Justin

In my old family, in my old home, you never even went into someone’s bedroom without knocking. In my new family, everybody walks into everybody else’s HOUSES without knocking. It doesn’t seem to bother anybody but me. When I lived at Debbie’s, I asked everybody to knock on my bedroom door before they came in, and they did. Now I wonder if they thought I was a weirdo.

Brian used to have an intercom downstairs at the outside entrance to his building. It went out of order a few months ago and all the tenants decided to let it go, I don’t know why. I can’t imagine Brian agreeing to that but he did. He said it was too much hassle. Especially since we get food delivered so often, we don't have to buzz the delivery guys in. I think Brian regretted not having a buzzer only once, that time his mom dropped by unannounced. With a cake. Just thinking about that day makes me rub my ass in remembrance, Christ it was sore for a week. The cake was good, though.

This isn’t the first time people have walked in on us having sex. Well, we weren’t really having sex this time, just goofing around. A few minutes later though and we would have been. Brian almost had my briefs off and when he pulled me over his lap and pretended to spank me, I felt his hard-on pressing into my belly. But then the loft door slammed open and Linds and Mel burst in. I was embarrassed and climbed over Brian, pulling up my underwear, but no one paid any attention to me, they just started attacking Brian while I got dressed.

When they asked Brian to pretend he was married to Lindsay so that Gus could get into some toddler school, I was sure Brian would utterly refuse. But Linds got to him, got under his skin some way. He does care how Gus gets treated, he wants his son to have every advantage. And besides, Lindsay has this hold on Brian. . . and he likes it. Strange. He's told me they have 'history,' though he won't say more than that; they were in college together. I wish I could have known Brian back then, maybe he was more open, maybe he could talk about things then. Not like now. Sometimes I get so frustrated that he won’t talk to me about important stuff.

After the women left I rejoined Brian on the sofa. I thought he would immediately return to our sex play, but instead, he was kind of moody. I asked if he was upset that I'd be go-go dancing at Babylon and he gave me his bored expression and said of course not. I like dancing and I'm good at it too, well I proved it to Gary, he's the owner or maybe the manager of Babylon. My first time will be this Friday, before the hospice benefit that Ted is organizing. I'm going to be dressed like an angel, with wings and everything. It sounds majorly cool, but I didn't tell Brian, I wanted to surprise him.


Brian

It pissed me off that Linds and Mel wanted to pretend to be straight, just so Gus could get into some baby school. He’s not even two years old, and they acted like he was applying to Harvard. ‘Center for Early Development,’ my ass. What are they going to teach a kid his age, Spitting Up 101? But Christ, it’s hard to say no to Lindsay. She knows my buttons and pushes them.

It was actually kind of fun when we got to the school. I played around a bit, trying to get Linds to laugh, and naturally, she did. Then she about floored me, asking if I’d ever thought we’d end up a real married couple. It was all I could do not to laugh, but I kept my face serious for her. Sometimes it amuses me to know she loves me as much as…maybe more than, Mel. Somehow I enjoy Mel feeling jealous of me. Ha!

Sex with Lindsay had been. . . interesting. I’d made it all the way through high school without having straight sex, even though my reputation credited me with a dozen conquests. But in college, I decided I should see if I’d been missing anything. Lindsay was pretty sure she was a lesbian, and we’d agreed ahead of time not to get emotionally involved. In the end, Linds did get kind of emotional; she said it was harder for women to separate sex and love.

Lindsay is the only woman I’ve ever. . . loved. I hate to use the word love, because it’s all meshed up with romance, and there never was romance between us. But I do love her, about the same way I love Mikey. Like Michael, Linds knows some of my secrets and I trust her with them. When Justin started getting close to Linds, I was afraid she might give him bits of me, but I should have known better. She didn’t share me with him, and I’m glad that she doesn’t reveal him to me. Partly because I feel safer not knowing Justin’s deepest feelings.

Which is a crock, of course, I already know Justin’s deepest feelings.

After dropping off Linds, I drove home. Linds and Mel invited me for dinner, but I begged off. Justin was working in the diner and I decided to pick him up after his shift, take him someplace nice to eat instead of getting take-out. I changed clothes and drove to Liberty Avenue. When I walked into the diner, Justin caught sight of me and flashed that incredible smile of his. I hope he never finds out what that does to me.


