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The
party had been going full tilt when Brian first arrived. Versace-clad
women danced arm in arm with Armani-suited men; lips were pressed
against lips or cheeks in greeting, and all around the room handsome
men held his eyes too long in open invitation.
"Ten years is a long time." Brian repeated those words to himself again and again. The dark-eyed Romeo had been satisfactory, but ultimately boring, and had already been given the boot. "A lot can change in ten years." Brian studied himself in his bathroom mirror. He was older, grayer, and more wrinkled. The hair transplants had covered the balding issue to a large degree, but the thinness was still visible. However, his stomach was still ripped, and his thighs strong--even so, he'd definitely lost his youth. He was solidly a man now, with none of the little boy that he used to sometimes see in his face. "A lot can change." But inside he felt the same. He still liked to party and fuck; he still liked to watch cartoons on the sly, and read comics with Mikey. Brian had told Michael once, "No matter where I go, or who I'm with, I'll always love you." And that was true. He couldn't imagine that ever changing. "Some things never change," Brian said. Like how he felt about Michael. Like how he felt about Justin. Brian never understood how it had happened. It was kind of like when he'd met Michael as a kid. An annoying little brat wormed his way into his life and didn't let go. But Justin was different than Michael, because he challenged Brian's world view, pushed him to be a better man, and sometimes Brian wondered how much more he might have accomplished if Justin had stuck around. Brian had lost Justin three times. At least, that's how he saw it. The first time was due to a baseball bat--a short, sharp crack robbed them both of the innocence and joy that had been Justin's birthright. The second was to a violin player and pack of bullshit dreams--four long months of fighting to breathe, of realizing that it was too late, and that he'd fallen in love. The last time was to Justin's destiny, his future, and Los Angeles--months of delayed pain were finally resolved in a quick phone call, and cut ties; all of it with the finality of a door slamming shut, a window sealing off, or death cutting Justin out for good. Michael once told him that he hadn't been sure that Brian would survive it. Cynthia said that she'd feared for his sanity. But it had all smoothed out in the end. He'd picked up the pieces and moved on, stronger than ever. "A lot can change in ten years." Justin hadn't, though. He'd looked amazing at the party, but Brian wasn't surprised by that. He'd seen the photos in the magazines, kept an eye on his protege, his young ex-lover, and knew that Justin had been a fabulous, fucking success--bedding gorgeous men all over the world, and learning to smile an approximation of the grin that had earned him that old nickname once upon a time, long, long ago, in a diner on the gay side of Pittsburgh. Justin might not be as lean as he once was, but his maturity suited him well, bringing out an almost rugged sexuality that offset his somewhat too-pretty good looks. Brian wondered if his skin tasted the same, if he still groaned in that soft, halting way when he was about to come. "Ten years is a long time." To be in love with someone that he'd never have again. And yet, apparently not long enough for the hurt to go away. Brian had felt the heat and he knew that Justin had, too. The sexy blink that Justin had basically patented was turned on him from the beginning of their conversation, and the way Justin's body had angled toward him, the small give-aways that hid in the set of Justin's lips, the tone of Justin's voice, all said that he wanted Brian, too. But a 'hey, long time, no see' fuck wasn't on Brian's to-do list for the week. Or for his lifetime. Not when it came to Justin. Mainly because somewhere along the way, his body had spoken the words that his mouth had never said, and Brian knew that there would be no way to stop it from saying it again--and no way to stop his heart from hurting when Justin left. And that was inevitable. Or was it? Brian looked at his reflection for a long time. What would Justin see in him? A sexy, wealthy, intelligent man-- "Ten years is a long time. Some things never change. I look fucking hot," Brian muttered, before turning his back on the mirror and heading to bed.
Mark Vanderhalder was on Brian's extension at nine-oh-two a.m. the following Monday morning. He had a pleasant voice, was obviously intelligent, and spoke of Justin as 'my partner' with a tone that made it plain that he was more than Justin's business partner. "Justin has a vision for the company, Mr. Kinney. He is a very hands-on leader, but I think based on Dominique's comments, that what you and Kinnetik have to offer might be of interest to him. We look forward to hearing any suggestions you have for our company. My partner wants to increase profitability this upcoming year, and I don't want to let him down." "He won't be let down, Mark. Kinnetik will see to that." Brian found himself cataloguing any perceived weakness that he could find in Mark, small things like the timbre of his voice, the way he said Justin's name with so much prideful confidence, and the subtle tick when he inhaled, but it wasn't until Brian hung up the phone and found himself muttering, "Enjoy him while you can, Mark," that he realized he'd decided to win Justin back--for good this time. Brian asked his assistant, Amelia, to schedule an appointment for the initial pitch and for Mark to drop by to tour Kinnetik two days prior. He had found that showing his clients around his unique and spacious office, another converted bathhouse (why mess with a winning combination?) gave them a preview of what to expect from Kinnetik as an agency, as well as impressing them with the modern, daring venue. When the phone rang at three o'clock, Brian knew before Amelia told him that it was Michael. That was something else that had never changed, would never change. Mikey, would always be his best friend and confidante. And now Mikey had his own little fortune. The fortune that Rage built. Brian missed him in New York City, but Michael would never leave the Pitts, no matter how much money he made. It was home, and it served as the base of operations for Michael and Ben's family--which had grown over the years when he and Ben fostered more children. In Pittsburgh Michael could stay close to Hunter, his mother, and Vic's grave. He could hold Emmett's hand and be there for Ted when he needed someone to stand by him. And of course, there was Jenny Rebecca, who was only ten. Michael wanted to always be close to her and to the new baby on the way. When Lindsay and Mel had brought up having kids again, Brian had never been so glad that his sperm had been radiated to hell and back during the cancer treatments. Brian picked up the line, saying, "Hey, Mikey. What's up?" "The youngest kid is still shitting in his pants, JR is going to be the lead in the school play, Mel has been put on restriction due to pre-term labor again, and Gus told me to tell you that he wants to come stay for a week." "Sounds like an eventful day." "You could say that. What's up with you? Fuck any hot guys?" Brian leaned back in his chair and played with his pencil. "He was pretty hot, I guess. He was a little too...pretty. Big eyes, big lips. Kind of effeminate. But he sucked cock like a pro." "Well, when you've fucked everyone, I guess your standards are pretty fucking high," Mikey snarked. "And I saw Justin," Brian said, keeping his tone even. Michael was silent for a long moment then said, "Ma talked to him a few days ago. I knew he was in New York." There was another long pause. "How'd you run into him? In a backroom or something?" "Nope. A client's party." Michael sighed on the other end of the line. "Did you fuck him?" "No, I didn't fuck him!" Brian scoffed, paused and added, "Besides, he's in a relationship." "Wait a minute, I know that tone. Brian--" Michael's tone grew high-pitched, on the verge of a drama-queen moment. "--don't do this to yourself. Let it go." "I don't know what you're talking about, Mikey. Besides, I can't let it go--" "Yes, you can. And you will." "He's going to be a client. His partner wants me to pitch for the company. Apparently, the reviews from my current clients have him all in atwitter to get Kinnetik to do their next campaign." "Brian--" Michael's voice held warning. "What are you planning?" "Nothing. I mean, the partner seems pretty secure. I'm sure a little competition won't shake him up too badly." "You should walk away." Michael sighed heavily, and Brian continued to twirl his pencil. Inside, he knew that Michael was right. "It's been how long? Ten years or some shit like that? Is it really so important to your giant fucking ego to ruin his relationship, just to prove that he still wants you? You're Brian fucking Kinney! Of course he still wants you!" Brian was silent. Michael was wrong, it wasn't about his ego. "Brian?" "It's not like that, Mikey." Michael remained quiet for just a moment, and then Brian could hear him rustling in the background, sorting through comic book bins at the comic store he still ran part-time. "Brian, you don't even know him any more. What if he's changed?" "He hasn't changed." "Brian--" "Listen, Mikey, I've got to go. Have fun with the little pants-shitter and get the date of JR's play to Amelia so that her Uncle Brian can send roses on opening night. I was always her favorite, you know." "Brian--" "Later, Mikey." The dial tone was a relief. He didn't need Michael voicing all of his inner-most fears. They whispered to him loudly enough every time he remembered Justin's eyes and lips and voice--and that was approximately every other second.
