The Way He Moves



Brian's POV:

I swing him around the dance floor lost in the music, rather he's lost in the music, I'm lost in him. I'm not the best dancer but he doesn't seem to mind. It's all in the way he moves.

He dances around me, teasing me with the roll of his hips, teasing the men around us, only I get to touch. He slips his arms around me, drawing me closer, so close. I can smell him, taste him in the air around me, feel his sex. The air is charged with him.

I grab those gyrating seemingly boneless hips and crush them to me, crouching slightly so that we're groin to groin; he smiles. His eyes twinkle with something, a knowledge, a satisfaction; the little shit. He moves so slow up against me, the music so fast around us. His eyes close, the smile broadens, my heart pounds.

One hand travels up my back, the other down to my ass, he pulls me even closer. We're barely moving.

The men around us are caught up with fascination. Brian Kinney is caught, upstaged by an upstart, I bury my head in his shoulder. His eyes open, the smile is 100 watts. Some men snicker, others moan, then he kisses me and they all sigh.

As our kiss intensifies he tightens his grip. The hand on my ass slips into a pocket, squeezing my ass as he sucks on my tongue. He moves with an aggression that no other man would ever dare. He's making a declaration, a proclamation, daring anyone including me to refute it but I can't so I don't.

Knowing far too much about my psyche than he should, the twat releases me, laughing and gesturing so that if anyone looked it would all appear as one big joke. But this is no joke and he moves in closer one more time to lick my neck. It's no joke, I'm marked as his.

He spins around in a move worthy of Gene Kelly with the grace of Nureyev and I'm treated to the site of that beautiful ass. Even hidden under those damned cargos the full swell of his delectable youthful cheeks are quite evident. I love the way he moves, the sway of his ass. My favorite hobby, Sunshine ass watching. He knows I'm watching, knows I'm licking my lips, knows I can't resist; the fucker. And he's waiting, waiting for me to move, move in and claim him, claim his ass. He waits, waits for me to over analyze, waits for me to argue with myself, waits for me to get over myself, grow up just a little more. Waits until my passion for him overthrows the Brian Kinney rules on relationships.

I move in, wrap my arms around him, crouch again so that his perfect ass is nestled into my groin, my hardness telling him again all that he already knows. And we move.

Together in tandem. He reaches back to hold on to my thighs, he controls our movement so that I look good, so I look like I know how to dance. He sways that ass, I latch on to his neck at the base, gently kissing, sucking, marking him. His body vibrates with a moan.

His eyes are closed again, he leans back, I tighten my grip. This is where he wants to be, where no one else can go. We dance, we move, he starts to pull away, I tighten again. He turns in my arms, whispers one word in to my ear before nibbling on it, "bed".

I grab his hand and pull him toward the exit, some men snicker, others moan. As we reach the catwalk I stop in the middle and spin around grabbing the hair that's finally growing back; I kiss him. Kiss him till he's a puddle of spineless twink in my arms. And they all sigh. I snicker, that kiss was for Brian Kinney.

I release him from the kiss, still holding him, helping him to stand on wobbly legs until he can walk. His eyes shine, looking up through his thick long golden lashes, he smiles. A sweet contrite, submissive smile, a display for those around us, for Brian Kinney; for this man is no submissive.

I take his hand again, lead him outside to the car. He moves to the passenger side and I spin him around one more time, pinning his ass to the door, grinding our cocks together. He reaches up to pull me down for a kiss, he meets no resistance.

We break our kiss, our eyes meet with two unspoken words, home and bed. He jumps into the car as I go for the drivers side.

Home. We ascend the stairs slowly, purposefully, building the tension. I let him go up first so I can watch him move that ass, that ass that taunts me. His ass that says take me, fuck me, eat me. That ass that says claim me. That ass that's mine alone. That ass that is attached to the most beautiful, caring, smartest man I have ever met.

We reach the door, outwardly calm, inwardly I'm about to explode with want and desire. He moves inside the loft, I follow.

We're hot; if we touch now it would be over in minutes. We go to the kitchen for water. As I open my bottle I catch him looking at me. He smiles with his knowing smile, the smile reserved for me, remembering. We drink our water and kid around, slapping each others arms. We finish our mock fight, he moves to the bedroom.

I watch him move to the bathroom, shedding his clothes, turning on the charm, flirting with me, daring me to follow. I take up the challenge.

He moves us under the spray of the shower, reaching for my favorite shampoo to wash my hair, massaging away any worries I still may harbor so that my only thoughts are of him. I, in turn, reach for the soap so I may properly care for my twink's delicate skin. We rinse the shampoo from my hair and I start to lather him. Holding him close I run the soap up and down his back, tracing lazy soapy circles along his spine to his ass. He leans into me, moving closer as I wash his back, my wandering fingers dip into the crevice of his ass, tickling the tight puckered hole. He moves again, urging my fingers inward but knowing I'll make him wait. He looks up with a scowl, grumbling; now I'm the tease and he's so easy.

