Finding out

Yes, I know it's taken a ridiculous amount of time for chapter two of this but real life decided to be a bitch so I wasn't able to write much. Hope those who emailed, reviewed and enjoyed chapter one, enjoy this as much :)

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Justin sat on Daphne's bed looking at her and her open mouth.

"Well?" Justin asked. Daphne still didn't move. Justin looked at her a tad worried and ventured a poke of her arm until she launched herself off the bed and into the middle of the room with a squeal.

"Oh - my - god!" She squealed again. "You fucked Brian Kinney!"

"Shh!" Justin said worriedly. "I'd rather the whole neighborhood not know, and for the record, he fucked me."

Daphne looked at him blankly then did, watch she and Justin had dubbed 'The Happy Dance,' and squealed yet again.

Justin smiled at his amazing change of luck with Brian. He sighed happily and fell back on Daphne's bed, a sly grin still on his face. Daphne bounced back over to the bed to lay beside him.

"It was amazing, Daph," Justin said dreamily. "It was..." he sighed again. "I think... maybe..."

Daphne slapped him on the arm. "You are not!" she said. Justin gave a lopsided grin.

"Maybe I am," he said, as the grin broadened.

"He only just fucked you last night," Daphne said. "How can you be sure?" Justin stretched out on the bed.

"I don't know, I just feel it inside me."

"You mean, feel 'him' inside you," Daphne giggled and Justin made a face but then smiled again.

"Hell yeah."


Justin's change had been noted by his family and the media. Since Justin's inadvertant outing of himself on national television his life had been a living hell. The press had not been kind to him, generally trying to goad him into statements which would embarass his father and the administration. Since his brief experience with Brian in his bedroom he'd been friendlier, to his family and the media in general.

Before he may have halfheartedly waved to crowds and the press but now he'd do walkabouts along the police barricades, shaking hands and signing autographs. The biggest change was not the forced grin he'd flash photographers before but a genuine smile, he'd even go up to the line to say hello.

The first family and as a result the whole White House was bolstered by this 'new' Justin.


Justin got into the limousine after his mother followed closely by two agents. Justin smirked as he looked out the window and the limousine wound its way though the capital.

"Alright, that's it," his mother said abruptly. Justin turned to his mother, a smile still lightly touching his lips.

"That's what, Mom?" Justin asked.

"The act, diversion, whatever it is, I want it to stop," his mother said. Justin frowned.

"You want me to go back to the way I was?" he asked. Justin's mother sighed dramatically.

"No, of course not but this, eager to please thing you've gotten into, and volunteering to become a co-patron with me at the National Gallery," she sighed. "It's not you."

Justin laughed.

"The country and probably the world knows I'm an amateur artist," Justin said. "For me not to do this would be out of character." His mother looked at him shrewdly.

"I'm not buying it," his mother said. "You're up to something."

Justin smiled again as the limousine slowed to a stop outside the National Gallery. The agents exited the car first before Justin made his entrance into the spotlight. Cameras flashed everywhere along with various calls and a few excited screams from the crowd. Justin waved at the crowd before turning back to the car and offering his hand to help his mother out of the car. The First Lady looked momentarily stunned by the gesture before she took her son's hand graciously as they both made their way into the gallery.


The evening was to showcase a new Italian Masters exhibition which was graciously on loan from the Louvre. Justin spoke with various people from the art world, artists, critics, art historians and even the director of the National Gallery.

As the evening continued the director made her way to the First Lady.

"Mrs. Taylor," she said. "I'm Lindsay Peterson, director of the National Art Gallery."

"Of course Ms. Peterson, so gracious of you to invite my son and I to this event," Jennifer Taylor replied. The director frowned slightly.

"Mrs. Taylor, it was your son who requested to come and well, his donation was truly an impressive surprise."

"Donation?" the First Lady asked. The director smiled.

"Oh yes, most impressive, speaking of which you must come up and be with us for the presentation," the director said, guiding them both through the crowd.