Justin

Brian said he charmed the pants off the toddler-school people; I believe him. There aren’t too many people who’d keep their pants on around Brian; all he has to do smirk and whisper in a guy’s ear, then he’s leading him around by the cock.

He comes into the diner at the end of my shift, sits down at the counter and sweet-talks Debbie. She’s curt with him; she’s been abrupt with everybody today, something on her mind she won’t talk about. Everybody has these fucking dark secrets, it’s exhausting trying to keep up with them all.

I like spending time with Emmett, he doesn’t have any secrets. He’s so fun to be with, and I love how he’s always hugging and kissing me. Mostly he does that in front of Brian. It doesn’t mean anything, he just does it to annoy Brian. And it works. I tried to tell Brian once that I didn’t have any sexual feelings for Emmett, but he just cut me off and scoffed, “Go ahead and fuck Emmett if you want to, I don’t care.” But the thing is, he does care. I don’t know why. I want to ask Em if Brian has history with him like he does with Lindsay. But if they do, I don’t think Brian wants me to know, so I don’t ask.

Brian took me out to dinner, a really nice surprise. I already had a burger an hour before, but I didn’t tell him; besides, I was hungry again anyway. I wish I could have gone home and had a shower and changed first, but Brian said he was starving, and if we went home, we’d end up fucking and then ordering a pizza. I can’t argue with that; it happens all the time.

So we went to Luigi’s, a great little Italian place where we always get our special booth in the back. I like to slip my shoes off and raise my foot, gently shove my stockinged toes into Brian’s crotch directly across from me under the table. This time he grabbed my foot and squeezed hard. “Boys with broken toes can’t dance,” he threatened, arching his eyebrow at me, making me laugh.

Dinner was great, and we shared a bottle of wine. Red wine makes me sleepy, I almost dozed off on the way home. I leaned my head against the window and felt my eyelids drooping, but then Brian snaked his hand over the gearshift, ran his fingers up the inside of my thigh and cupped my balls, squeezing very, very gently.

“Did you save room for dessert?” he asked. That woke me up pretty fast!


Brian

Justin wanted a shower, he felt grubby from his hours bussing tables at the diner, so while he washed up, I got on-line for a few minutes, to check my stocks. They were doing okay, though HP seemed to be in a downward spiral. I don’t really follow the market, that’s what my investment broker is for, but I like to keep an eye on my stocks sometimes. Justin came out of the bathroom toweling off and when I glanced toward the bedroom, I felt my cock stirring. That boy. . . gets me going. I’ve never figured out exactly why, but what the fuck. I flicked off the computer and joined him by the bed, kicking off my boots, pulling off my shirt and throwing it into the corner.

Grabbing my jeans by the waistband, Justin dropped his towel and expertly unbuttoned my fly, dragging my jeans to my ankles in one swift motion. I stepped out of them and grabbed for him, we wrestled together beside the bed and fell over the ledge onto the duvet. We crawled underneath and kicked if off onto the floor, then slid together on the cool, taut sheets. Justin had been sleepy earlier in the car, but the shower woke him up and he was raring to go. In fact, our pretend-wrestling turned into a power play as we struggled on the mattress.

After a few minutes of throwing each other around, I decided to let Justin win this one. I didn’t make it easy for him, but gradually I let him overpower me, pinning me to the mattress, straddling my hips, gripping hard to my wrists and forcing them down onto the bed. We were both panting for air by then, and I loved hearing Justin’s half-laugh, half-gasp of victory. Of course, he knew I let him win, he’s no match for my strength in reality, but his victory was partly the thrill of knowing that I let him overpower me.

As I expected, this made Justin even more aggressive, even more excited, and his passion stirred my own; we’re so well-matched sexually it’s almost uncanny. His eyes were fiery with desire and dominance as he bent his head to nip at my neck, my ear, and fastened his lips to my mouth, his tongue immediately snaking inside to battle with my own tongue. He sucked my tongue into his mouth, pulling roughly, making my already-hard cock even harder, straining against my belly as he pressed me down against the mattress. Kissing with Justin is almost as good as fucking, I think both of us could come just by kissing and rubbing our naked bodies together. I’ve made Justin come this way a few times in the past before he learned control.

