that they can get you to 
open up.”

He frowned, tore open another sweetener packet and added it to the strong brew in his cup. “I’m 
only doing this for Boyd.”

“Then it will be wildly unsuccessful.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to do it because you see things in yourself that you want to understand and 
overcome. Or at least learn to cope with. You need to do it for yourself so that your relationship 
with Boyd and others is on steadier ground. Viewing it as your detention period for being a bad 
boy is not going to be any good for Boyd and definitely not for you. You’ll come to resent it and 
nothing positive will be accomplished.”

He sipped his overly sweetened coffee and added more brew from the pot to cut the sweet. “I 
don’t think I’m perfect, Petra. I don’t think I couldn’t get rid of some of the haunts that plague 
me, but I don’t believe that psychiatry is the way to do that.”

“Then how do you accomplish that feat?”

He frowned. He had no answer for that. “I’ve gotten better over time. Maybe it’s just something 
you grow out of.”

“If you ever find a lump, I hope you don’t take that view, Brian. This is much the same. You 
can’t just hide from it and leave it untreated and think it will disappear. It won’t. It just gets 
worse and eats away at you until it’s too late. There’s no shame in seeing a shrink. Most doctors 
have done so, and aren’t we the ones to know if it’s a sham? I have been in therapy. It was very 
helpful to me and I still go on occasion.”

He was surprised by that revelation. Petra seemed so utterly calm, so controlled and on top of 
things. Nothing ever flustered her. “Okay, look. Just get me some names, male, female, straight, 
gay, in order of your confidence in them and I’ll get it started.”

She reached over to pat his hand. “Good plan.”

The kids interrupted by barreling into the room and searching out cereal boxes and milk cartons 
and bowls. “Daddy said we’re going to the aquarium, Brian!” Mac announced with a gleeful 
smile.

“Knock yourself out.”

“You’re going too,” Belle informed him. Brian shook his head. 

“I have work to do.”

“It’s Saturday!” She argued.

“I know, but my school is seven days a week.”

“Brian doesn’t have to go, Belle,” Boyd restored some order to the scene, helping with 
overflowing bowls and settling the kids at the table. “He’ll meet us later.”

“I want him to go!” Belle insisted.

“They have a white alligator,” Mac tempted Brian, who laughed.

“As much as I would like to see that, I have an appointment with some specialty contractors. I’ll 
meet you guys at the house after your visit.”

They were anxious to see the progress. Sebastian had stepped things up at their request and at 
their expense. After the fire, they were even more desperate to get out of the swamp. Somehow 
the city offered a false sense of security. Brian stood, stretched, kissed Boyd, and ruffled Mac’s 
hair. “See you guys later, have fun. Thanks for the help, Petra.”

“I’ll call you,” she said and then smiled at Boyd as Brian left the house.

“He’s taking baby steps in the right direction. Be patient with him.”

“I know it’s not an overnight fix, Petra.”

“No, but it’s a good start.”

Boyd nodded. After the horror of the last few days, a step in the right direction in any area of 
their lives was a very positive sign. They needed some good news. They needed some peace and 
quiet. His cell phone rang. He frowned as he noticed the number. “Boyd, where have you been?” 
Luann. “Do you know they bulldozed what was left of the old mill house?”

“Yes. On my orders.”

“Arson, Boyd. How melodramatic. You have people burning down your home, now. Happy? 
And in the mean time, you’re neglecting the business. The lunatics are running the asylum.”

So much for his prayer for peace. The buzzards were back on the branch.
Current Mood: energetic
 
10:49 am - BURN, Chapter 75
Just a little warning to my readers, avoid Basic Instinct 2 at all cost. I made Randall go because I 
thought it might be camp fun, no, it was just real bad. Also makes no sense at all. Enjoy your 
Sunday. Brian

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



Brian walked into chaos when he entered the house in the Marigny. Crews were everywhere, 
tarps were thrown, equipment whined, the smell of sawdust, epoxy and paint was overwhelming. 
What had once been an elegant and gracious space was now the victim of transition. Brian stood 
there, hands on hips, taking it all in and trying to envision the ultimate outcome of all this 
activity.