I twist him around, the water rinsing the soap from his impeccably clean ass only to work on the front of him. The soft scent of vanilla fills the air as I gently stroke his cock and fondle his balls. I hear his moans of delight. I take my time, after all a job worth doing is worth doing right. Again I'm assaulted with a scowl, perhaps I'm moving too slowly for my impatient twink.

During one of our sillier moments he suggested that Brian Kinney write a manual, The Proper Care and Feeding of a Twink, with a whole chapter devoted to the washing of said twink.

He moves, shifting to get my soap, a little like spice or something one would sprinkle on a pie. He told me he'd gladly write an appendix to my book; How to Tame A Top. Humph.

Our rituals done just as the water starts to chill. We move out of the shower, grabbing the bath sheets. I wrap him up, listening to the purr he emits as I dry him, watching the curve of his smile. I push him toward the bed.

We land in the middle of the duvet, a mass of arms, legs and towels. He laughs so freely like an innocent child. Eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed pink from the shower, bright white teeth. All that I'm not, all that he shares.

He moves, settling himself higher on the bed, impatient to begin the evenings activities. I throw the towels to the floor and slip the duvet from beneath him. His breathing quickens and my cock hardens. He lays back awaiting my next move. I lie next to him, my hand caressing his face, swiping at the remaining water droplets. He leans into my touch, a simple gesture, letting me know that if this was all we could do together, holding each other, touching softly, it would be enough for him. He would be content.

The shower relaxed me, I feel mellow. I want it slow but my impatient twink may have other plans.

I pull him on top of me, grab his hands and raise them above my head. Holding his hands, we kiss. The kiss deepens, I chew on his bottom lip, he sucks on my tongue.

Our tongues duel as we grind our cocks together, skin on skin. So soft, so hard so beautiful. Our leaking hard-ons lubricate us as we continue to grind, bucking up and down against each other. I want to touch, hold our cocks together, jerk us off together but I cling to his wrists, not letting go, wanting to see if we can get off this way.

The tension mounts, our groans stifled by each other lips. He presses harder. I want to hold on to his ass but I resist temptation, taking this as far as I can. His eyes close again, I break the kiss long enough to growl at him to open his eyes.

I'm leaking, so hot, he's so hot, he's sooo...

Damn, we did it. I release his hands, massage them, pay extra attention to the right hand. He purrs with satisfaction. I hug him hearing the squish of our cum between us. We giggle.

He moves to get up, get us a cloth to clean us but I don't want to let him go, not just yet. He settles down, recognizing my need for physical contact with him outweighs my anal predilection for personal cleanliness. The scent of our cum, our sex heavy in the air.

I sigh and relax my arms, he gets up giggling again at the gooey mess that's starting to dry. I smile back.

He moves quietly into the bathroom for a cloth. I hear the water, then he's back, gently cleaning my chest, belly and any other part that requires his attention. He takes care of himself.

Again, quietly he move, coming back to bed. It's amazing how quiet this noisy boy can be when he wants to be; he knows I love the quiet.

He moves to his side of the bed. When did it get to be his side of the bed? I feel a frown start to form and as if he knows what I'm thinking he brushes at the creases on my brow and around my mouth. He gives my nose a gentle peck and looks at me through the purest blue eyes I've ever seen. Eyes made so wise before they should, a wisdom born from hatred, disappointment, sadness, pain and love; yours.

He whispers, yours. In that one word he makes it all clear. The loft is still mine, this bed is still mine, he's still mine. He belongs to Brian, the rest to Brian Kinney.

The drama queen in me lets out a big sigh as I raise my arm and he moves to his spot. He looks up at me as I gaze at him and we giggle again. Our whole relationship replayed, reviewed in a span of two seconds. I shake my head and sigh again. He giggles again and pinches my nipple.

Hard, fuck.

And the games begin.

We begin to wrestle, both seeking dominance, only one can win. We roll, grunt, groan until he's on his stomach and that ass is just where he wants it to be; the hedonistic fucker.

He wiggles it, flexes a cheek, looks over his shoulder and bats his lashes. The little shit knows I'm a goner, so why resist, I plunge in. He spreads his legs as I spread his cheeks. My nose is filled with his scent. Oh, I'm gone alright. Nothing matters, nothing, only him. I dive in licking the tender flesh, nipping at the tender bud. He moves, writhing with pleasure, overwhelmed with sensation. He screams out my name, demanding more, moving his hips, dry humping the sheets. My tongue teases his hole, flicking it gently. He curses my name, now I'm the fucker, the tease, the bastard, I'm Brian Kinney.