Less than a week before the initial pitch, Brian was methodically studying up on Justin's company. He knew that the idea for the campaign had to be nothing less than brilliant. There could be no room for error or miscalculation. Justin's campaign might not be his biggest account, but it could end up being his most important one. His first move was to contact Dominique Johansson and, after polite greetings (if one could call discussion of their prior night's sexual escapades 'polite'), he asked her as carefully as possible, "What do you know about Justin Taylor?" "Liked him, did you, love? I saw you talking to him at the bar. You do realize that he's very taken, don't you?" "Why Dominique, is everything about sex when it comes to you?" He smiled as her laughter pealed over the line. "I'm merely asking because his partner is apparently besotted with me based on your rave reviews of my genius and the rumors of my prowess in bed. I just wonder if I need to fear Mr. Taylor's shotgun for stealing his lover." Dominique laughed some more, then said, "Oh, even if that were true, which I know it isn't because Mark is obsessed, obsessed, with Justin, you wouldn't need to fear for your life. They have a very open relationship. Well, on Justin's end of things--or so I understand." Brian stuck his tongue in his cheek and hummed thoughtfully. So, Justin wasn't Mr. Monogamy after all. "How long have they been together?" "Oh, about three years, off and on. Justin has made it quite clear that Mark is not the end-all and be-all of his existence. Sadly, I can't say the same for Mark." "So," Brian tried to turn the discussion back to business on some level before Dominique became too suspicious of his questions. "I suppose that appealing to Mr. Vanderhalder's desires to be associated with Kinnetik will not make all that much of an impression on Mr. Taylor with regards to consideration of our campaign." Dominique chirped in amusement. "Oh, no, dearest. No, no, no. Justin gives Mark nearly every whim his heart desires, so long as it fits into the scheme of Justin's vision for the company. They have a very...symbiotic relationship. A very healthy one in many ways," she clucked in thought. "Although, sometimes, it's my opinion that Justin gets bored. He seems to like a little drama in his life." "I see. And, hey, thank you for the referrals. You keep sending them my way like this and I might have to break down and give you what you want--" "Oh, my love, you know that it isn't Mark that is besotted with you, but I--your very own Dominique--who would ride you until you couldn't be ridden any more!" Brian laughed. "Well, that wouldn't be very long, considering your pussy would make my dick shrivel up and fall off." "Dirty boy! Dirty, dirty boy! Talk dirty to me some more!" When Brian hung up the phone, he leaned back in his chair again listening to the echoing silence in the office. Everyone had long since gone home, and he pondered the shadows on the ceiling. He was tired of feeling like he'd never stop missing someone, tired of that gaping spot in his chest that he could feel when he let himself grow quiet. He thought about calling Lindsay; she had always been one of the few who really knew how he felt about Justin, and had treated him like he deserved that kind of love. There was a time when he hadn't believed that he did, but he was older now, and wiser. And the truth was that no one deserved the kind of love that Justin had once given him, but he wanted it anyway. And he'd have it, because he was, like Mikey said, Brian fucking Kinney.
"Another old bathhouse, huh? Well, never let anyone say that you're inconsistent, Brian." The layouts for Raging Enterprises were splayed over his desk, and his eyes were blurred from trying to figure out just what exactly was wrong with the second image--should he reverse it? Make it black and white? He was utterly unprepared. "Justin," Brian leaned back in his chair and let instinct take over. "I wasn't expecting you." "I told--Amelia? Is that her name?" Brian nodded. "--that you wouldn't mind me not being announced. I have no doubt, though, that she's currently pissing in her panties thinking that you're going to go out there and carve her a new one for letting me in without warning." Justin smiled provocatively, eyelids slightly lowered, blink in full flirt-mode. "Are you?" "No. I'm going to fire her." Justin grinned. "Oh, you were always so sexy when you got tough with your employees. Can I watch?" Brian chuckled, and said, "Is there something I can help you with?" "I just wanted to see who, or rather what, I might be getting into bed with. Raging Enterprises is my baby, you know. I'm rather protective of it and I like to do my research." Brian smirked. "According to my calendar there are several more days before our appointment, and your partner is supposed to tour the agency tomorrow." "I think that surprise visits are much more revealing." Justin stepped up to the edge of the desk, leaned against it and finished in a husky voice, "Don't you?" Brian turned back to the spreads on his desk. "I'm working on your campaign right now." He indicated the second board. "There's something wrong with the image here. Do you think it needs to be reversed?" Justin sat on the edge of the desk and leaned over. "Hmm, not reversed, just more to the left." Brian nodded and made a note. His palms were sweaty, and when he stood up, he casually ran his hands down his pants legs, then clapped them together. "Well, then, shall we do the tour?" "Brian?" "Yes?" Brian looked into Justin's eyes and felt as though he had been pulled in; he couldn't look away, and he knew that his face revealed too much. "Are you seeing anyone?" Brian snorted, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back on his heels. "Not very subtle, Justin." "I'm not into subtle. Who has time for that anymore? So, tell me...anyone that you fuck more than once?" Brian scratched his chin, trying to play down the fact that his heart was beating double-time in his chest, and the horribly dangerous emotion of hope was soaring through him again. "Hmm, more than once, yes. But rarely more than twice, and never more than five times." He sighed dramatically. "They tend to bore me after that." "We must've fucked thousands of times," Justin whispered. Brian lowered his eyes, felt the heat rising inside of him then looked back up to Justin's intense blue gaze. "You have a partner." "I'm queer. I fuck who I want--" "I know the lines, Justin. I made them up." Brian swept his arm toward the door. "Now, tour?" Justin slid off the desk and nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. Brian noticed for the first time that Justin dressed very well, like an adult, but with a touch of something wild that kept it young, made it artsy. He wondered if Justin picked his clothes himself, or if Mark chose them for him. "Well, this is my office, as you've seen--" Brian began. Justin followed along at his side, murmuring and asking intelligent questions about the architecture, the past campaigns displayed on the walls, joking about the drain in the floor, saying that it really could be handy and that he'd had one installed in his office, too. Brian introduced him to his staff, the individuals who had worked most closely with Brian on the Raging Enterprises campaign, and showed him the view from the rooftop, though he didn't linger there for long. Sure, he wanted to seduce Justin, wanted to fuck him up against the wall right that very moment, but he knew that it had to be done right. He didn't want it to be a fast fuck, but something different, something like they'd been moving toward before destiny and L.A. stole Justin away from him. Still, now in the front lobby, the simple sensation of Justin's hand on his arm, holding him in place, took his breath away, and he had a hard time hearing Justin's words. "I've missed you, Brian." Brian choked on his response, and he didn't know for certain what he'd said. He thought that he might've said, "Me, too." "Do you want to go to dinner?" "Not tonight." Brian tried to sound like it didn't hurt to turn Justin down. "I need to finish up the boards for the presentation." "Thursday?" Brian licked his lips, his heart pounding out warnings, but he didn't listen. Dinner Thursday would be foolish since the pitch would be the following morning, but he found that he'd nodded, saying, "Yes, Thursday." "I'll pick you up here," Justin said firmly. Brian nodded. Justin's hands slid up his arms, and he met Justin's gaze just as Justin's lips closed on his in a gentle kiss. Justin's mouth was warm, tasted like cinnamon gum, and he sighed as Justin's tongue touched his all too briefly. "Brian--" Justin nuzzled his face, and Brian's cock thickened. "I've really missed you." "Justin--" "Thursday. I'll pick you up at seven." "What about Mar--" Justin smiled. "Don't talk about Mark, okay? As for you and me--we're just old friends catching up, right? I'll tell him what I need to tell him. Don't complicate things, Brian. It's too soon for that." Brian felt like a child for the first time in a long time--a chastised child who could do nothing but nod with wide eyes at the man in front of him. His hands felt cold when Justin released them, leaving the building through the glass front doors. Brian turned to see Amelia looking at him nervously, before she ducked her head and went back to her work. He glanced around to see several other employees watching with odd expressions. He turned on his heel and returned to his office.
