Bryant looked around the car's interior, wide-eyed. "Mrs. Havasnark, this is the biggest car I have ever seen in my life."

Mrs. Havasnark, behind the wheel in front, was sitting on a phonebook, and her head still barely cleared the dash. "Nice, isn't it, bubbie?"

"You could do gymnastics in this back seat."

"I suspect that some people have," She glanced at Clive, who was in the front seat with her, riding shotgun. "Clive has borrowed it a time or two to take Trenton out to ahem look at the lake." Clive whistled, looking out the window. "So, Bryant, darling, do you think there will be trouble with this mamser?"

"I don't know what a mamser is, but I have a feeling that it's not very complimentery. If we're really lucky he'll be gone, but my luck usually doesn't run that good. He's going to be nasty. I'm just hoping that he's not so drunk that he'll be stupid with witnesses present."

"Well, I think we can be ready for that. Clive, dear, open the glove compartment."

Clive did. "Oh, dear!" He took out a tiny pearl handled derringer. "Precious, this is gorgeous!"

"Yes, and it's real, too."

"Well, I didn't suppose it was a cigarette lighter."

"That was given to me by Buffalo Bill Cody, back when I was working as an Indian squaw in his Wild West Show." She giggled. "I was the only red-headed Comanche they had. I used to keep it tucked in my bosom in case I needed to protect my virtue." Clive snorted softly. "I did so have virtue at one time." He cocked an eyebrow. "Well, anyway, I had standards--still do."

"It's lovely, dear, but should you be hauling it around? Isn't it slightly illegal?"

"I have a permit. I got one when I was having that fling at being a private eye, and I just kept it up."

"Thanks for the thought, Mrs. Havasnark, but I'd rather you didn't bring that with you," Bryant said. "I don't like guns. Much as I hate Priory, I still don't wish him dead or disabled."

"He wouldn't be unless I intended him to be, dear, but as you wish. Put it away, Clive."

As they neared Priory's house, Bryant said, "Clive? I'm not sure how this is going to go, but I want to ask a favor of you."

"You want me to hold back--not just kick his ass on general principles."

Bryant nodded. "Something like that. I have to be the one to make this break--it won't work if someone just gets me out of there. As it is, Priory's going to see this as me leaving him for you, or you taking me away, no matter what we say--it's just how his mind works, but I'm going to make it as clear as I can." He smiled. "Of course, if it's obvious that I'm outclassed, and he's pulping me, a little help would be appreciated. I'm proud, but I'm practical."

"Will do, precious. Restraint until it's 'send in the Marines' time. Then," Clive's eyes glittered, "I will not be polite and gentlemanly."

Mrs. Havasnark mimed a kiss at Clive. "You're always a gentleman, bubbie. It's just that sometimes you're a kick-ass gentleman." They had pulled to the curb in front of Priory's house, and she was surveying the area with shrewed eyes. "Say, who's the hunk next door?"

Bryant looked, and choked down a chuckle. Mister Bellows was down on his knees, weeding his flowerbed. He was wearing only a pair of baggy shorts, tennis shoes, and a straw hat, and his narrow butt was pointed toward the street. "That... um, that would be Mister Bellows. I think his first name is Walter."

"Hmmmm... Married?"

Clive had his hand over his eyesas Bryant answered. "Widowed."

"Hmmmm..."

"Snarky, we are here on a mission," said Clive sternly.

"Of course, of course."

They got out of the car and started up the walk. Mister Bellows got up and walked over to the edge of the lawn. "Hey, Mister Bellows. Lawn's looking good," Bryant observed.

Bellows nodded. "Just enough rain this season. You know, this is the first time I've ever seen anyone but Lowell's poker buddies come to this house. Nice to see you finally having some visitors, Bryant." He was talking to Bryant, but his eyes were on Mrs. Havasnark. Mrs. Havasnark was toying with the long strand of glittering beads she was wearing, and she was smiling at the old fellow in a decidedly interested manner.

