BRIAN'S POV

You've never seen him smile so much after an evening like this. He's present, not floating away; he's touching you everywhere, watching his hands as they skate across your skin. "Justin," you say, "That was pretty amazing."

He grins even wider, "Yeah, that was unbelievable. I really, really liked that." His voice is strong and positive; you're not used to this side of him being present during afterplay. He watches you as you move around the perimeter of the room extinguishing flames and end up back in bed with him, the room dark save the dying orange embers left on a few stubborn candles. He curls his body back against yours, his hands resting on top of yours on his stomach. "I'm going to paint this soon," he says, "This is so cool."

"Kind of romantic, huh?"

"Yeah...." A few seconds of silence pass, and then he turns his head back to look at you. You think he's going to say something, but he just kisses you, his body slowly spinning so your chest is against his. He's running the show, pulling away just to come right back. "Thank you," he says at one point.

"You're welcome. What exactly are you thanking me for?"

He moves his hands so they're holding onto either side of your face and whispers in your ear, "For bringing that Brian Kinney home tonight."

Seeing him so happy and satisfied gives you a bizarre feeling in you stomach. "You're welcome," you tell him, "I never let him drive, though; I make him ride in the backseat. He's a total asshole; he'll run every red light."

"He's my asshole," Justin says about your alter ego, "So give him whatever he wants."

"Why?" you ask, teasing him, "Because you do?"

He has such a satisfied and mischievous look on his face when he replies, "I plan to give him more than he can handle...."

Your lips roll in, "Oh yeah?"

"Count on it...Mr. Kinney."

You flatten him, kissing him like all life on earth depends on it.
......

"Will you tell me about the classes you took? What were they like?" he asks a few minutes later.

"Honestly, the rope one was grueling. I had the bright idea to do all three hours in one afternoon. I went back to my office afterwards and took a fucking nap." He looks up at you and laughs. "It felt like two-thirds CPR class and one third kinky stuff. They teach you all these things about how long to keep someone in certain positions--"

"Did they teach how to suspend me from the ceiling?" he asks with humor in his voice.

"No, that's an advanced class. I learned how to tie some secure knots and how a lot of it is about wrapping, actually, and using the right rope for the job. I could hog tie you if I wanted too, though."

"Do you want to?" he asks.

"Well, here's what I discovered about myself taking that class: bondage is a long game and I'm not very patient. To really tie someone's whole body up with just rope takes quite a while, and that's for the guys who are good at it. I have a new appreciation for all-in-one restraint systems."

"What about the other class?"

You smile, "That one was more fun. It was much shorter, for one thing, and I got to try out just about every implement you could think of--"

"You know, when you flogged me all over with that soft leather flogger in the dungeon, it felt amazing. It wasn't painful, but it was like it woke up every nerve ending in my entire body."

"Yeah?" you ask; his revelation makes you happy.

"Yeah. Maybe I could take a class there like that and get to see what all those implements feel like?" he asks you.

"Um, no. You'll learn that from me."

"Okay, well, maybe I'll just ask Santa for a class for Christmas," Justin suggests.

You laugh, "You're a registered slave there. You can't do anything there without my written permission."

"You mean like I'd need a permission slip?"

"Exactly."

"No biggie; I can forge your signature. I do it at the bank all the time."

"Oh, you are so hilarious, Mr. Taylor."

He props himself up on his elbows, "Wait a minute, is that why you took me there that day? To get me registered so I couldn't do anything there on my own?"

"I'm gonna plead the fifth on that," you tell him.

"Brian, you are one sneaky bastard."

"Yep."

"Well," he speculates with a smirk on his face, "They can't be the only game in town."

"Perhaps, but remember, there's no way you win this game, Sunshine."

"I know," he sighs, "It's rigged."

"Just the way you like it."

The entanglement of your bodies after that conversation is matched only by the physical intensity you're passing back and forth. The energy is competitive and begins to snowball until, god help you, you want to fuck him again. But your dick can't soldier up for this one. When Justin realizes this, he turns your face back to him and says, "You've got an artist in this bed with you. Get creative." You cock your head to the side and give him a sly look; he gives you one right back, but his arm has moved and opened the top drawer of his nightstand. You prop yourself up, look inside, and shake your head in (mostly) disbelief, "Justin, you've been through a lot tonight."

"It's our first night in our new bed," he counters, "I'll go get a towel." He practically springs out of bed like you haven't been having your way with him all night. (Youth just loves to rub things like that in your face.) He comes back and kneels beside you watching you slide the long glove on and prep everything you need to attempt to fist him. You normally do this with Justin on his back, and he wants that tonight, but not the same way. He straddles you, kisses you, and then leans back with one hand on your shoulder, "Open your legs; let me lean back right here,” he says. You prop his hips on the folded towel and lube your hand.