I reach for the condom and lube with one hand, my other hand probing, working at the tight little hole. When we're both ready I ease in and wait till he adjusts; with a grunt I know he's ready. And we move.

Together in tandem. Both knowing instinctually what to do, both responding.

Christ, this feels so right, he feels so right. He moves, thrusting back, seeking his own pleasure as well as mine. He's a man who knows what he wants and how to get it.

We're close but not that close, we still have some working brain cells. I want, desire something more, something for Brian not Brian Kinney. Something for Justin, not the twink. I pull out, I ignore the shocked look, ignore the scowl; it'll go away soon. I dispose of my condom while reaching for another, toss it and the lube to him. He stares for a brief moment, I smile, turn on my charm, flirt, dare him. He takes my challenge; he moves.

In a fluid movement I'm on my belly, clutching a pillow, his lubed fingers working at my hole, scissoring it open. His sheathed cock lubed, ready to go. When did learn how to move so fast.

He slides in. Everything stops, nothing matters, nothing but him. And he moves.

Slowly at first, gently, Brian Kinney does not bottom. But this isn't for Brian Kinney, this is for Brian and Justin. He moves, rhythmically, setting a graceful pace. He hits that spot, I shudder. He hits it again and I'm gone. He hits it again, when did he get sooo...

Good!

Fuck me, he's good. Now I'm the puddle, in a puddle, unable to move. Breathing heavy, still clutching my pillow. Listening to him breathe, feeling him inside me, unable to move.

We lay, together, him still on my back, still connected, until forced to move when his softened cock slips from me. When the need to clean us becomes urgent. And so he moves.

He takes the lead, goes for the cloth again, cleaning us both.

I'm stuck, I could move but I don't want to, I play the twink. I know he's watching, watching my ass. My older, not so round but still firm ass. I wiggle it, flex it. He moves.

OW! Goddamnit, the fucker smacked my ass; after I let him, him, oh god, he's, hmmm, oh yeah. He moves his tongue deep with in my opened hole. Tonguing my poor well fucked hole, and I'm gone again. He's trying to do it to me, trying to make me come by just rimming. I've done it to him hundreds of times, now it's my turn. Laving my skin, probing deeper, nipping at the sides, gently caressing the cheek he smacked. Showing me just how the twink tamed the top.

He moves and quicker than you can say Rage saves Gayopolis, I'm flat on my back, two finger are deep in my ass bumping against my prostate, and my very sensitive dick is in his mouth. He makes me explode.

When I regain my senses, when my brain starts to work, when the stars stop flashing before my eyes, when my pulse has stopped racing, I'm lying with him next to me, nestled under my chin, the duvet around us.

He moves his arm across my chest, his leg tucked between mine. A little drama princess sigh escapes his full pouty lips. I kiss the top of his head, caress his arm and murmur into his hair what he needs to hear.

I feel him smile, sink deeper into me. And I know, know it's all in the way he moves, the way he moves me.

Basic Rules for the Proper Care and Feeding of a Twink

by Brian Kinney



Rule one: Find yourself a fresh young, sexy twink, fuck his brains out then let him go; never ever deflower a twink, they're yours for life.

Rule two: Never ask his name and never fuck the same twink twice, this leads to further complications.

Rule three: Establish the ground rules up front, make sure he knows who's top and who's bottom. This may sound obvious but some twinks harbor the false illusion that they will somehow get to top you.

Rule four: Don't care about your twink; when this happens you fall into dangerous territory.

Rule five: Coping with the caring. If the worst should happen and you find yourself actually caring for the little shit, the next set of rules are necessary to maintain your sanity.

      • Education. If you are saddled with a school aged twink, make sure he finishes his education. There is nothing worse than a clueless twink.

      • Feed your twink. This maybe hard on one's wallet. Most twinks, especially the young variety, are bottomless pits, they eat constantly. But a well fed twink does have its rewards. He can suck your cock for hours. If your twink can cook, then go ahead and let him.

      • Dress your twink. For some ungodly reason in the land of Twinkdom, there is an unwritten but well established law; dress like shit. A twink's attire is atrocious. Be prepared to spend some bucks, for endless arguments, the whining and the pouting. I have found that if you promise your twink a FCUK t-shirt as an incentive he will shut the fuck up and wear the label you put on his back or his ass. Such incentives make the shopping experience go a lot easier.

