click image for full version Art by Tali Staring at the bedroom ceiling, smoking his fifth cigarette, Justin reviewed it all again. He remembered everything, every moment that he could muster from the last six months leading up to Brian's challenge at Vanguard earlier in the evening. Leaving Ethan had been easier than moving in with him. There were no late night panic attacks when he woke up to find himself at Daphne's and not in Ethan's bed, unlike when he'd woken to find himself not at Brian's and he'd struggled not to cry because in the small hours of the morning his mind wasn't quite clear on the fact that he wasn't supposed to miss Brian, wasn't supposed to still love him. He forced himself to focus on all the negative things about Brian: his grumpiness in the morning, his asshole comments, his tricking, his emotional unavailability. Brian had said that Justin should stand up for himself. Brian had all but told him not to be such a pussy and to just grab hold and not let go. Now he had to decide, really and truly decide, if that was what he wanted, because disillusionment reigned and he was left with only this--an unbearable need to be with Brian, a feeling of attachment so strong it hurt, and the tension of a rock climber, five hundred feet up and still climbing. When he'd made his decision, he crushed out his cigarette, and went to shower. The hot water burned, and he remembered Ethan commenting on the way Justin's skin turned red in the hot bath, remembered the soapy slosh of a day when rings were exchanged and promises made. So much bullshit. Justin rarely took baths now, preferring the efficiency of showers. Minimum of bullshit, maximum of cleanliness. Feeling oddly calm, he stood and looked into his closet for a long time, ruling out the turtlenecks that Ethan had liked, the silk button ups that he had bought for work, choosing a pullover and t-shirt. Comfortable clothes that he'd picked out for a day lounging at home, or hanging with Daphne. The clothes were real, and that was what he wanted, to feel solid again, to feel real. Then he called Cynthia to make sure that Brian would still be there when he went over. He knew that Cynthia would tell Brian he'd had called, that Brian would know what that meant, and would wait for him to arrive. He didn't need any element of surprise. The outcome had already been written, and all Justin had to do was walk out into the dark, starless night and make it happen. He wondered how Brian would play it. He bit his lip as a small jolt of anticipation rocked through his other-worldly calm. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked to the bus station, kept his eyes lowered, and thought through his opening gambit. He measured his speech for weight, word density, and meaning. He rolled it around in his head again and again, smoothing it out, making it perfect. It would not trip over his tongue. "I've decided you should take me back," he said under his breath as he stepped from the bus to the curb. "Because I know now what it is that you want of me," he whispered on the elevator, his eyes still turned down to the ground, but his heart rate picking up as he drew closer to his destination. "And I know what I can expect from you," he spoke confidently, looking directly into Brian's eyes; the offer was made and Justin waited for the acceptance with slightly held breath. Brian was playing it well, not overly enthusiastic, but his body gave him away. Justin could read the buzz emanating from his posture, his eyes lighting up with lust and affection. It was all so well done that Justin could have scripted it himself, but then Brian took a deep breath with a slight shudder, and threw the script out the window by saying, "And you're never to play violin music in my presence again." Justin's heart skipped. The revelation was unexpected, a gift--it was Brian's way of saying, "Yes, it hurt me. Yes, it still hurts me. I don't want to be reminded of it." And to that Justin could only whisper, "I promise." When Brian pressed into him, Justin knew that every fucking trick that Brian had ever screwed, or would ever screw, was meaningless, because none of them would knew the man who ran his open mouth over the back of Justin's neck, moaning, whispering, "Not gonna last," his cock already twitching on the edge of orgasm. Justin clutched the edge of the desk, the corner digging into his abdomen, and lifted his head, eyes scrunched closed, mouth open, as he hung suspended for a moment on Brian's cock. Brian panted, burying his face in the crook of Justin's neck, his arms wrapped solidly around Justin's chest, and Justin felt Brian's legs shaking as he fought for control. "Fuck," Brian moaned. Justin sighed as Brian pulled out slightly, thrust back in hard, and came, groaning and jerking all over. Letting go of the desk, Justin reached back with one hand to caress Brian's thigh, still feeling Brian's dick pulsing in his ass. He was