Jennifer Taylor had gotten used to being blindsided by her husband and foreign dignatories at the various events she'd hosted or been invited to but as of yet, never by her son.

"If I may have everyone's attention please," the director said as she addressed the crowd from a podium. "I am most honored tonight to welcome you all here to this very special event."

The was a general amount of applause at which time Jennifer took a moment to whisper in her son's ear.

"A donation?" she asked. Justin shushed her.

"It is also with great pleasure that I introduce, The First Lady, Jennifer Taylor and First Son, Justin Taylor to open the exhibition," the director said and applauded.

"Now as most of you are aware we are unveiling the generous collection of Italian Masters on loan from the Lourve," the director started to say but was stopped momentarily by more applause. "Yes, indeed. But we are also here to unveil a smaller but no less prestigious exhibition of artwork which is advanced well beyond the modest years of the artist."

Jennifer Taylor's head flicked to Justin then back to the director so fast that Justin was surprised his mother didn't give herself whiplash.

"May I proudly present the Italian masters," the director said, "And scattered through the collection, the works of Justin Taylor."

The applause came first, then the unveiling of wing of the gallery dedicated to the exhibitions, then Jennifer Taylor very nearly laughed out loud. Her husband would have kittens. No, he was too much of a man and president for that. Make it puppies. She was only vaguely aware of her son hugging her and various dignatories congratulating her on the exhibition and her sons work.

She took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and nearly downed the whole thing before time snapped back to normal speed and she realised where she was.

Jennifer Taylor spent the next half hour receiving congratulations on behalf of her son and modestly refusing to join Justin in the midst of a press storm by saying "It's his exhibition." However that was short lived as the damned director managed to usher the first lady into the proximity of Justin. Flashes went off every which way and Jennifer Taylor smiled politely while standing next to her son.

"Your father is going to kill you," she managed to whisper into Justin's ear. Justin just turned to her and smiled.

There was no malice in the smile, it seemed genuine, like she just paid him the biggest complement ever.

Justin made his way through the crowd to examine the rest of the collection himself. In the process he became something of a roving tour guide when the director and his mother joined him, all the while the press followed on eagerly.

"Mrs Taylor, what do you think of your son's work?" a reporter asked.

The whole room went silent.

The question had, of course, been asked just as they had approached one of Justin's sketches of a male figure stretched out on rumpled bedsheets his manhood covered just barely by part of the sheet.

Cameras frantically flashed as Jennifer looked at the framed sketch, at her son, then back to the eager hoard of reporters.

"My son is a gifted artist and the president and I am emmensely proud of his talents in capturing the all incompassing view of the subjects of his works with skill and dignity." she said smiling having skillfully avoided what the press wanted to hear but praising her son at the same time.

The press photographers went beserk as the first lady hugged her son. When she released him from the embrace he had a confused grin on his face. She whispered in his ear again.

"You're just like you father, full of surprises."

The evening prgressed slowly. Pretty soon the whole novelty of following Justin and his mother wore off on the press and they gradually dispersed. The first lady was ushered away by the director again to meet more friends of the art community. Justin was included but managed his way out of it under the guise of the call of nature. He made his way out of the main gallery and to the nearest bathroom. Chris Hobbs intercepted him.

"Sorry Justin, we need to check the bathroom first," he said. Justin looked at him incredulously. "It won't take a minute then you can," Chris's gaze flicked up at down Justin. "Take care of yourself."

Justin gave Chris a doubletake but by time he was going to respond another agent came out of the bathroom with an all clear signal. Chris held the door open. Justin narrowed his eyes at Chris but decided not to press the issue.

Entering the bathroom Justin realised that he really did need to pee and headed for the urinal. A moment later and he heard the door open.

"Geez Chris, there's protection and then there's over protection," Justin said looking over his shoulder to see a tuxedoed Brian enter the bathroom. Justin swallowed deeply. It had now been four days since that evening when it happened. Justin tried not to think about it but he couldn't help himself. Brian took the urinal directly beside Justin.