“So, what do you think?” 

He looked down at Sebastian who was wearing one of his miniature Armani suits, slightly 
shaded by dust. “I think it won’t be liveable anytime soon. We were hoping…”

Sebastian held up a hand to stop his words. “Ye of little faith. First of all, you guys changed the 
rules on me. You gave me a timeline and a budget and then you cut that timeline in half. But 
come with me. Thank God you didn’t fuck with my budget.”

Brian scowled as he carefully picked his way around sawhorses and saws and workmen. They 
walked out the back door. The pool beckoned, clear and azure in the distance, but they turned 
down a different path and approached the guesthouse. Sebastian opened the door and told him to 
be careful of painted surfaces because they were still not dry. The cottage was a third the size of 
the main house. Kitchen and dining area were combined, with the master and bath also 
downstairs, behind a central sitting room. Upstairs were two small bedrooms that shared a 
Hollywood-style bathroom. 

The original structure was in good shape, but boring. Sebastian had modernized it with his 
careful attention to detail. He installed gleaming brushed stainless steel appliances and grey 
granite countertops in the kitchen, and replaced the cabinets with opaque glass doors framed in 
sleek polished ash. The floors that stretched throughout the downstairs were wide plank oak, 
polished and allowed to retain a pale natural color beneath the seal. The fussy floral chintz 
furnishings the prior owner cherished had been replaced with a grey suede, L-shaped sectional 
that faced the fireplace, and two black leather Barcelona chairs. The light fixtures and hand-
loomed rug matched the theme of modern, slick and functional. 

Brian walked over to try out one of the grey leather chairs surrounding the round glass table in 
the dining alcove and decided it was more comfortable than it looked. He was especially fond of 
the brushed steel light fixture above the table. 

“I didn’t hang any art,” Sebastian announced, urging Brian to follow him down the hall to the 
master. “I know Boyd is a collector. I decided he’d be the best person to decide what he wants to 
display where. All of the plantation shutters for the windows haven’t arrived, so these are 
temporary shades, don’t panic. But they did arrive for the bedroom. What do you think?”

The shutters were painted designer white in contrast to the gingerbread colored walls with white 
baseboards and tray ceiling. The bed was a platform, Brian’s favorite style. It had a slight Asian 
flare to the black cherry headboard; more reminiscent of Japanese curves than ornate Chinese 
fretwork. A long matching dresser with no hardware to break the line, and a framed mirror above 
it, was against one wall. A cabinet concealed a sound system and plasma screen television. 

Brian opened the small table beside the bed that supported a lamp and a Nambe ashtray. He 
pictured the drawer holding the necessary implements of a successful sex life, and then fell back 
on the bed, his arms spread wide. The mattress gave very little, constructed of memory foam. 
The linens were a brown and black weave that felt soft against his skin. “Want to take it for a test 
run?” he teased and Sebastian laughed.

“You couldn’t handle me, Brian.”

Brian chuckled as he bounced back up and went into the bathroom. “You’re probably right.” 
This room had all the necessities including a separate glass-door shower with multiple water 
sources. Grey and taupe stone tiles matched the floor, an oversized tub with Jacuzzi jets 
beckoned, two sinks with brushed steel fixtures accommodated two occupants, and both a bidet 
and a toilet rounded out the room. Mirrors stretched across one wall, offering a maximum view. 
“Oh yeah,” Brian said, turning slowly. “We’ll like this.”

Sebastian laughed. “Will you film it for me?”

“So you can use it to pitch your clients?”

“Sure, or something. Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

A Berber carpet strip provided some traction on the wooden stairs and continued in the upstairs 
bedrooms. “I didn’t juvenile-ize the rooms, because this will be a guest house, after all. The kids 
will have to roll with that until the big house is ready.”