Brian wore a more casual outfit than usual to the office in preparation for their date. Was it a date? He wasn't sure. He only knew that he wanted it to be a date by the time the evening was over--and so it would be. The absurdity of Brian Kinney wanting something to actually be a date wasn't lost on him, but as he'd been saying in various forms ever since he saw Justin again for the first time, "Ten years is a long time. A lot can change in ten years." Amelia smiled and told him that he looked wonderful and "so relaxed, Mr. Kinney!" He grinned and said, "Don't I always look wonderful, Amelia?" "Of course," she replied, indicating the calendar on her desk. "I see that Mr. Taylor of Raging Enterprises will be here this evening. Is there anything I need to do in preparation for the appointment?" Brian shook his head, thumbing through some written messages she'd handed him when he first walked in. "When did the representative from Tiffany's call?" "Seven-thirty last evening. I was still here to catch the call. I think he was surprised that I answered; he said he'd planned on leaving a message." "Burning the midnight oil again? Be careful, Amelia--all work and no play will get you a raise, but it won't get you laid." Amelia shrugged, blushing a little. Brian recognized the expression and grinned predatorily. "Who was she, hmm?" he taunted. "Nobody you'd know. A librarian--" Amelia bloomed into a happy smile. "A beautiful, wonderful, brilliant librarian, with red hair and an amazing--" "Great," Brian interrupted, dismissing any more discussion of the topic with a flip of his hand. "Happy to hear it. Just keep up the good work around here and maybe you'll get a raise to buy her a nice fuzzy, lezzy wedding ring or something." Amelia rolled her eyes and shoved a folder his way. "The drafts for Raging Enterprises are in there--all they need is your approval and they'll go to the final boards." Brian sat at his desk and tried to concentrate. Everything looked great as far as he could tell, but he was too distracted to feel confident that everything was perfect. But that was what he hired the minions for, right? And it wasn't as if he hadn't held their hand every step of the way-- He picked up the nearest pen and signed off on the designs. They were as good as they were going to get. Time dragged as he waited impatiently for the little hand to get to the seven. When the other employees left, drifting away over the course of a few hours, leaving just him and Amelia to toil away, the office seemed too quiet, so he put on light music as a distraction. The first piece was John Coltrane, and he leaned back in his seat thinking about a time in his life when he'd relaxed to techno music while eating Chinese food on the floor of his loft in Pittsburgh. He closed his eyes, recognizing the tune of "My Favorite Things", and remembered-- --blue sheets and soft pillows, pale skin on dark fabric, red lips open with desire and crooning with need-- He shook himself like a dog, and sat up again, pulling the closest folder toward him and considered the photo of a rather ordinary looking jockstrap. --toes curling from the intensity of pleasure, eyes half-open, glazed and staring into his own-- He shifted and adjusted his cock. Jockstraps were inherently unattractive things, only made sexy by the man who filled them. --the gentle give of a smooth palm under his fingers as he massaged the cramp away, soft lips on his neck, the smell of peanut butter and bananas filling the loft along with the sound of squeaking tennis shoes on the wooden floor-- Brian cradled his head in his hands and took a deep, cleansing breath, like his private yoga instructor had told him to do--right before Brian took hold of him and fucked him silly against a pile of yoga mats. "Christ," he whispered. The longing that filled him took his breath away, making it hard to breathe. It seemed insane that he could want this much after so many years, but there it was filling him up like the tide, just a huge moving body of want, need, and please. "Feeling all right?" Brian's head snapped up, and if Justin didn't stop taking him by surprise, he wasn't going to survive the next startlement. "Just thinking," he said, standing up quickly. "Wondering if you were going to be on time, or be running late like usual. You know how I fucking hate to be kept waiting when I'm hungry." He was absolutely not hungry. "I no longer suffer from chronic lateness syndrome," Justin said, laughing. "Mark sees to that." Brian moved around his desk to gather his coat. He was glad to see that Justin wore blue jeans and a sweater under a casual jacket, meaning that they wouldn't be going anywhere fancy or boring. "And he can get you to pull away from your art, or whatever the fuck you're working on? I applaud the bastard. I never succeeded in that." Justin grinned. "He lies to me about the time. But he's even smarter--" He shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes wandering over Brian in appraisal. "He never lies by the same amount of time, and sometimes he doesn't lie to me at all about it, so I never know if he's telling the truth or not. He keeps me on my toes." Brian lifted his brows as he tucked his scarf in the neck of his coat. Why Justin was telling him such things, he didn't know--and that sick tightening of his gut was definitely jealousy. Brian patted his coat, making a show of ensuring that he had his keys, before saying, "Let's go." Justin took the lead as they exited the Kinnetik offices, hailing a cab, and pulling Brian in after him. Conversation was of the traditionally polite type. "How was your day?" But Brian felt Justin's warmth across the seat from him, and his heart beat rapidly with the proximity of him. When they pulled up to The Plaza Hotel, Brian frowned. "Not exactly the venue I was expecting," he commented as Justin paid the fare and hopped out. "We're staying here--Mark and I. You don't mind do you? It's just easier this way. We'll have privacy, get to talk, you know--get caught up." Brian asked as he followed Justin into the beautiful, spacious lobby, "So, Mark will be joining us, then?" The disappointment that thought brought to his throat was difficult to swallow around. Justin looked over his shoulder with an expression as though Brian had gone insane. "Of course not. I have several private rooms reserved. We'll be alone." Brian didn't know whether or not he was relieved, so he didn't say much more as they took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. Justin chattered politely about the weather, the hotel, the best place in town to get cupcakes, his preference for The Village, but said nothing that required more than guttural acknowledgements from Brian. The room itself was quite tasteful, as Brian remembered from his prior stays in the hotel, but he wasn't expecting the lowered lights, the dinner laid out nicely on a table, candles, and light music in the background. It was enough to break the ice, though, forcing him to laugh out loud. "What the fuck is this? Seduction Scenes 101, or something? Christ, Justin!" Justin started laughing, too, flipping on lights around the room, and turning the shitty music off. "Sorry, I told my assistants that I was bringing a special friend to the room tonight, and I suppose they just decided to prepare it in the usual way." He turned to Brian, blond hair glowing in the increased light in the room. "I get a hell of a lot of hot ass with this set up." Brian began to unwind his scarf, still chuckling. "This reminds me of a time when this kid I used to fuck tried to convince me to have a picnic on the floor--" Justin grinned. "Yeah, and you know, over the years, you ended up having a lot of picnics on the floor." Brian's heart grew warm and he smiled softly. "Yeah, I did, didn't I? Some little fucker thought it was romantic or some shit like that." Justin moved toward the bed, pulled off the pillows and tossed them on the floor. "Yeah, stupid little fucker." "Your seduction techniques have truly suffered over the years," Brian said, as Justin ripped the coverlet off the bed, and threw it to the floor, too. "Am I supposed to begin disrobing now? Was this supposed to sweep me off my feet? Just the sight of bed sheets is supposed to give me a hard-on?" Justin rolled his eyes, chuckling, and Brian crossed his arms over his chest, watching as Justin made a nest of pillows on the floor, and then as he turned to table and began moving plates to the center of the heap. "Well, are you going to just stand there?" Justin asked. "Or are you going to help the little fucker get the romantic picnic of his fucking dreams?" Brian smirked, turned the lights back down, and joined Justin in transferring their dinner from the table to the hotel room floor.