Bryant took a closer look at Mister Bellows. He noticed that the old man was a little on the skinny side, but his thin arms and legs were corded with muscle, and his narrow chest was thickly dusted with hair that still had a good bit of dark in with the grey. And, while his face was seamed, it had the type of weathered good looks that some actors seemed to manage. I'll be, Bryant thought, he is a geriatric hunk. Havasnark, you devil. "Mister Bellows, these are my friends--Clive and Mrs. Havasnark."

Bellows bowed slightly as he took Mrs. Havasnark's hand. "Charmed, dear lady." He gave Clive a doubtful look. "You would be Mr. Havasnark?"

Mrs. Havasnark giggled like a schoolgirl. "No," Clive said dryly, "I would not."

"My name is Letitia," she murmured, "But you can call me Lettie."

"How lovely. Lettie, I'm Walter."

"Can I call you Wally?"

"I hope we will find enough time together for you to do so."

"As much as I hate to break up The Dating Game," said Clive, "We're here for a reason."

Bryant took a deep breath. "Have you seen Priory today?"

Bellows frowned. "No, I haven't. But I heard an almighty 'thunk' come out of there a while ago. Sounded like he threw something."

"Ugh. Not a good sign. Mister Bellows, I'm moving out today, and Priory doesn't know it."

Bellows' jaw tightened. "Good for you."

"I was just wondering if you'd mind kind of hovering in the background? The more eyes, the less likely he is to get stupid."

"You mean stupider than he usually is. I'll be happy to, son."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. You know, the only thing I'm going to miss about living here is having you for a neighbor."

"Bryant, you're going to be staying with Clive for the time being?" said Mrs. Havasnark. Clive nodded. "Well, we aren't all that far away. I see no reason why Wally couldn't come around and visit you now and then. If you're out..." she fluttered her eyelashes, "he can wait for you at my place."

"I... yes, that would be... nice." Bryant squared his shoulders. "Let's do this."

They went up the front walk--Bryant in the lead, then Clive, with Mrs. Havasnark and Mister Bellows trailing behind. Bryant took out his key, slipped it into the lock, and hesitated. He'd spent most of his life trying to avoid confrontations--now he was walking into one with his head up and his eyes wide open. He felt Clive's hand on his shoulder. He simply gripped him silently for a moment, then gave him a pat before letting go. The silent support did what was needed--Bryant turned the key, opened the door, and stepped inside.

It was dim in the house. Bryant came down the hall far enough to peer into the living room. The lights were off, and the curtains were drawn--the only light filtering through the slit. His eyes darted around the room, quickly cataloguing details. The phone receiver was dangling from it's cord. That didn't mean much, though, since the other cord had been ripped out of the wall. The coffee table was littered with an assortment of bottles, and there was a pile of broken glass in front of the television. Yeah, that's Priory--get pissed, and his first instinct is to get drunk and hurt someone, and since I wasn't here, he settled for breaking something.

Priory wasn't in evidence, but the doors to the hall bathroom and Priory's bedroom were closed. "He may be sleeping it off," Bryant said quietly. He went into the kitchen, leaving his friends in the living room.

Mrs. Havasnark was looking around with a disapproving expression. "It has about as much personality as a motel room," she whispered. "And I'm guessing that it's the goniff's idea, not our Bri's." Bryant came out carrying a box of garbage bags. Mrs. Havasnark said, "No suitcases, sweetie?"

"Snarky, when did I ever get a chance to go anywhere?" Clive was grinding his teeth when he passed him. "This won't take long, Clive. It's not like I'm going to be packing." He went into his room.

Clive stood in the hall, staring at the beaded curtain in disbelief. Mrs. Havasnark whispered to him, "It looks like a Turkish brothel I once visited--strictly as a tourist of course."

"Of course. And I have a feeling that Bryant would have gotten more respect if he'd been working in one of them," said Clive grimly. He watched as the boy opened drawers and unceremoniously dumped armloads of clothes into the sacks. He emptied the dresser, then went to the closet. Clothes were stuffed into the bags, hangers and all, with shoes going in on top of them. Byrant paused, and threw a pair of white loafers on the bed. Clive applauded softly.