Justin pulls his mouth away with a loud slurping sound, and I almost bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing; I don’t want to ruin the moment. He’s oblivious to the sound and begins to slide his lips over my chin, down my neck, leaving a cool wet trail as his mouth approaches my left nipple. For some reason this is more sensitive than the right; Justin knows all of my hot spots. Slowly he swirls his tongue around and around, my chest is heaving and I’m dying to grab his head and make him take my nipple into his mouth, but this is Justin’s game, so instead of action I moan out loud, he knows what I want and very soon he gives in and licks-bites-sucks my nipple. I shudder with gratitude even while I’m reminding myself to teach him more about torture, teach him not to give in so easy to what a man wants.

My hands are aching to touch Justin, to grab onto him, to flip him over on his back and take his cock into my mouth; I can feel it pulsing hot against my thigh. He moves his mouth lower, lapping and licking all the way down my chest, my abdomen. He has to let go of my wrists to go lower, and he stops briefly and glares into my eyes: a threat. I’m supposed to pretend I can’t move my arms even though he lets go of them; I close my eyes and moan my acquiescence as I feel his fingers slip away from my hands and move down my body, following his wet tongue trail.

Justin licks the tiny hairs trailing down my belly toward my cock, and I feel his tongue darting in and out of my pubic hair forest. He asked me a few days ago to trim my hair, he says it gets in his teeth, but I’ve been lazy. Maybe I’ll let Justin trim it for me; I’ve never let another man near my cock with scissors, but Justin will be the exception to the rule. Justin is nothing but an unending, almost-limitless exception to my rules, so why cavil at pube-trimming?

Instead of licking my cock, Justin ignores its unspoken demands and moves his face further downward, taking little nips of my thighs, his head moving from side to side, side to side, like at a tennis match; again I have to bite my cheek. Then I lose all desire to laugh as Justin surprises me, by slipping his hands under my thighs and raising them up off the mattress.

“Hey.”

He smiles up at me. “Put your legs on my shoulders.” When I shake my head no, Justin laughs. “Don’t make me get rough with you!”

Instead of laughing back, I sit up quickly and grab Justin’s shoulders. “My turn,” I say, but he’s resisting, pulling away.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Looking into Justin’s eyes I remind him, “No fucking.”

With an exaggeratedly heavy sigh, Justin nods. “All right, all right. Jesus. Roll over!”

I stare at him a moment longer, then let go and flip over onto my stomach. Immediately his hands are on my ass, kneading it hard like a baker with his dough, then his hands relax and he’s barely touching, caressing my cheeks, almost tickling. There’s a pause, then I feel him gently pull my cheeks apart, and his warm breath caresses my crack, and I feel his breath get hotter as he lowers his face and flicks his tongue quickly against my hole, making me jump slightly in surprise.

Justin hasn’t done much rimming, strangely it makes him feel squeamish; strangely because he gets so into sex that I think he’ll do anything or almost anything. But for some reason he doesn’t like to ‘put his mouth in there, that’s icky,’ as he admitted to me a long time ago, and I’ve never asked or expected him to. So I’m surprised that he’s doing it now. But I’ve got no complaints. Christ, it feels good. He has the greatest tongue, long but not outrageously so, and he can harden the tip into a dagger almost. Now I feel his dagger plunging into my hole, stabbing, and stabbing, making my body jerk hard against the mattress, almost killing my cock with the need to burst, without the touch of a mouth or a hand.

He only rims me for a minute, two minutes, and when I feel him pull away, I immediately flip over onto my back, grab Justin’s arms and pull him against my chest, smash my mouth against his and suck his tongue into my mouth. I want him not to feel ‘icky’ so I kiss him and kiss him till I feel his body go weak and he collapses against me, all aggression seeping out of his body as desire takes over.

“Fuck me, Brian,” he whispers, my favorite words in the world.