Both rooms were beautifully furnished, one with twin beds, the other with a queen sized, modern 
four-poster. The same cool theme of taupe, grey, white and natural followed throughout. The 
bathroom was functional and roomy with storage for linens. The washer and dryer were behind 
louvered doors off the hallway. “The house is fully alarmed, all windows and doors are 
monitored, with a series of motion detectors downstairs. There’s a panic button in every room. 
It’s wired for internet and cable. The phone system is digital. The heating and cooling units are 
independent of the big house, one up, one down, and are temperature controlled by remote,” he 
held up a device with several buttons. “So what do you think? It may not be the mansion of your 
dreams, but it’s serviceable until we finish the main house. You can’t rush genius.”

Brian grinned as he leaned down to give Sebastian a firm hug. It was an awkward gesture. He 
didn’t want him to feel that Brian was treating him like a child, but he was so small, it was 
difficult to know how to hug him like an adult. He managed and Sebastian beamed at him as they 
walked downstairs together. “You know, once Boyd places his art and you guys put your human 
touches in the place, it will seem much less like a model home. Toys, photos, Cds, dishes, you 
know what I mean. But you have a great view over the pool in back and I have some outdoor 
furnishing being delivered next week.”

“You did a fantastic job, Sebastian. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t worry about it, boy, you will. Believe me you will, when that bill arrives. You have a 
minute to talk about Burn?”

“Sure,” they sat down at the glass table and Brian relaxed in his new temporary home as he 
discussed his business with the diminutive designer. After Sebastian left, Brian took one more 
walk through the guesthouse, mentally placing the family in these surroundings. He then stepped 
out onto the terrace overlooking the pool. He saw Moody crouched there, using a long pole and a 
net to scrape leaves from the surface. There was something very fatigued in his pose and Brian 
walked down the path to join him. Moody stood, leaning on the pole as Brian approached. 

“You just can’t get ahead of the leaves. You have a pool sweep, you use this thing, and still the 
leaves are everywhere,” Moody complained.

“Nature is as brutal as she is beautiful. You on the other hand look like shit. Hung over?”

“I wish,” he threaded fingers through curls and sighed. “Worked late.”

“Vampire tours getting you down?”

“Vampire tours, and now I’m spinning at the vampire club. That makes for a late night. I may 
have to give up my day jobs.”

“Seems a little risky to hitch your fortune to vampires, Moody.”

He rested the pole on the deck as he sat down in a nearby chaise. “You had first pick with me. I 
told you I wanted to spin for your club. It’s what I do. This is just to put food on the table. If it 
works out with Noel, I won’t have to do any other jobs. Right now I’m on trial with him.”

“Are you fucking him? It’s bad business to combine the two,” Brian sat on a neighboring chaise. 

“It’s just games with us, no big deal.”

“Right, that’s what everyone says until it gets ugly. Don’t shit where you eat.”

“What Noel is into has a lot more to do with his self-image than it does with sex, as we know it.”

“That’s a mysterious statement.”

“You know, Brian, the whole vampire thing. It was kind of fun at first, but now it just seems a 
little silly to me. Grown men and women dressing up in costumes and acting goth. I don’t know. 
I did that goth thing yesterday, right? The whole blood sipping cult? I have to tell you, it tastes 
like crap. I don’t want to drink anyone else’s blood and I’m kind of tired of letting them drink 
mine. I can get laid without that.”

Brian laughed. This kid was out there, but he liked his energy, always had. “Moody, I’d give you 
a job in my club, but you’d have to prove to me you were twenty-one and I don’t think you can 
do that.”

“Why twenty-one?”

“Pesky thing called the law.”

“Well, I’m getting closer. Today is my birthday.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” his blue eyes cut away from Brian, reflecting a certain hollowness that Brian knew only 
too well. A holiday spent without family, without close ties, without anyone caring very much. 
Yes, he knew that pain. “Happy birthday to me.”