Bryant carried the first two bags to the door of the room. Clive took them and handed them off to Bellows and Havasnark, who began to ferry them out to the car. Bryant began to clear out his desk, carefully and quickly collecting all his school papers, notes, and textbooks.

He was just knotting the bag shut when he heard the door to Priory's bedroom open, and a slurred voice call, "You! Wha' th' fuck are you doin' in my house?"

Bryant groaned. "Shit! Almost." Clive had turned slowly to stare the few yards up the hall to where Priory, rumpled, unshaven, and smelling bad enough to wrinkle the Dom's nose even at that distance, stood swaying in the doorway to his room. Bryant said warningly, "Clive."

"I know, dear, I know." He glared at Priory. "As to what I'm doing here, I came at Bryant's invitation."

"Oh, you did, did you? Well, this is myhouse, an' I wanta know where that little whore thinks he gets off, bringing his fuckbuddies home to screw under th' roof that I'm payin' for."

Clive's voice was deceptively soft. Anyone who knew him knew that it was time to start stepping very carefully when his voice took on that timbre. "I was under the impression that this was Bri's home, too. As such he should be able to have over people when he..."

Bryant stepped out into the hall, saying heavily, "Clive, don't waste your breath. He'll never grasp the concept."

Priory scowled. "You! So, you finally decided to come home, did you? You walking bowlegged, boy? How many cocks did you have down your throat and up your ass, huh? How many?"

"God, I want to say something so bad," Clive snarled.

Bryant put his free hand on his friend's arm, silently asking him not to. Priory noticed the casual intimacy of the touch, and dull rage flared inside him. He came closer. "Well, I knew you'd come back sooner or later. You can't make it on your own out there--you're too fuckin' stupid. You'd end up beaten to a pulp and in some pimp's stable inside a week without me to look after you. You can stay, but you're gonna have to clean your act up. There's gonna be a new order around here, and you..."

"Priory!" Bryant interupted. Priory was so surprised to have Bryant dare to break into one of his rants that he fell silent. "I'm not coming back to you--I'm only here for my stuff."

Priory took a few seconds to digest this information. His face was already flushed--now it started to slowly turn purple. "You're leaving me?" He started down the hall slowly. "You're leaving me?"

"We heard you the first time," said Clive. "Do you need me to say it for you in French or Spanish--will that help you grasp it?"

"Shut up, faggot." Clive stiffened. "You think I spent all that time and effort getting this bitch trained just to let you waltz in and hustle him away?"

"I think you wasted your time, you stupid bit of gutter trash."

"Why, you...!"

"And I'll telly you right now that you might just as well have tried to turn a hunting hawk into a fucking canary. This boy is no more a submissive than I am. He's something you will never be, even if you get a balls transplant and a stiff shot of testosterone. He's a Dom--a true Dom, not some jumped up schoolyard bully wannabe like you."

"Clive," Bryant sighed.

"I'm sorry, precious, but some things cannot be allowed to pass."

Priory was so stunned and angry that he wasn't able to react for a few moments. He was just standing there, his eyes beginning to bug, his mouth hanging open. Bryant moved into the hall, putting himself between Priory and Clive. "Look, Pri, it's over, okay? Yeah, you did a lot for me, but you damn sure got compensated for it, so just let it lie. I'm just taking my stuff and going."

Priory's voice was a whisper. "You can fucking well leave all that shit here."

"Son of a...? Why? You can't wear any of the clothes. You can't use any of the texts."

"Sure I can. I've been wanting to have a good bonfire in the backyard, and that shit will burn just fine, so you can leave it here."

Bryant stared at him, disgusted by his pettiness. "It's already in the car. You had your chance to do the offended lover crap last night, and you blew it," his voice was rising, "and I'm not your fucking lover, anyway, so just stop the shit!"

Priory raised his hand, "Take that bass out of your voice, pussy!"