“Oh baby, you got it,” I whisper back, sliding my arms down his sides toward his beautiful white ass. He leans over me, resting his weight on his elbows, as I play with his ass, sliding one and then two fingers inside. I love the feel of his muscles relaxing with my touch, and we continue to kiss and moan against each other’s mouths until he’s ready for me.

Even though we both prefer fucking with Justin on his back, we’re always doing every other position imaginable – and Justin is very limber and can bend in unexpected ways – today he stays on top of me, and after he’s rolled the condom onto my cock, he raises his hips and settles down, slowly-slowly, on top of it. He calls this the Ride-Em Cowboy position. Once he even jumped off the bed and rummaged in the closet till he found my cowboy hat, and wore it on his head while we fucked, both of us laughing and taking forever to come.

Tonight we’re both too far gone to last much longer, Justin’s brief but unexpected and incredibly hot rim job has me panting for release, and while Justin has learned to pace himself, to stretch things out as long as possible, he’s still young and excitable enough to come at a moment’s notice. I let Justin do the work, moving his ass up and down on top of me, a few minutes quick and fast thrusting and I’m ready to blow. “Now?” I manage to gasp, and when Justin groans “Yes-yes,” I let go, and we literally shake the bed with the force of our mutual orgasms. He collapses on my chest and I hang on tight to his shoulders as we ride out the waves of pleasure rippling through our bodies.

When I can speak, I tell Justin, “Christ, that was good. You were good.”

“Really?” he asks, pulling his head back to see my face; he’s wearing a huge grin.

“Thanks for the rim – it was great.”

“Too short,” he contradicts, looking away. “I still don’t, umm. . .”

“That’s okay. Don’t ever do anything you don’t like.” He’s still not looking at me, so I ask gently, “Why did you do it if you dislike it so much?”

“Oh!” he turns back and says earnestly. “It’s not. . . not awful or anything. But I did it because I. . .”

I wait, in dread of what he’s going to say.

“Because I. . .”

‘Don’t say ‘I love you’ I silently beseech him.

Justin can read my mind. Or my eyes. Or he knows me too well.

With a sigh, Justin looks away again. “I did it because you like it so much.”

Relieved but feeling obscurely guilty, I hug Justin even tighter. Sometimes – not often, but sometimes – I wish I could say the words Justin wants to hear. From first kiss to coming, Justin always matches my passion. Sexually he’s my doppelganger. But emotionally, we’re aliens.


Justin

My angel wings surprised Brian all right, but not in a good way. When he showed up at Babylon, I was already up on the tower, trying to dance without falling off, without dislodging the wings attached to my shoulders, it was surprisingly hard to do. All the go-go boys were given tight satin short-shorts to wear, which looked kind of dumb with my Addidas, but Gary said my shoes would be okay. It took a while to get used to being so high up, I kept grabbing the handrail. Maybe I looked dopey. Maybe that's why Brian gave me such a strange look when he finally arrived at the club. He just kind of nodded at me then turned his back and stood at the bar with Michael and Emmett, he hardly gave me another glance. A few minutes later, he walked off, and I didn't see him again all night. Not till I got home.


Brian

I kept telling myself to go to bed; it was ridiculous to wait up for him. He's a big boy, what he does is his own business. I know what he's doing. Or can guess. And I know that I am right, the minute he comes in. What's funny is that I kept telling myself I wanted to see his face. Yet when he finally comes through the door, I can't look at him.

"I had to talk to the boss," he explains. Mmm-hmm. I know 'the boss.' Gary Graham. I fucked him years ago, many years ago when he was either semi-cute or I was totally wasted. I've forgotten where it was, at some party. I could barely remember it or him, but I seem to remember that he has a tiny cock. Maybe that's the way I want to remember it. He could probably fuck Justin and the kid would not feel a thing. What did Vic use to call guys like that? Oh yeah, needle-dick.

Justin gives me a little peck on the lips before he heads into the bathroom. Just the tiniest breath escapes his lips and I smell cigarettes and Listerine and Mentos and dick. My senses are finely tuned to dick, I'm surprised he thinks he can fool me.

Calmly I remind myself that Justin does not have to fool me; he can suck any dick he wants to. Or doesn't want to. I don't own his mouth or his ass. Why should I give a fuck who's dick he sucked tonight?