Two bottles of wine later, Brian was feeling no pain, and time had seemed to rewind. He was having dinner on the floor of his loft with his lover, both of them ten years younger, laughing like they'd never been apart. But then the light from the candles would shift and he would remember that despite their laughter, despite the way his body was responding to Justin's nearness, time had indeed gone by, leaving a spray of crow's feet at the corners of Justin's eyes, and a strength of character that only age can bring etched into Justin's face. "How's Gus?" Justin asked, finally. Brian had been waiting for the question for some time. He knew that it would be the one that would lead to the intimate questions, the ones that would devolve into touching, then kissing, then fucking. It would be the question that said, "Where is your heart in this? Here's a taste of mine." "He's almost fourteen. I think he's gay, but I'm not sure. I've seen him looking at boys and girls, so maybe he likes pussy and cock. I don't know. But he's smart, loving, kind to his mothers and his sister." Brian smiled thinking of his son. "And he fucking knows his designers. The kid's got fucking great taste in clothes." He laughed, before saying quietly, "I couldn't ask for more." "I missed seeing him grow up. That makes me sad. I think of him a lot," Justin said. "I think of how he was born on the night that we met, you know? And then I get bummed that I missed out on a lot of his life when I left. I wish I'd kept in better touch." Brian turned and fumbled in his jacket, retrieving his wallet. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he said, opening it and pulling out Gus' new school photograph. "Tell anyone that I have a fucking picture of my kid in my wallet, and I'll cut your balls off." Justin took the picture and grew very somber as he studied it. He looked up finally after several long minutes and Brian was surprised to see that his eyes appeared damp. "He's beautiful. Wow. I knew he would be, but he's--" Justin stared at the photo again before pressing it into Brian's hand. "He's amazing. He looks just like you. Now I'm even sorrier that I didn't see him grow up." Brian tucked the photo back into his wallet in the ensuing silence. Part of him wanted to say, "Then why didn't you?" But he knew the answer to that. Besides, even if Justin had wanted to stay, had really wanted to give their relationship the good old college try, Brian would never have allowed it. He'd made sure that when Justin left, it was under circumstances that he'd stay away for good. It had nearly killed him to do it. The things he'd said-- He'd always said that sorry was bullshit, but as he'd aged he'd begun to recognize the value of confession and absolution. The day that he'd accepted Gus' apology for calling Brian a fucking faggot, it had occurred to him that forgiveness didn't make a person into a victim, and that asking for absolution wasn't about shirking consequences, that sometimes asking for forgiveness and granting it was the ultimate act of taking responsibility. Not everyone was Jack and Joanie. "Justin, I said some things, a long time ago--" He really wanted to make it right, find a way to let Justin know that this time would be different. "I didn't--" "Shhh," Justin whispered. "Don't go there." They sat, not speaking, and Brian replaced the wallet in his jacket pocket, then took another sip from his almost empty glass. "Brian?" He met Justin's eyes and held the gaze. "Brian, can I--?" "Yes." Justin's mouth was hungry, devouring his with sharp nips and bites. Brian leaned back to the floor, pulling Justin with him as he went.
Justin's calves rubbed against Brian's sides as they rutted together. Shirts, pants, and underwear had been hastily discarded in a heap beside them. The blankets they were sitting on didn't provide much cushion, but Brian couldn't take his hands or his mouth off Justin long enough to try to gentle their movements with pillows or to shift their activity to the bed. Brian felt frantic to get inside of Justin, as though if he could just press his cock into Justin's tight body, he could make everything right, erase everything that had gone so wrong. He knew that nothing could reverse time, but the heat between them, the lust that made him feel insane, could block out the past and make it irrelevant. His hands found Justin's asshole, and his mouth covered Justin's lips to capture the moan when he pressed two fingers inside. It was tight, hot, and silky smooth; his cock jerked with desire, and he twisted his fingers, trying to open Justin, unlock him physically and emotionally; he wanted to look up and see the familiar softness in Justin's eyes, the look of love and affection that he'd missed so deeply, and yet he feared that it wouldn't be there, so he kept his eyes closed or focused on his fingers. "Hold on," Justin grunted, grabbing Brian's hands and stilling his motions. "Lube. Condoms." Justin broke free, pushing Brian's still grasping hands away, moving on his hands and knees toward a black bag placed strategically by the bedside. Brian, impatient and so hard that his cock leaked pre-cum down into his pubic hair, didn't wait for Justin to return, instead approaching him from behind and pushing him to the ground by the side of the bed, the rough carpet leaving red marks on Justin's pale skin. Brian spread Justin's ass cheeks and buried his face in Justin's sweet, hot crack, licking his hole, nipping and shoving his tongue into him, loving the taste, which was absolutely the same, completely familiar to him, and he couldn't get enough. He held Justin's hips, pulling his ass firmly to his lips and sucking him, rimming him hard and fast, giving him everything he could, while Justin writhed and bucked against the carpet, his rough voice crying out from the pleasure of it. Brian didn't stop until he could hear Justin's breath catching in near sobs and then, holding Justin's hips steady, Brian pulled back. He reached into the black bag and pulled out the lube and condom, then quick work of sliding the condom on and squirting lube on Justin's asshole. "Fuck me," Justin muttered. "Fuck me, please." Brian couldn't wait any longer and he drove into Justin, both of them arching and crying out as his cock cleaved Justin open. It was tight and he had to stop for a moment, bend his head to Justin's back and catch his breath. Justin moaned beneath him, obviously struggling to accommodate him and Brian tried to hold back but finally the need to move overrode his ability to resist and he thrust into Justin again and again. The friction of thrusting his cock into Justin's tight ass was nearly too intense, but when Justin pushed back groaning, asking for more, Brian couldn't have stopped if he wanted to. He nuzzled the back of Justin's neck and took deep breaths of his scent, familiar, though strange from different soap and cologne, then slid his hands up Justin's body, wrapped them around Justin's shoulders, panting as they strained together. "Fuck," Justin gasped. "Oh fuck." Brian pulled back, angled his thrust and closed his eyes as Justin shouted and jerked beneath him. Glancing over his shoulder, Brian could see Justin's toes curling and uncurling spasmodically as Brian fucked him harder and harder. Justin's hands gripped at the carpet but couldn't get a good hold of the short threads, and instead his knuckles were skinned and red from the effort. When Justin reached to grasp his own cock, Brian knocked his hand away, pushing his hips into the carpet and forcing Justin to rut against the rough floor. "Brian, oh God, so fucking good," Justin whimpered, his face also rubbing against the floor with each push of Brian's cock into him. Justin's body wasn't as lithe, he wasn't as young, but he still fit Brian perfectly, his body arching under his in exact rhythm, no effort in their joining beyond the simple strain to reach orgasm, or to postpone it for as long as possible. Brian buried his nose in the top of Justin's sweat-damp hair, and slid his hands from Justin's shoulders down to his hands, gripped them, and then pulled his arms closed, wrapping them both together as he continued to fuck with strong, almost vicious thrusts. Justin writhed under him, trying to get purchase to thrust up. "Brian," Justin said, his voice raw sounding. "Fuck, I need to come." Brian couldn't stop thrusting, he held Justin tightly and felt it building hard and fast, his balls tightening, and he jerked as he slammed into Justin. "Fuck," he whispered into Justin's hair as he came, panting hard, and trying to see over the black spots swirling in front of his eyes. He could feel Justin's ass squeezing his dick and realized that the low moans were from Justin's orgasm, and held on as Justin shook beneath him. Finally able to breath, his body feeling wrung out and sore, he rolled them onto their sides and pulled free. His cock was spent, and his condom full; he carefully pulled and tied it off, throwing it toward a trash can he could vaguely make out by the desk across the room. Justin was still breathing hard, and Brian