Justin still held his cock in his hands as it decided to get real hard, real quick.

He swallowed again. He was going to say something but everything that flashed through his head seemed cliche or desperate. It's not like he was all that proficent at urinal conversation.

"So, gallery... art... being with people who like art..." Justin trailed off and wished to hell he could just crawl up somewhere and die.

"I don't know much about art," Brian said. "But I do like hot young artists." He looked at Justin who risked a glance at Brian then found himself being dragged into a stall.

"Brian... we... the secret service are right outside," Justin started to say as his pants fell to the floor.

"Fuck the secret service," Brian replied.

"I think that's the idea," Justin said yelping out the word 'idea' as Brian pushed into him. His breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Justin, Brian, you okay in here?" It was Chris Hobbs, from the door. Everything was silent for a moment.

"I think we both got hit with some bad canapes," Brian said, thrusting deeply into Justin who cried out. "See."

"Uhh, okay," Chris said.

"Give us," Brian started to say but a grunt got in the way. "About ten minutes."

"Justin, you sure you'll be alright?" Chris asked. Justin was in no position to say anything coherant with Brian deep inside him.

"Uh huh," was all he could manage before Brian managed to nudge into Justin's prostate. "Oh fuck!"

"We'll keep the area clear for you," Chris said.

"We'd appreciate that," Brian said, as he heard the door close. "I know that I'm the subject in some your sketches," Brian whispered into Justin's ear. Justin felt a shiver run through him as Brian's hands moved up inside his shirt, caressing warm skin, pinching nipples. Justin's mouth opened but no sound came out. One on Brian's hands slide down Justin's lean frame and grabbed hold of his cock.

Justin's breathing was ragged, Brian sliding in and out of his ass, stroking his cock. Something was going to give soon.

"Faster... harder," Justin managed to say and Brian was only too happy to obliege.

"Oh god!" Justin cried out shooting his load over the stall wall.


Outside the bathroom, Chris was guarding the door. He knew what was going on in there and it had nothing to do with the canapes. He'd been watching Justin all night and he hadn't eaten a thing. He also knew about Brian Kinney's reputation.

The president may have trusted him but the service knew better. However a persons sexuality wasn't grounds not to hire them. Especially in this day and age. You stopped a qualified person from getting a job because he was gay and you'd better be willing to fight a law suit.

In his head he replayed the scene with Justin only minutes ago.

"Oh fuck," he whispered to himself. "Did I...?" He ran the scene through his head again.

"Did I hit on Justin Taylor?"


Justin adjusted himself and fastened his pants. He left the cubicle to see Brian already at the basin, washing his hands. He took the basin beside Brian. They didn't speak. Brian grabbed some paper towel to dry his hands, smoothed out his tux as he looked himself over in the mirror and left.

Like Justin wasn't even there.

Justin went from being on top of the world to crashing down to earth.


Brian pushed the door open and walked past Chris.

"Is Justin okay?" he asked as Brian walked away.

"He's just cleaning up," Brian said over his shoulder before he disappeared around a corner.

Chris pulled open the door to see Justin at the basin. He wasn't suprised when he sniffed the air to smell come and sex.

"Justin, you okay?" Chris said. Justin looked up in the mirror and saw Chris. Justin smiled but Chris knew the smile, it was the forced smile again. Chris stepped forward and placed a hand on Justin's shoulder. Chris's hand didn't move but his thumb moved slightly, almost stroking Justin's shoulder.

Justin watched the movement, glanced up at Chris in the mirror.

"I'm okay," Justin said softly, as he continued to watch Chris's thumb.

"You sure?" Chris managed to say through a dry mouth. Justin turned to face Chris. There was only inches seperating them.

"Yeah, thanks," Justin said and placed a hand on Chris's chest. It was a light touch and only really lasted about a couple of seconds but, in a bathroom of the National Gallery, seemed like an eternity.

"We should get back out to the party," Chris said eventually, having swallowed to moisten his throat. Justin agreed and both left the bathroom...


~tbc~