I hear him turn on the shower and it makes me relax slightly. I really didn't want to smell Gary Graham on my sheets. I might have to burn them.

Giving up on the computer - I've been typing nonsense for the past ten minutes anyway - I pull off my clothes and slip into bed. Turn my back to Justin's side of the bed and try to will myself to sleep before he finishes his shower. I force myself to breathe deeply, evenly, relax my muscles and sink into the bed. When he slides in beside me, I'm doing a damn good imitation of REM sleep. He buys it, maybe it suits him to buy it. He sighs deeply but quietly and turns his back to me too. Normally he would scoot over and fall asleep against me, an arm flung over my chest, a leg pressed against mine beneath the sheets. He must need solitude tonight as much as I do.

I don't know what the fuck to do about Justin's situation. Nothing, I can't do anything. He refuses to let me support him, saying I've already been doing enough of that. How can I argue? His mom offered to help with Justin's expenses, but I brushed her off. I know she's having her own financial struggles. Whatever kind of fucking moron lawyer she has, let her get screwed over in the divorce. None of my business. Nothing I can do about that. But now his dad has reneged on paying for college, and that damned PIFA is fucking expensive.

Justin could drop out for a year, get a 'real' job and save up for tuition. Yet getting into PIFA is extremely competitive, who's to say they would accept him in a year or two? He could go to State, or. . . oh Christ, there are other options. But his reasons for staying at PIFA now are valid. I understand, I really do. If only he'd let me help.

For some reason when I saw him dancing at Babylon, wearing tight shorts and those ridiculous angel wings, I was embarrassed. Embarrassed by him or for him, or both. How the fuck I ended up with a live-in teenage lover, I'll never know. That's humiliating enough, and now my lover is dancing for tips, thrusting his pelvis, wiggling his ass, hoping guys will stuff money down his shorts. Christ. I couldn't watch, I left after a few minutes. I watched the drag queen's number, but only because I felt Mikey wanted me to stay there beside him, then I bailed.

With a silent sigh, I try to let it go. But as soon as I can tell that Justin is really asleep, I slip out of bed and head straight for the liquor cart. Managing to silently pour a couple inches of JB into a glass, I sink down on the sofa and swallow a big gulp, then another. I need anesthesia to sleep, to get my mind off this fucking treadmill. Part of me wants to grab hold of Justin and shake him, shake some sense into him, force him to let me help. But the other part of me knows damn well that it wouldn't work. The kicker is that I understand what he's feeling, I respect his independence and his determination to make it on his own. But there's always a price tag for independence. I think he got a glimpse of that price tag tonight.


Justin

Brian was waiting up for me, I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to see him, I was sure he'd be able to guess what happened at Babylon. But he didn't turn around, didn't look at me. I was dreading having him look at me, I was afraid of what I would see in his eyes.

But I don't think Brian would blame me, not really; he's always telling me what a realist he is. I'm sure he would understand that I did what I had to do, to get what I wanted. And it's not like me having sex with Gary is any big deal; it's not like cheating on Brian. We both do other guys all the time.

So why do I feel like I cheated on Brian?

I kissed him, just a quick tiny kiss on his lips and I kept my mouth closed. I used half a bottle of mouthwash and sucked some mints before I got home, there was no way he could smell anything, so I thought the little kiss would make things better. Because things were not okay. Brian was not okay. I didn't want him to look at me, yet when he didn't look at me, I knew he was upset.

Let it go, I told myself and hurried into the bathroom to have a shower, to wash Gary's fingerprints off my body. I'm not sure why his touch bothered me so much. I've done lots of guys with Brian, we've done a dozen three-ways, so there's been plenty of men touching me that I didn't really want to touch me. It was always okay, I mean, if I always got off, it must be okay. I don't know why this felt different.

Yeah, I do. It reminded me of that slimy Kip Thomas. At least with Kip, I was doing something for Brian. It was bearable because it was for Brian. But doing Gary was for me, and it felt icky. But it's not a big deal. He wasn't gross or anything, just. . .