achingly hard, but he didn't care; the sensation of Brian breathing open-mouthed against his shoulder blade, and the sound of Brian's little noises of astonishment told him so much. Brian's orgasm wasn't about passion, it wasn't about amazing sex--it was the fulfillment of longing, of need, desire, love--and Justin felt more complete than if they'd fucked for hours, and come a dozen times. Brian eased out, whispering, "Stay. Stay there." He placed his hand in the small of Justin's back for emphasis, and continued, "Let me take care of this. Hold on." Justin lowered his head, resting his cheek against a folder that hadn't made it to the floor in Brian's sweep of the desk. He closed his eyes and breathed, feeling the blood pulsing in his cock, the emptiness of his ass making him madly horny. The snap of the condom being removed caught Justin's attention; he lifted up to look over his shoulder. Brian rolled on another, and Justin shuddered when he met Brian's gaze. Brian's eyes were glazed and intense, and Justin lowered his head back to the desk, took a deep breath and relaxed for the hard thrust he knew was coming. Brian's cock flexed as it pressed inside, a sign that he was still hyper-sensitive from the orgasm he'd just had. Justin shifted against the stretch, biting his lip at the burn. He closed his eyes, concentrated on breathing, on opening up for Brian's cock. He had the fleeting thought that he'd forgotten the importance of girth--length was good, but thickness was everything, and Brian had both. Time apart had made the old things new again; Brian's moans were more exciting because Justin knew what they meant--pleasure, frustration, pain, exertion, and emotional need all had their own timbre, and Justin could read them all. But everything faded away as the fucking started in earnest. Brian held Justin's hips firmly, thrusting fast and hard, until Justin's sight faded, and he was unable to speak at all, managing only drooling grunts and moans in response to Brian's comments of, "You always like this, don't you, Sunshine? Christ, you fucking love it." Justin's eyes rolled up and he grasped Brian's desk trying to push back for more. Brian obliged by slamming into him again and again. Justin's arms started to shake with exertion and he tried to let go long enough to jerk himself off, but Brian's thrusts were too rough, leaving Justin unable to hold himself with one arm. And when Brian shifted his angle to force the head of his cock against Justin's prostate, Justin threw back his head, yelling, almost laughing from the intensity of it, and he collapsed to the desk, unable to hold himself up any longer. With his eyes closed, his face pressed against the cool desk, his ass full and stretched tight, he went limp, unable to process the stimulation. He found that he was holding his breath, and when he let it out, he came with a yell of surprise. The black behind his closed eyelids blew white. Brian continued to fuck him, and Justin squirmed--it was too much, he couldn't handle it, but Brian held his shoulders and fucked him through the hypersensitivity, bringing him towards orgasm again at an alarming rate. Justin moaned, tried to make his mouth work to ask Brian to slow down, it was too much, too soon, gonna hurt, but he couldn't, and he shuddered when Brian's hand found his cock, pumping it ruthlessly, and then Justin tensed all over-- Heart pounding in his ears, blood rushing in his veins, balls tightening and drawing up, Justin howled, shaking and writhing as he came again, his whole body jerked and his ass clenched tight around Brian's cock. So fucking amazing that he couldn't breath; he shook and vibrated as he shot a second load against the side of Brian's desk. "Hot, fuck yeah," Brian breathed, still thrusting, but not as frantically. Justin realized that Brian had come, too. The moan against his ear in the middle of his orgasm had been Brian shooting his wad. They rocked together for a few minutes. Justin had a hard time catching his breath, and when Brian pulled out Justin moaned uncomfortably. Brian smoothed his hand down Justin's back, then spread his ass to look at him. "Mm, it was a little rough, but you're okay," he murmured. Justin nodded, then tried to rise up, finding himself dizzy and Brian grabbed his elbow to steady him. "Here," Brian said, guiding him to the sofa. And Justin moaned his thanks, curling into Brian's arms when he lay down next to him. "I love you," Justin whispered. Brian kissed the top of his head. Baby wipes could be handy things, Justin realized as they cleaned up their mess. Not that he hadn't noticed before, but sometimes in his after-sex, glazed-over brain state, he re-discovered such universal truths as the wonderfulness of baby wipes with just as much appreciation as the first time. Brian tossed everything, the used condoms, and the wrappers in his trash, and Justin ...
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