BRIAN’S POV
What have you done to him? It’s the first thought that refuses to leave the lobby of your mind, and yet, he seems none the worse for wear even though the fuck has morphed (thanks to physical exhaustion on both of your parts) into Justin just sitting in your lap, pressed against you and moaning softly as you stroke his hair, his back. The bathroom floor – an unlikely but necessary destination for aftercare. You have to decide if he’s floating in subspace or in danger of ‘bottoming out.’ You don’t want to ask him, deciding instead to just feel your way. You reach up and turn off the bathroom light, leaving the randomly lit tiles in the shower stall responsible for illuminating the small room. You feel him smile against your shoulder.
You could tell him things if you want to--that you’re not sure exactly what got into you or for that matter, if it’s left you yet. You could tell him that you love him but that word has suddenly become woefully inadequate for the way you feel. So instead, you search for some truth inside you, something to give him in appreciation for what he’s given you, your voice a hesitant whisper and a substandard messenger for the sentiment brewing inside you, “I never want this moment to end.”
His body soon feels like it’s making a million tiny fists beneath the surface and when they release, his tears are flowing down your chest. A gentleman would offer a handkerchief in this situation, and yet all you have is a tug of toilet paper to give and a reassurance, “We’ll stay right here…as long as you need.”
JUSTIN’S POV
You feel like you’re coming to the end of a fearless roller coaster ride, a ride that leaves you unable to rely on your own legs when it’s time to exit the car. Without question, you know he’s carrying you out of your private theme park. You try to remember the details of the journey, but the only thing that feels legitimate is this epoxy-like connection you have to him. The lighted tiles in the shower…they’re so…cool…and pretty.
And then there’s this needy, soul-searching kiss. That fierce desire he has for you is rising again, hovering over you and keeping you outside yourself. This feeling, it throbs desperately, demanding your attention. “Let me take you to bed,” he says, “Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back.” He gets up and wraps you in a warm towel, leaves you sitting on the toilet. You hear doors open and close, several in succession. When the bathroom door opens again, his hand is out-stretched. You take it, letting the towel pool on the floor. It’s dark in your dungeon bedroom save the fireplace; the props from your scene are gone. There’s a bottle of water, a jar of peanut butter, a spoon and a banana on the table beside the bed.
“Eat something for me before you lie down,” he says, so you sit up in the cool black sheets watching him peel the banana and hand it to you. You eat it, handing him the refuse when you’re done. “Thank you,” he says, smiling. Your eyes follow him as he walks to the other side of the bed and slides in beside you. The warmth returns as he holds you against him, kissing the back of your neck. You shift in his arms so you’re facing him and confess, “I know I’m not, but I feel like I’m rolling.”
“I didn’t spike your food. I swear.”
“I know. I just…can’t stop. I feel like there’s a giant tiger chasing me through a jungle of pleasure.”
“Meow,” he teases you, and then gets more serious, “It’s subspace. You’re floating free.”
He seems relieved.