Fuck it. I turn off the shower and grab a towel, hoping that Brian has gone to bed. He has, and when I slip in beside him, I can tell that he's asleep. Sighing with relief, I turn my back to him and just let go of all the angsty feelings inside. I did what I had to, to get what I wanted. It's okay. It's no big deal.


Brian

How many times have I watched this boy, this man, sleep? He's legally and intellectually a man, even in some ways emotionally a man. But in other ways, he's a child, with a child's vulnerability. I cut him no slack for that, never have. I've always steeled myself against any softness in the way I treat him, the way I expect him to act.

He's slept so many different ways in the year or so since we met. In the beginning, he used to sleep totally relaxed and sprawled out, carefree like a child. After the bashing, he slept fitfully, either curled into a fetal ball or thrashing around on the bed; he had terrible dreams that shook him awake in a cold sweat, crying out in pain or fear. Since he's been with me a while, he's settled down, and now he sleeps like a man: Relaxed but not carefree.

He's having a bad night tonight. Frowning, murmuring meaningless syllables of discontent. Not fear. More like anger. What did it do to him, selling his ass to Gary Graham? I don't blame him, how could I? I've peddled my own ass a few times over the years, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. This is real life, you do what you have to do. But I have a feeling Justin blames himself, and that's the crux of the problem.

I’ve always been honest, with myself as well as with others; and I’ve always accepted the consequences of my actions. Yet at eighteen I was nowhere near as tough as he is. I pretended to be tough, but I know that Justin’s not pretending. There’s steel in him, and it’s been tempered by all he’s gone through this past year. Yet at heart, he’s a romantic. Romance and steely determination are not a comfortable combination. So while Justin can sell his ass to get what he wants, I feel sure that his heart is aching over that decision.

Justin always wants to talk to me about his feelings, about my feelings, but I just can’t do it. I don’t dare open up to him. He wants me to talk to him like I talk to Michael, but I can’t. I won’t. When people know your soft underbelly, you become vulnerable, you give them power over you. Michael has that power, but he’ll never misuse it. I trust him totally.

I don’t trust Justin. He’s eighteen, for Chrissakes. He thinks he loves me, he thinks he wants to spend his life with me, but I don’t believe it. He’ll fall in love a dozen times after he gets tired of dealing with me. Maybe I’ll get tired of him first. I hope so.


Justin

I feel him come back, feel him silently slip between the sheets. I always wake up when he gets out of bed, it's like a sixth sense. He's quiet as a cat but I know exactly what he's doing: getting a drink. He must be really upset with me. I lose track of him for awhile, I've almost fallen asleep again when I feel him come back.

At first, I try to ignore the knots twisting my gut. I know he won't tell me how he's really feeling, but suddenly I just have to turn over, I desperately need to slip into his arms. I'm afraid somehow that he'll push me away, but I have to do it anyway.

He doesn't push me away, he opens his arms and pulls me against his chest, hugging me close. A tiny gasp escapes my lips, not a cry, not a whimper, just a tiny poof of air, and I feel his arms tighten around me, his chin rests on my head and he murmurs, "Shh."

"Brian - " I need to tell him - what? That I'm sorry? That I won't do it again? For Brian, 'sorry' is bullshit, and what am I sorry for, anyway? I don't know. I don't know. And I can't promise not to do it again, can I? Because I might have to.

"Shh," he says again, and he's rubbing my back, his hand making soothing circular rubbing motions, like I've seen Lindsay do when she's holding Gus.

"Brian - "

"Shh."

He won't let me talk, maybe he's afraid I'll break down or something. Brian hates raw emotion. He should know me better than that; I don't break down. Not when anybody else is around anyway. Not even Brian. Especially not Brian. Brian never breaks down, he never cries. He gets upset sometimes. And sometimes I think I can see behind his eyes that he wants to let me in, but he never does. Maybe he never will.

I feel my body start to shake slightly, from the effort of holding back. "Shh," Brian says again, "You're okay, it's late; go to sleep."

With a heavy sigh I obey him, let myself relax in his arms. I always feel so safe in Brian's arms. 'Let it go,' I tell myself, repeating it like a mantra. 'Let it go, let it go, let it go.'