wrapped his arms around him, soothing him with soft strokes up and down his stomach and chest. "God, Brian--" Justin turned in Brian's arms and his eyes were glassy, stunned, and very blue. "In-fucking-credible. I'd almost forgotten--Christ." Brian hummed and cleared his throat, trying to find words. "Fucking hot. That was--" he broke off and changed his mind. "You're fucking hot." It had felt amazing to be inside of Justin. He wanted to be hard again so that he could slide back into Justin's heat and stay there. His lips brushed over Justin's neck and shoulders, and he closed his eyes, just feeling Justin's skin under his fingertips. Justin moved against him and when Brian looked up, he saw the soft eyes that he'd wanted to see, needed to see, for the last ten years had dreamed of seeing again. "Justin--" "I've missed you so much, Brian. Fuck. So much." Brian nodded, slung his leg over Justin's hips and maneuvered them both until his lips were just over Justin's. He breathed the words, "You, too," and took Justin's lips gently, kissing him until he felt heat rising between them again. He pulled away, glancing down at Justin's cock; it was still half-hard, and rug burns from the carpet graced Justin's hip bones and thighs. Looking again at Justin's face, he saw that a red mark was rubbed into his cheek as well. His lips moved across Justin's skin, kissing the marks that he could find, sucking a few more into Justin's inner thighs where his scent was strong and the taste of his come could be detected. Justin was hard and almost begging again, his eyes glazed and his mouth bright red, hanging open and needy. Brian found the lube quickly and slicked three fingers, working them into Justin's ass, and then mouthed his way from the sweet globes of Justin's ass, over his perineum and up to his balls. He sucked and rolled them in his mouth as Justin cursed above him, grasping his hair and pulling him to suck on his straining cock. Brian took the head of Justin's cock into his mouth, tonguing the rim and the slit, using his free hand to hold Justin's hips to stop his natural urge to buck and slam his dick down Brian's throat. He took his time, twisting his fingers in Justin's ass, finding his prostate and tapping it in the same rhythm that he was sucking Justin's cock. He took it in shallowly, then dove down, letting it hit the back of his throat. He felt the spit spill from his mouth, running down and over Justin's balls and into his ass crack, helping to lube Brian's fingers in his hole. "Brian, Brian, oh God, Brian, God, fuck," Justin chanted, his hips struggling to surge up, but Brian held him firmly, sucking as hard as he could, feeling the tight skin of Justin's cock throb against his lips and tongue. "Shit, oh fuck, oh shit, oh!" Justin froze, and Brian sucked harder, the pulse of Justin's orgasm rising under the velvety shaft, and Justin cried out with the harsh yell of coming again too soon on the heels of a strong orgasm, his ass gripping Brian's fingers, and his hands gripping Brian's hair. Brian drained Justin's cock, and then pulled away, ran his hands soothingly up and down Justin's body, before reaching for a condom. Justin's eyes were huge and as Brian lifted Justin's calves up to his shoulders, positioned his cock at Justin's hole, he stared into Justin's eyes and saw home. He pushed in slowly, taking his time, working his way inside, focused entirely on Justin's expressions, the hiss of pain at the stretch, the blink and lip-licking of desire, the murmured words that he hadn't heard for much too long, "I love you. I do." Brian couldn't look away as he gently, firmly, honestly made love to Justin for the first time in ten years.
Hours later they lay in the bed on sweat-damp sheets, Justin sprawled on his back, exhausted, and Brian smoking and watching Justin through half-closed eyes. His brain was too buzzed on endorphins and orgasm to think clearly, but something nagged at him. Something that sounded like, "Don't fool yourself. It won't be that simple." He'd learned a long time ago that not everything can be cured, fixed, or stated with sex. Even if his body spoke more clearly than any words he could find, that wasn't good enough for most people and he'd forced himself to learn to admit his emotions. It had started with Justin and he'd tried to continue with Gus, telling his son that he loved him was an important milestone for him. He hoped that Gus never knew how hard it had been to say it the first time. Still, he couldn't escape the lazy, drugged feeling of having just fucked Justin silly three times--or was it four. And if he counted the time that he hadn't been able to come, but Justin had, then he supposed that it might even have been five. Justin sighed and ran his hands over his face, sitting up and looking around the room with an expression of confusion. "God, what time is it?" Brian glanced at the clock by the bed. "Two-thirty." Suddenly Brian's sense of warm and lazy was replaced with a chill that reached his bones. It was almost three. Rules. He remembered them well. "Somewhere you have to be?" Brian asked, as nonchalantly as possible, but obviously failing because Justin turned to him with a slightly wounded expression. "Yes. I--" Justin ran his hand through his hair and over his face. "I don't want to go. But, I need to go. Well, in about fifteen minutes, so that I can get cleaned up before I go back to--" Brian nodded, stubbed out the cigarette and began to roll out of bed. "Brian, wait. Please. This wasn't just a fuck to you, was it?" Justin pulled his knees to his chest, and Brian thought he looked like the vulnerable seventeen year old that he'd taken home so long ago. "Because it wasn't to me." Brian measured his words for a moment. He knew that if he answered truthfully then he was going to open himself to being hurt--devastatingly hurt, but if he lied, then he would never have a chance to be with Justin in the way he wanted. "You know it wasn't, Justin." Justin nodded, his eyes down and his face sad. Brian relaxed back into the bed and watched him closely, finally saying, "You love him. I know that you love him." "Yeah," he replied quietly. "I do. But--he's not--" Justin met Brian's gaze. "He's not the love of my life. He knows he isn't. I never lied to him about that. He's like, I don't know, my best friend or something, but I don't feel for him the way I feel for--felt for you." Brian swallowed hard and voiced his fear. "Well, nothing feels like first love, but that doesn't mean it's right." Justin didn't seem satisfied with that comment, asking, "Have you ever loved anyone the way that you loved me? Can you look at me and say that what we had wasn't right?" "No," Brian answered, his tongue thick but somehow managing the words. "It was right. I was just a fucking idiot--" "Yeah, well, that's a given." Justin relaxed a little, almost smiling, but tensed again almost immediately. "You hurt me. I knew how much you loved me and yet you fucking pulled out the stops and hurt me so much that I couldn't stay anymore. At some point, self-preservation kicks in." Brian couldn't look at him. He knew what he'd done, what he'd said, and he knew why he'd done it, but the man who had always said that he would never live with regrets had always regretted his choice to sacrifice himself for Justin. As he'd aged he'd seen that it hadn't been necessary, that Justin could have still had L.A., and success, and Brian, too. But it hadn't seemed like that at the time. Not to his fear-clouded mind, at least. "I guess what I'm still pissed about is that now, if I leave Mark, I'm going to be doing the same thing to him that you did to me. And it didn't have to be that way. We could have been together all this time--" "Why didn't you--" Brian started, but quit at Justin's incredulous look. "I didn't think that throwing myself at your mercy for the millionth time was going to fix things, Brian, and it took me a long time to forgive you. A really fucking long time, and by then I was with Mark. But I've realized that I'll always want you, and that maybe it's time to give up some of my fucking pride, and just see if you were still interested." Justin ran his hands over his face and scooted to the edge of the bed. "I can't talk about this now. I have to go." He moved away from the bed, stepping gingerly, and Brian knew that Justin could still feel the fucks they'd just shared. Justin said quietly, "You can stay here tonight if you want. Or you can call a cab. I'll have my assistants pay your way." Brian stubbed out the butt of his cigarette and watched Justin dress, watching as a shield descended over Justin's face, and he felt like it had been a mistake, that he was a random fuck after all. Until Justin turned to him, hand on the doorknob, and said, "I want to be with you. I have to go. In the meantime, you have to know that I'm serious and you have to decide what you want, because this time it's for good, Brian. Forever." Then he was gone back to his lover as Brian smoked two more cigarettes, fighting off waves of elation and panic, before calling for a cab home.