Brian stood up. “Come on.”

“Come on where?”

“It’s your birthday. I’m taking you to lunch.”

“I’m not dressed,” he motioned to his jeans and golf shirt with the pool cleaning service 
embroidered on the breast of it. “And I have three more pools to clean.”

“You have to eat. Let’s go.”

They went back to the Quarter, to one of Brian’s favorite small cafes on Dumaine Street, where 
the gumbo was rich and the French bread was crusty. They sat at a small bistro table in the 
courtyard listening to jazz was being played by a talented trio. After a glass of wine, Moody 
seemed to perk up as he let a hand drift over to rest on Brian’s thigh. “You look so good in that 
shirt. That muddy green color is perfect for your eyes.”

Brian pried his hand off his leg, chuckling. “That may be the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to 
me. And this isn’t about seduction, Moody. I’m still solid with Boyd. This is about your 
birthday. Lunch with a friend, right?”

Moody sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Sorry, Brian. Sometimes… I don’t know. I feel like 
it’s all I have to give, you know? I want to give something back to someone who’s kind to me 
and this is what it becomes. It’s what I do.”

Brian smiled. “I know that feeling well. Know what? It’s not all you have to give. You’re smart, 
you have a work ethic, you’re funny, you have courage. That’s a lot.”

“It never seems to be enough, Brian. I feel like one of those hamsters that run and run in a wheel, 
but never get anywhere.”

“You need a plan,” their gumbo arrived and each man upended a small container of rice into the 
brew, stirring it until it was integrated with the other ingredients. “Everyone needs a plan. 
Otherwise your life just drifts.”

“I have a plan. I want to spin. I’m good at it.”

“Okay, then you have to establish a following. Let’s face it, spinning is a very competitive game. 
You need to build up a reputation. The smartest thing to do is to get out there and play circuit 
parties and dance clubs, gay or straight venues. Get the buzz going. Your age is an issue, Moody. 
Most smart and legit club owners aren’t going to risk their liquor license by hiring underage acts. 
I know I won’t. Until then, play parties, play private venues, just get some play. You have the 
looks, I’m going to assume you have the ear, so work it.”

“Terrific advice, Brian, except I have to live between now and twenty-one. I need a bed and food 
and clothes, right?”

“Did you graduate high school?”

He laughed. “I’ve been on the street since I was fourteen, off and on, sixteen, permanently. 
School didn’t enter into it.”

“You need that. You’re smart, at least get your GED.”

“Now you sound like my dad.”

“Your dad was right about that.”

“I need a rich boyfriend is what I need. Someone to support me, pay for my room and board. 
Dress me. Give me some folding money. Blow jobs for bucks. Have any rich friends?”

Brian smiled. “A couple, but none who want to adopt trouble. What you’re talking about is a 
gilded prison, Moody. You really want to be owned by some money man who views you as a 
pet?”

“No, but I’m tired, Brian. Can you get that? I’m tired of scraping by, day after day, one part-time 
job away from the street. It gets old.”

Brian nodded, breaking off an end of the French bread as he motioned for another glass of wine. 
“I understand. It’s a mean old world, I get it.”

“How do you get it? Look at you,” Moody sounded angry. “You’re rich, successful, living with a 
guy who is even richer. You have a mansion in the Marigny, a huge club about to open. What do 
you know about it?”

“I’m not rich. Boyd may be, but I’m not. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs, now. The club, other 
things, it adds up. But whatever I have, I earned. I wasn’t born with money and I had a tough life 
growing up in the family I grew up in. But I went to college, got my degree, and I was 
determined to succeed in business, and I did. Through my own talent and hard work. I built that 
advertising business from the ground up and that’s what gave me the seed money to do 
something else. It’s not about being rich. It’s about doing what you want to do in life and letting 
no man tell you how to live or how to work. That’s the key. And yes, I fell for Boyd, who 
happens to be wealthy. But I don’t live off of Boyd. I’m not on an allowance. I pay my own way. 
I always will.”