Bryant didn't back down. Instead he leaned toward Priory, expression stiff, and for once Priory actually saw the heat and hatred blazing in the boy's eyes. It made him hesitate for a second. But then he convinced himself that this was just his bitch, and he could make him submit, like he always had. He slapped Bryant.

Mrs. Havasnark and Bellows came in just as the flat of Priory's hand smacked into Bryant's face. Mrs. Havasnark cried out in indignation, and Mister Bellows yelled, "You keep your hands off that boy, Lowell!"

Clive, hands fisted and white knuckled, had started past Bryant, but the younger man put out his arm, barring his way, and said hoarsely, "No! This is my business." He glared at Priory, baring his teeth. "That was your last free shot, Pri. Anything else, and I hit back--hard. I'm going to walk out of here, and if you have any sense you'll just let me pass, and get on with forgetting that we ever had anything to do with each other--that's what I plan to do." He started past Priory.

Priory grabbed his shoulder, squeezing hard. "You don't give me orders, slut!" This time he punched Bryant, but the boy was already drawing back, and it only glanced along his jaw.

Clive was prepared to leap into action, but it didn't come to that. Bryant staggered a step with the force of the blow, dropping his bag and catching himself against the wall with his left hand. With no more than a split second's pause he drew his right arm across his body for maximum force, then swung. The cast on his right forearm caught Priory squarely across the nose. There was a crunch, and Priory gave a muffled scream as he clutched at his injured face, blood flowing between his fingers.

He pulled away his hand and stared stupidly at the thick crimson stain on his hands. "You fucking broke my nose!"

"No? Really?"

"You bitch!" Priory reached for him again.

Something inside Bryant snapped. This time he threw a left, and it caught Priory square in the mouth, slicing Bryant's knuckles, but loosening three of Priory's teeth and knocking him on his ass. "Stop it! It's over."

Priory started to stand. When he was almost upright, reaching for Bryant again, the boy grabbed his shoulders and raised a knee into his crotch. This time when Priory collapsed, he wasn't going to get up any time soon. He couldn't even scream, he could just groan and puke. Bryant stood over him, breathing rapidly. He said roughly, "Let--it--go! God damn it, Pri--it's fucking over!"

On the floor, Priory choked, "Police... have your ass arrested for assault. You're gonna be the most popular girl in the cellblock, kid."

"I don't think so," said Mister Bellows. "Not with witnesses to the fact that he was defending himself. And I think Bryant is going to have a bruise on his jaw--another bruise. Boy, I'll be happy to give a statement if you decide to file charges on this bastard."

"I don't think that will be necessary, sir." Bryant bent over Priory. "Cause you know how they'd list anything like this, don't you, Pri? They'd list it as a domestic disturbance. Yeah, they'd put it down as a couple of boyfriends having a spat that got out of hand." Priory was silent, and Bryant nodded. "Wouldn't that look just lovely to the administration?" The swim coach stared at the boy with frank hatred. "Thought so." Bryant picked up the sack again. "Let's go, folks. I really want to get the smell of this place out of my nostrils." He dropped his key in front of Priory, then turned and walked to the front door.

Mrs. Havasnark took a step toward where Lowell was huddled on the hall floor. "If I wasn't such a lady," she said coldly, "I'd spit on you. Sometimes I curse my genteel upbringing." She turned majestically, took Bellows' arm and sailed out.

Clive, the last one in the house, paused before Priory. He squatted down and said softly, "You know, I haven't had the hindrance of a genteel upbringing. Bryant asked me to leave this to him, and so I shall, but he's going to be in my home and thus under my auspices. In case that word is too big for you, it means encouragement, approval and support, or protection, if you prefer. I will take it very badly if you try any shit with him." Clive patted Priory's cheek. The gesture was gentle, and very insulting. "Keep that in mind." He left.

Priory retched again, listening as the car outside pulled away. He muttered, "Oh, I'll keep that in mind, all right. I'm damn sure not going to forget that."