Mark
Vanderhalder sat across from Brian appearing relaxed and excited.
"Justin is looking forward to seeing your work, Mr. Kinney. I'm
sorry that he couldn't be here this morning. He had a late evening
and I insisted that he sleep in. But, please, begin your pitch.
I've been given authority to make the final decision on this campaign,
so you've only got to impress me, and I'm easy." Mark smiled
and leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. "And please
feel free to make the obvious joke."
"I told you, Brian. This was a huge mistake. What the fuck were you thinking?" The sound of Michael's foster sons yelling in the background was very distracting. Not that Brian minded given the way the conversation was going. "Michael, you've lied to me all these years." "What? What are you talking about?" "You always said you're Italian, but you're really a Jewish mother, aren't you? Admit it." Brian shoved back in his desk chair and propped his feet on his desk. "I'm just being cautious. Remember who had to pick up the pieces last time?" Brian could just imagine Michael standing with his arms crossed over his chest, frown fixed firmly in place. Then Brian had to pull the phone away from his ear as Michael yelled, "Dammit, Matthew! Don't kick your brother!" Brian rolled his eyes. "Listen, we'll discuss it when you don't have a house full of pants shitters." "That's Jarrod. Matthew never shits his pants." "Good to know that a seven year old can use the bathroom responsibly." "He's six." "Whatever. I have to go. Later." Brian disconnected the phone, gathered his things, and prepared to leave. He hadn't heard from Justin since the night they'd...fucked, and it had been nearly two days. He knew that Mark had left town, and he'd been waiting for Justin to call, for some kind of sign that it hadn't been just a fuck after all. He stepped out into the chilly autumn night and headed toward the subway. The train was delayed due to some technical difficulty and he listened to a guy playing a flute on the opposite platform. The heavy scent of human flesh pressed underground without sufficient ventilation filled his lungs. If he were in Pittsburgh, he'd head over to the diner, and Deb would serve him some coffee and some unsolicited advice. He missed Debbie. He almost pulled out his cell phone to call her, but knew that once he had her on the line he wouldn't have the words to explain, and she'd just worry. Brian didn't like to make Debbie worry because then she nagged him about everything--about coming to visit, about seeing Gus more often, about calling Michael. Deb could be a big pain in the ass, and maybe he didn't miss her as much as he thought. When the E train arrived, Brian didn't sit, preferring to stand. Staring into space, remembering soft, pale skin and deep, throaty groans, he lost time and finally became aware that he'd missed his stop for the first time in the four years that he'd lived in New York. He got off at the next opportunity--Fifth Avenue--and for some reason his feet were climbing out the stairs toward fresh night air, and several blocks later he found himself standing at Fifth and Central Park South, staring up at the bright lights of The Plaza Hotel. Brian approached the desk in the lobby with his chin up, fully prepared to fuck the guy behind the counter if that's what it took to get Justin's room number. "Brian Kinney to see Mr. Justin Taylor," he said imperiously, having noted from a young age that an attitude of entitlement often makes seduction unnecessary. "Of course, sir," the young man said, picking up the phone and pressing in a few numbers. "There's a Mr. Brian Kinney here for Mr. Taylor, sir," he spoke into the receiver, met Brian's eyes and smiled. Apparently there would be no need to fuck the guy to get the information he needed. "Right away. Thank you." Brian smiled in return, intending that it appear gracious but not caring if it came across as impatient. The young man ran a key card through a magnetizer and Brian took it from his outstretched hand. "Mr. Taylor will be waiting for you in Room 1410, Mr. Kinney. Have a good evening, sir." Brian nodded; his heart trip-hammering in his chest. Now that he was here, he realized that he had no idea what to say, or if Justin even wanted to see him. It had been instinct, an irresistible impulse that had brought him here. It had been an unplanned move born of the dreadful hope seeing Justin and making love to him had reawakened. The elevator carried him inexorably closer to his goal and his hands began sweating. He had the ludicrous thought that he should have brought flowers to help him plead his case, and he shook his head at the complete and utter lesbian he'd apparently become in the ten years he'd been away from Justin. Still, roses might not have been a bad idea, and he could still turn around, go down the block and buy some. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to do, really. And, maybe he wouldn't buy them after all. Maybe he'd just keep walking, get back on the subway, and-- The elevator doors slid open and he stepped into the hallway, wiped his hands on his pants, and found room 1410. He stared at the number and raised his hand to knock. It wasn't too late to get the roses...or go home. Who was he kidding? Brian snorted. It was far too late.
Justin held the door open, his blue button-up shirt open to the waist, a provocative line of pale skin drawing Brian's eyes. "I didn't think you were going to come," Justin said, leaning against the doorjamb. "I'd nearly given up." "The elevator did seem to take a fucking long time," Brian murmured, stupidly. Justin chuckled. "I meant--" He looked into Brian's eyes and shook his head. "Never mind." Brian followed him into the room, his mouth dry and his cock already half-hard. Justin's hand gesture of topic dismissal suddenly clued him in to the fact that this had been a test of sorts. That Justin had been waiting for days for him to come. "I wish I could say that I was being deliberately obtuse, but I've never been good at fucking relationship games." "Don't insult yourself, Brian. You've always been good at fucking and at games; it's the relationship part that you struggle with." Brian threw off his coat and sat down opposite Justin on the sofa. "That's who I fucking am, Justin. That's who I'll always be." Justin shrugged and picked up the remote control, saying coolly, "I was getting ready to watch some television. Do you want to join me?" Brian blinked in confusion. He sat back and tried to figure out what sort of test it might be. If that was the kind of bullshit that Justin wanted from him, then maybe Mikey had been right after all. Maybe Justin had changed, because ten years was a long time and-- "Fine, Brian," Justin said, putting the remote back down. "Why don't you tell me what you came here for? Did you want to fuck again? Was that what you wanted? I'm sure that I can provide--" "No," Brian spoke quietly. "No. I came here because I wanted to be near you. Though considering the fucking twat that you seem to be, I'm not quite sure why." Justin's eyebrows went up. "I am being a twat, aren't I?" Brian didn't bother answering. "You're right, Brian. I'm being a twat. I wanted you to come running over here the morning after we fucked, and instead you waited two days. Long enough for me to put up what Mark calls my 'infamous defenses'." Brian sighed heavily. It was this kind of thing that he'd always hated about the relationships he'd observed over the years. The manipulation, the guilt-trips...maybe deciding to try again with Justin had been a really bad idea after all. "But, you know what?" Justin's voice was soft now, and Brian looked over to see him smiling warmly. "I'm not really that guy. That's just who I am when I'm scared." "I applaud your therapist," Brian said, sarcastically. Justin grinned. "She's great. Want her number?" Justin leaned back on the sofa and said, "Okay, let's see--we could try talking for a minute. What've you been up to the last few days?" Brian looked up and decided to be honest. "Fucking wondering what the hell I've done and then wondering when the fuck I can do it again." "How about now?" "Justin, I think--" "I may die a young and highly unnatural death if I'm about to hear Brian Kinney say that we need to talk." Brian smirked. "Where's the phone? I'll go ahead and call 911 before I say the words." Justin slid down off the couch, his eyes rolling back and his tongue hanging out. Brian couldn't help but laugh and prodded Justin's body with his foot until Justin sat up, sighed, and waved his hands between them, saying, "Out with it then." Brian took a deep breath. He hadn't planned anything in particular, but the last two days and the sales pitch with Mark had brought hundreds of questions to the surface. "How can you leave what you have with him for God-knows-what with me? When you know that I'm fucking terrible at this?" Justin nodded and appeared to be seriously considering the question. "I've