    • Wash your twink. A properly cleansed twink has many advantages, starting with the obvious, they just fucking smell nice. It's a pleasure to hold a fresh smelling twink on your lap and play with him. It's also rather fun to wash said twink. Select an appropriate smelling soap, after all it's your nose that's going to be buried in his pubes or his ass. This is for the comfort of the top more so than just the establishing of good hygienic habits. Next, make sure your shower can hold two or more comfortably. Then the water temperature. I prefer hot showers, but I have learned that my twink has delicate skin, so warm water is best. Indulge your twink. Let him take care of your needs, your hair and wash your back. A useful twink is a happy twink. Then you can wash him. Take care of all the important cracks and crevices, especially around his hole. Tenderly lather and rinse said hole, cock and balls. You may need to repeat this procedure several times until you are satisfied and have achieved the desired cleanliness. If during all this cleaning an erection occurs, then by all means take care of it. There's nothing like a showery suck and fuck.

      • Dealing with the pain. Some twinks come with difficult emotional baggage, often through no fault of their own. It's hard work dealing with the nightmares, mood swings, overall emotionalism but well worth it. To see him finally sleep peacefully, smile contentedly, and mature into a well rounded man, and become the best homosexual he possibly can. It is the responsibility of the top to make his twink into a good homosexual.

There are certain topics and situations a top should never be subjected to, such as boyfriends, fidelity, relationships, lovers, monogamy *shudder* and love. These are all best to be avoided.

Rule six: If successfully trapped by a smart twink, FIGHT! Fight like hell and run. Do your damnedest to get away. But when all else fails and you can't beat him, join him. Sometimes knowing that there is someone always in your corner, helps you to deal with all of the shit life has a way of throwing at you.

Knowing that there's a special man who can match you fuck for fuck, suck for suck, argument for argument; one man who will pull no punches. Tell you when your are brilliant and call you out when you act like a shit.

It's a smart, efficient top who knows when to stop wasting time fighting the inevitable when life is far to short, and resign himself over to the love. Once the top throws out the rules, you and your twink can concentrate on the fun.

One good twink in your bed (and life) is worth a million fucks in the backroom. And it's one hell of a crazy ride.

The Taming of a Top

by Justin Taylor





Step one: Find a top.

To find a top one must go to where they cohabitate. Research is key! Choose a locale such as a secret watering hole or sacred grounds where they display ritualized forms of dancing.

Step two: Choose wisely.

It may take several tries to pick the right top. There are several species to choose from; for example:

Bears, bears are big furry creatures often clad in leather, can be heavy and very scary looking but surprisingly loving.

Daddies, daddies may be of a mature variety of top, they preen a lot, may have several nests, many modes of transport, tend to be flighty although they can be possessive until they are captured by a younger bottom.

Notorious tops are the most difficult to capture. Rather elusive but very charming. They may also have an androgynous look about them, attracting both male and female. They often display an inability to make up their mind, wanting the bottom, not wanting, pushing away then taking him back. This trait is the most exhausting for the trainer, er , bottom.

Step three: Letting your top think he's boss and always right.

This is a very important step. A bottom must have patience, learn the nuances of his top. Respect his privacy but be relentless. The top must never know that you are allowing him to get away with his shit. He must always think that the good ideas are his ideas. A happy top is one that believes the world revolves around him, no one fucks better than he does and that he's the prettiest, most well dressed, groomed top in the world.

Step four: Keeping your top interested in you.

This is a difficult step. It may take years for your top to realize that you are the only one for him. It may require that you leave your top for brief intervals until it dawns on him that he needs you, wants you, is completed by you. If you can survive this phase then you may proceed to the next step.

Step five: Loving your top.

In loving one's top, a bottom may find he needs to be bossy. Now I know this may seem unconventional but the situation may occur.

When a particularly stubborn top is faced with difficult choices his pride and stubbornness may hinder his ability to select the wisest choice. It's up to the bossy bottom to assist his top choose the correct course of action. This may entail the possibility of incurring the wrath of your top but in the long run the top will concede.

A bottom must fulfill his top's sexual fantasies and desires. Be open, so to speak, to new ideas, new experiences, even when the bottom may not like them. In this situation the bottom may have to regress to step four. Re-establish boundaries and expectations, so both parties know the rules.

To love a notorious top, a bottom requires stamina, patience, tenacity, and stubbornness.

A good bottom should be well educated so he may converse with his top on a variety of topics.

The bottom may have to be more mature than his top at least emotionally.

A worthy bottom must be able to control his top, without him knowing it, of course.

Eat a lot to keep up his strength.

Have a hobby or occupation to keep him busy while his top is at work or at play.

Keep in shape.

Tolerate all forms of music.

Give head better than any other bottom.

Be willing to have sex in public places.

Reassure the top of your undying love for him and unwavering devotion to him alone.

Recognize the signs of love that your top displays. He may show you rather than verbally communicate his love. If the bottom does not recognize and acknowledge his top's signs of love, this could lead to disaster.

And one more thing...Be able to fuck your top into the mattress in a moments notice!

Please note: This guide is a work in progress.