“You paid for that club and that house?”

“I paid for that club. Boyd bought the house, but I’m paying half of the renovations. It took me 
awhile to get easy with the concept that he bought the house, in fact. But I have. Because he has 
kids to think about, too, it’s not just him and me. I know you think school is for shit, and frankly, 
a lot of it is just that. But we live in a society that puts value on the fact you have the indicators 
of a solid education, even if you learn nothing along the way. Without these indicators, you start 
off a step behind everyone else.”

“Brian, when am I supposed to go to school? I’m trying not to drown! And how do I pay for it?”

“I don’t know, Moody. Priorities, I guess. Everyone sets their own priorities.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“If I did, that was a mistake. It isn’t easy. It never is.”

Moody’s expression tensed as Noel entered the courtyard. Accompanied by two of his acolytes, 
one male, one female, they all looked unnaturally pale in the sunlight. Their black clothes 
enhanced that pallor. He paused at their table, looking from Moody to Brian. “Who’s your little 
friend, Moody?”

Brian immediately picked up on the man’s possessive tone. He watched Moody shift 
uncomfortably as he said, “A friend.”

Noel let his unusual golden-brown eyes center on Brian, who didn’t flinch under his penetrating 
stare, as he quipped, “I thought your kind only came out at night.”

“A common misconception. You know the rules, Moody. Don’t be stupid.” He walked away and 
Brian shook his head.

“Rules?”

“They don’t allow anyone they drink from to have sex with an unapproved person because they 
don’t want the blood to be tainted.”

“Yeah, that’s realistic. Not.”

Moody shrugged. “I just play along with it. In fact, I haven’t screwed anyone outside the club, 
but that’s mainly because there’s plenty of action inside the club.”

“You would’ve fucked me if I’d said yes,” Brian reminded him.

“You’re not infected. I’d use a condom, anyway. But even with a condom, they say no.”

“And you let someone dictate that to you?”

“You don’t fuck around, remember?”

“My choice. And that’s because I’m in a relationship, not because I’m a blood donor. Anyone 
stupid enough to exchange blood in today’s world deserves what he gets. And that goes for you, 
too, Moody. You’re an idiot to sip anyone’s blood. Why are you being so self-destructive?”

Moody sighed. “I just feel cut off. You get that way when you live hand to mouth, far from the 
people you came up with. It’s a kind of community, Brian. It’s elite. They have to pass you in 
and once in, they close the door.”

“Sounds like a prison to me.”

The waiter brought out a cake that Brian had arranged while Moody was in the john. A candle 
burned and Moody beamed at him as Brian said, “Make a wish.”

Moody blew out the candle and the waiter took the chocolate cake back to the kitchen to slice it 
for them and box the remainder. Feeling the vampires staring at them, Brian impulsively leaned 
over the table, put a hand on the back of Moody’s head and kissed him hard on the lips. Moody 
let his hand find the back of Brian’s neck, opening up to his unexpected caress. Brian finally 
released him, leaning back with a smile as he said, “Happy birthday, Moody.”

“Damn. That was hot. How did you know what I wished for?”

“Don’t waste a wish on me,” Brian glanced at the vampires, noticing Noel’s ire and deciding he 
had accomplished his mission. He didn’t like people owning people. He didn’t like entitlement 
for entitlement’s sake. And he didn’t like these freaks with Moody. “Let’s get out of here,” he 
put some money on the table and as the waiter approached with the cake, he said, “Give it to 
those guys in black.” He deliberately placed a possessive arm around Moody’s slim waist as they 
left the restaurant, casting a last, sly glance over his shoulder at Noel’s slow burn as they went. 

Noel wasn’t the only one who observed the kiss and the exit. The other stored that information 
for when the best use of it could be made.
Current Mood: energetic