wondered the same thing. Mark and I are very comfortable, and I love him very much, but--" Justin broke off. "Have you ever read anything about Valentino and Giancarlo Giametti? Once lovers, now business partners and best friends?" "Justin if you're getting ready to compare your relationship with Mark to Valentino and Giancarlo, then I'm going to have to go now, because you are clearly fucking delusional." "Give me a minute, Brian," Justin held up his hand. "The thing is, Mark and I will never be devoted at the level of Giancarlo and Valentino, but we have a relationship that isn't impossible to negotiate as non-lovers." "Justin, you live together. He takes care of you. I won't ever be that guy." "I don't actually need that guy," Justin replied seriously. "I can take care of myself, you know." "But obviously you wanted it if--" "No, I fell into it. Mark was there. He wanted to take care of me. I was busy, so I let him." Brian closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together. "I really just want to fuck you and take you home with me." "You could do that." "It can't be that simple." Justin sighed. "No. I guess it can't be." "We don't even know if we can get along, Justin. You have to know going into this that I haven't changed all that much. I'm still the shit-head that I've always been. Jesus, what the fuck are you thinking leaving this guy for me?" Brian wanted to stop his mouth, but his need to protect Justin kept the words spilling out. "After one night? After a few fucks?" Justin stood calmly; the only evidence that he was discomfited was the finger that rose to scratch his ear. "You sound like Michael. You were always about taking risks, Brian. No apologies and no regrets. I won't apologize for the fact that I'm willing to walk away from a relationship that is entirely less idyllic than it appears from the outside looking in. I don't want to regret you for the rest of my life." "You'll regret me more being with me." "After all this time, I'd have thought you would've found something inside that was worthy of being loved, Brian." "Fuck the therapy bullshit, Justin." "I'm onto you. I always have been." Brian moved forward, grabbing Justin's arms and pulling him into a fierce kiss. He wanted Justin, and he wanted him safe, he wanted him close, and feared that he'd ruin everything because he was a fucking idiot who couldn't do anything right. "Brian," Justin said, his head turned to the side as Brian sucked kisses into the curve of his neck. "Let's take it one step at a time. It'll be like fucking." Brian met Justin's eyes. "Like fucking?" "Just like fucking." Brian had no idea what Justin was talking about, but he didn't care. He picked Justin up, carried him to the bedroom of the suite, and flung him on the bed. "I can do fucking."
Justin writhed under him, moaning and running his fingernails down Brian's arms. Every thrust brought Brian closer to orgasm, but he held back, wanting to make sure that Justin came first. He twined his hands in Justin's hair and used it for leverage to deepen the strokes. Justin cried out and Brian lowered his mouth to Justin's neck, lapping at the pool of sweat in the hollow of his throat. He slid his lips to Justin's ear and whispered, "I want to fuck you forever." Justin's reply was to arch his back and come.
Justin curled in Brian's arms, his fingers trembling with exhaustion when he reached to take a hit from Brian's cigarette. Brian ran his hand over Justin's sweat-damp hair and whispered, "Okay, Sunshine?" "Fuck yeah." Brian smiled, sated and tired. "Sleep awhile?" "Yeah." The cigarette was put out and the sheet drawn up over them both. Brian spooned behind Justin and closed his eyes. He felt an odd lump in his throat making it hard to swallow, and a strange burning behind his eyelids. Christ, he couldn't believe what a fucking lesbian he'd become. But it was so good to be home.
Apparently step one in the "relationships are just like fucking" handbook was for Justin to call Mark and tell him to ship the winter clothes and to stay put in L.A. for awhile. Actually, he supposed it was step two, because step one was to fuck--repeatedly. "I'm with someone and I want to see how it goes," Justin said, while Brian listened from the bed. "Of course, I love you, Mark. Christ, I'll always love you, but that isn't what this is about." He sighed and sat down at the little table by the window, his robe hanging open. "It's been over since before it even began, Mark. You know that. I've been nothing if not honest with you." Brian winced when Justin said, "You're right. You deserve better than this and you always have. I agree." There was a long silence and then Justin continued, "I'll have the concierge and front desk keep an eye out for the box. Thanks for sending those things. I'll talk to you about the new project tomorrow, okay?" Justin's face was pale when he climbed into bed, and Brian didn't know what to say, so he reached out and pulled him close. "He was kind of upset," Justin said softly. "I gathered." They sat in silence for awhile. Justin broke it by saying, "I forget how much he loves me sometimes." "You're easy to love," Brian whispered, saying too much. Justin snorted. "I'm a bastard, actually." "Really? I never imagined Jennifer as the getting-pregnant-out-of-wedlock type." Justin chuckled. "You shouldn't make me laugh. It's not nice. I should at least feel bad for a few hours, don't you think?" "Sure, if you want to. Or we could make you feel really good, and then you won't think about it at all." Brian slid his hand down Justin's chest, over his stomach, down to his hardening cock. "I love the way you move under me." "I'm pretty good at moving over people, too. Wanna see?" Brian smirked. "You're taking advantage of the fact that I feel pity for you right now, aren't you?" "Yes." Brian stroked his hair, gazing into his eyes. Justin smiled softly and kissed his lips. It was something that Brian wanted to give. "Okay, well--take it slow. It's been a very long time."
When he said it had been a long time, he meant that it had been ten years. Despite the fact that even Brian Kinney wanted to be fucked every once in awhile, he'd never been able to open himself up in that way for anyone after he'd forced Justin to leave. Somehow the years with Justin made certain parts of sex seem like more than just a physical release. Now on his stomach with Justin's chin digging into his shoulder blade, he concentrated on relaxing enough for Justin to push inside. He wished they were face to face, but the height differential limited the positions they could comfortably assume. When the burn from the stretch forced a gasp from deep inside, and he buried his face in the pillow, he was glad Justin couldn't see his face. He felt too vulnerable to cope with the idea that Justin would read his expression. But he had forgotten how Justin could read his body, and the soothing sound of Justin's voice joined the gentle soothing strokes down his side. "Shh, relax. Relax." Brian sighed and spread his legs wider, his ass throbbing where Justin filled him, and he imagined that he could feel his heartbeat thudding against Justin's dick. He breathed deeply, moaning as Justin slid further in on each exhale. He touched Justin's hip, stopping any forward progress as he tried to catch his breath, his hole twitching and pushing against Justin's intrusion. When he was ready, he moved his hand back to clench the sheets and groaned as Justin pulled slowly back, then thrust forward hard. Brian's head lifted from the pillow and he bit down on his lip, trying not to cry out with the shock of it. Justin's pubic hair grazed Brian's ass, and he lowered his head back down, shivering and stomach trembling, waiting for the final thrust to bring Justin flush. But it didn't come. Instead Justin brushed his lips over Brian's shoulders, lifted his head to reach Brian's neck, and held perfectly still. Brian's pulse rushed in his veins, filling his ears, so that he could barely hear Justin's whispers against his damp skin. "God, you're tight. Fuck, I can feel your pulse on my dick." Justin bit his shoulder then licked it gently. "It's making me crazy." Brian didn't reply, trying to hold on to the moment, not slip away into the sensation. He felt Justin's cock jerk, and knew that Justin wasn't going to last. He squeezed his eyes shut on the smugness he felt, and slid his knees higher, getting leverage to force himself back, taking the last several inches of Justin's dick inside, fast and hard. He threw his head back, and twisted his hips. Justin grabbed his pelvis and tried to force him to stop moving. "Don't. Don't--fuck--" Justin gasped, his cock pulsing in Brian's ass. Brian smiled into the pillow, saying, "You never could wait to come." Justin's breath was heavy against his back, and Brian chuckled when sharp teeth closed on the skin right over his spine in retaliation for the comment. After a minute of rest, Justin pulled out slowly, Brian looked over