Before you start, you warn him, "If this hurts too much, promise you'll stop me."

"I will," he says, his eyes blinking slowly.

His eyes close and he exhales through his nose when you penetrate him; he rests a hand on top of your knee and smiles at you. "Good?" you say.

"Mmm, hmm. Can I?" he asks as his hand circles his hardening cock.

"Sure."

He licks his lips, closes his eyes, and arches his back into your hand. He's so beautiful like this, it almost takes your focus away from what you're doing. Your fingers inch their way inside him, and he starts confessing, "I...I wanted to be across your lap tonight."

"I know you did. Soon enough."

"Even if you can't spank me...oh god, that feels...Christ...I just want to be there."

"I know; you like the attention. Should I keep going?"

His eyes open, his lips fall apart, "Go really slow."

"Okay." You listen to his body, to how your hand feels, to how hard he squeezes your knee, as you work with him, carefully getting him past your knuckles. As soon as you're successful, his whole body freezes.

......

"Justin?"

And you feel telltale pressure on your hand.

"Aw, fuck--" he blurts out, and then, "Shit...no--" And then he comes, making a little pool on his stomach. "Fuck," he sighs.

You press your outside hand on his pelvis, holding him still as you work your hand out of him. "You okay?" you ask as you see your gloved fingers again.

"Just hurry, okay?"

You pull your glove inside out and off and toss it on the floor. He repositions himself so he can lay his head on his pillow, the towel staying for awhile. You slide down next to him in the covers and put your arm around him, taking care not to press on his stomach. He holds your hand, clutching it to his chest, as you talk to the back of his neck. "Where's your pain?" you ask, meaning on a scale of one to ten.

Knowing exactly what you mean, he says, "Kind of everywhere, actually."

"Okay, give it five or ten minutes before we break out the drugs."

"Got anymore of that wine for my butt?" he asks.

"Why? Did you find the receipt for that too?"

"It's so expensive. I couldn't believe it," he admits.

"Well, it ain't going to the corner store for a six pack. That's for sure."

Your use of the southern vernacular must prompt his next question, "Have you ever fucked a cowboy?"

You laugh, "Only during my gun slinging days."

"You've been to more saloons than you can count," Justin points out.

"I probably did and just don't remember," you tell him. "They all blend together when you get to be my age. Why are you?--" and then you stop mid-question because you know why he's asking, "You're marathoning another season of Justified, aren't you?"

"Why, I declare, I have no idea what you're talking about," he tries, "And so what? You like Westerns, too."

"That is not a Western, Sunshine, and you damn well know it."

"He's so hot, the star of that show."

"You just want me to fuck you in a cowboy hat, Justin."

"We play doctor, why can't we play cowboy? You took a rope class; you could lasso me."

“And wear my boots and walk like I have a corn cob in my ass,” you add.

"We have stables, Brian. There’s a scene here just waiting to happen.”

"Your fantasies are really out in the open tonight. Usually, it’s like pulling teeth to get anything out of you.”

He clasp his hands on yours, “Yes, we could play dentist.”

“Only if my dick takes the place of a drill.”

“It did tonight….,” he says.

“You liked that, huh?” you ask.

“The only thing I didn’t like about tonight was when you said we were cancelling;” he turns around to face you, “But I liked the way you handled it.”

“Handled you you mean?”

That energy that had died down a little starts to rev back up between you.You see it start in his eyes; he passes it to you in a kiss that he ends up stopping, pushing his hand against your chest, “I need your help. I think I’m-- Our new bed--”

“It’s okay; I’ll take care of it. You relaxed, that’s all.”

“I hate this part,” he tells the ceiling as you clean him up.

“Well, what goes in must come--” you remind him, but he cuts you of ,“I’m just gonna lay here and picture you with a corn cob up your ass,” he muses.

“He’s not even a cowboy, anyway. He’s a U.S. Marshall.”

He’s triumphant, “See! You watch it, too!”

……

……

“You wanna watch it now?” you ask when you’re done taking care of him.

“Sure,” he says like it was all your idea or something, “But I usually watch it with a glass of wine….”

More like a bottle. “I reckon I can get down to the wine cellar and grab you one.”

“Well, you’re very kind, sir. If I didn’t know better--”

“You don’t, so hush.”

He laughs and grabs the remote. When you get back upstairs with the bottle, he’s already snuggled up in the covers and captivated by the opening credits. First night in your new bed, and apparently, it’s a threesome.

The End.

This story was a writing experiment, hence the lack of a dramatic ending. :)