his shoulder, watching Justin clutch the base of the condom and then dispose of it. Justin grabbed another condom, rolled it on his still hard dick, and Brian's heart beat at a reckless speed when Justin met his eye, slapped Brian's ass, and pulled his cheeks apart. "You're going to pay for that, Brian." Justin's voice was controlled, but he was rough in pulling Brian's hips up. Brian grabbed the pillow to steady himself. Justin's thrust in wasn't careful at all, and Brian's head snapped up when Justin's balls slapped his ass. "Now we'll see who can't wait to come," Justin muttered, rolling his hips with firm, deep strokes. Brian wanted to answer, to make a smart-ass comment back, but all he could see was blackness, and his mouth was unable to form words. Justin's cock was plowing into him without mercy, and with intense, almost rough, thrusts. Justin's hands held Brian's hips steady, his fingernails digging into the grooves of Brian's hips, sharp flecks of pain in the midst of unbelievable, hot, straining pleasure. Brian's fists clenched the pillow and he lifted his ass as much as he could, trying to take Justin's thrusts more easily, and then grunted when the angle forced the head of Justin's cock over Brian's prostate. He tried to gain some purchase with his knees to get some control over the pace, but Justin shifted forward, using his thighs to push Brian's legs further apart, opening him and fucking him even more deeply. The pillowcase tasted terrible, but he couldn't stop biting down, grinding his teeth against the fabric as Justin rode him toward orgasm. Brian could sense it racing toward him, but it kept rushing past, leaving him unfulfilled. He tried to shift to reach his cock, but Justin released his hip to grab his hand. "No." Brian shifted desperately, but Justin's thighs were too strong, forcing Brian's legs apart, and refusing to let him get up on his knees. "Don't come yet," Justin said, fucking him so hard that Brian's teeth rattled, and he had to bite the pillow again to keep from screaming. Justin reached around and grabbed Brian's cock. "Don't come," Justin said. "Justin," Brian managed, shocked that he was even able to get the word out, but the 'please' he'd planned next came out as incoherent noises as Justin fucked his ass with firm, rapid strokes. There was no way he wasn't going to come. "Brian, I said don't come." He closed his eyes and fought for control. He bit down on his lip, trying to keep from shouting, but he couldn't stop the noise after all-- Justin slapped his ass, just as he came and the sharp shock of it exploded with the orgasm over his body. He yelled, his body jerking, as he shot his come on the sheets, and felt his ass squeeze Justin's cock. Brian moaned when Justin pulled out, flipped him over and pushed his knees up to his chest. It was a clumsier position, but Brian was limp and his body pliable. Justin thrust back into Brian, and Brian arched up from the stimulation. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath, until Justin lunged forward and kissed him. Brian moaned as Justin thrust faster and faster, reaching for his own orgasm, and when he shouted out in pleasure, Brian grabbed Justin's ass, pulling him in tight.
Brian's thighs felt shaky when he crawled out of the bed to find his ringing cell phone. When he finally found it in his pants, which had somehow ended up under the sofa cushions, he almost laughed at how rough his voice sounded when he said hello. "Mikey, how's it going?" He sat down on the couch gingerly. He hissed, realizing that he was going to be feeling Justin's cock for days. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Amelia said you called in sick, and you sound like shit. Are you okay?" "Just fucked out, Mikey. Just fucked the fuck out." Justin snickered from the bed. Brian glanced over his shoulder at him and flipped him the bird. "Oh, yeah?" Brian could almost hear Michael's eyebrows waggling. "Is he hot?" "He's unbelievably hot," Brian said, looking again at Justin and continuing, "he's got the best ass I've ever fucked." "Fuck, it's Justin?" Brian knew the defensive posture Michael had adopted with those words. "Ding, ding, ding. Give the man a prize." "Brian--you've lost your fucking mind. Don't you remember--" "I remember a lot of things--including the fact that this is none of your fucking business." Brian passed a hand over his eyes and shook his head. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again. But I guess it's too fucking late for that, isn't it?" "Yeah, I think that ship sailed, Mikey." "Christ." There was a silence for several moments, and Brian could hear Michael pacing on the other end of the line. "Did JR get the flowers?" "Yeah, she loved them. I'm sure she'll call later to say thanks." "So how was she? A genius? Born for the stage?" "Um, no. I think she's about as born for the stage as her old man, and we all know how disastrous my acting debut was." Brian snorted in laughter. "Someone vomited on her? Christ!" "No, but they might as well have. She tripped on her skirt. It ripped and everyone saw her panties. I thought she'd never stop crying. Mel wasn't the most sympathetic, either, telling her to suck it up and be tough. The only thing that made her smile the rest of the night were those fucking roses you sent." "And that's why I'm her favorite." Brian leaned back as Justin climbed onto his lap, and ran his hand down to cup Brian's cock. "And I've got to go." "Say hi to Justin for me." "Will do." "And--" "Yeah?" Justin kissed Brian's neck, making Brian sound a little breathless. "I hope it works out," Michael said before disconnecting. Brian smiled and hung up the phone
Brian sat humming at his desk as he reviewed the latest boards for the Amira Salons account. He thought that they were just about perfect, a nip here, a tuck there, and they'd be fabulous--if he did say so himself. And of course he did. He smiled as Amelia tripped into the room with a new set of proofs from the latest photo shoot with some young television soap stud that Brian had fucked several weeks prior. He'd rimmed him, fucked him, and then talked him into helping Brian with the ads for the new Polo scent for men. That account had shifted Brian and Kinnetik out of the big leagues into the gigantic leagues. "So, who is he, Brian?" Amelia asked playfully. "I've never seen you so happy." Brian rolled his eyes and took the proofs. "Get Ted or Cynthia on the phone for me, please. Time for my weekly long distance ass-kicking." Amelia stopped by the door, lingered for a moment, and Brian was just getting ready to tell her to get the fuck out when she said, "Really, Brian. I've never seen you like this. It's nice." Then she tucked tail and darted away before Brian could reply. Brian stared at the door for a moment, pursed his lips, finally turning his attention to the proofs. "Well, then let's hope he sticks around for awhile," he said softly.
The first several weeks flew by in a blur of sex and an incredible sensation in the depths of Brian's stomach that made him feel like he was in constant free-fall. Justin's body, his smile, and his laugh, invaded Brian's mind, and he could barely work. He found himself staring into space with a smile on his lips, remembering Justin's warm hand in his as they'd walked to the Museum of Natural History because Justin wanted to see an exhibit on frogs. A part of him was mortified with himself. That was the part that stood guard and told him that love was bullshit, that he didn't do love--just fucking. In and out with the maximum of pleasure and the minimum of-- But then the part of him that believed in no apologies and no regrets would step forward and point out the obvious. It didn't matter if he didn't believe in love, he was in it, and if he didn't want to regret Justin for the rest of his life, then he'd better just go with the free-fall. No apologies, no regrets.
Brian's life was full of Chinese food and old movies on the floor of his penthouse, room service and sex in Justin's hotel suite, a Broadway show followed by a late dinner and a cab ride back to Chelsea to fuck on every surface of Brian's place, just for good measure. And when he wasn't with Justin, touching Justin, talking to Justin, or listening to Justin, he was fending off phone calls about Justin.
"Brian, darling, I have heard the most distressing news," Dominique murmured petulantly. "I heard that my dear friend Mark Vanderhalder has been dumped by one Mr. Justin Taylor, who has apparently taken up residence with your cock." Brian sighed dramatically. "Sadly, your information is bad, Dominique. Mr. Taylor is not cohabitating with my cock, just getting fucked by it on a regular basis." "Well, why on earth am I getting this information from Mark and not from you? Or from Justin? I thought we were friends." "Maybe because it's none of your business?" Brian said cheerfully. "And maybe because I've been too busy fucking him to really take the time to inform the masses." |
