BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD-CHAPTER 20-ACCELERATE

BRIAN’S POV

the word is about,
there’s something evolving

Leo Brown’s death had unintended consequences, and it was the second time that he’d interrupted a New England vacation with Justin.

It triggered a string of events that continues to shape your life and affect your relationships even today. Predictability, or at least now you see it that way, the moments that meant nothing to you, the moments you barely remember, defined you in ways you never thought possible. You’d been many things in your life by the time you were pushing forty: a son, a brother, a player, a lightning rod, a bright star on the horizon of the advertising industry, a father, a super-hero, a teacher, a survivor, a lover, a reluctant crusader, a financial force to be reckoned with, a friend and a partner. You should’ve died from exhaustion long before then--or at least been in therapy. Ten years ago, when your policy of work-party-fuck-sleep-repeat was working for you, you would’ve never imagined your life as it stands today, each of its pillars strong on their own, but even more formidable when joining forces.

……

You met Nate and Sarah downstairs for breakfast that Saturday morning and watched as Justin witnessed Nate’s fork-estra for the first time. His only comment about it came when the two of you were alone at the table for a few minutes, “Jesus, and I thought Michael couldn’t hold a spoon.”

“I’m convinced that Debbie fed Mikey until he was ten,” you offered.

“You’re probably right.”

……

Nate’s best guess was that Leo’s funeral would be Tuesday, maybe Wednesday. There were a lot of things that had to be coordinated—an official announcement to his employees seemingly the top thing on Nate’s mind during breakfast. You and Justin wound up in bed afterwards. You fucked him on all fours, your hands paying more attention to his body than your mind was. Admittedly, it was starting to wander.

You were rough with him when you’d fucked him and could feel his body hardening against you, meeting you thrust for thrust. Justin sensed your detachment and lit a cigarette for you after you came, “Here.” You laid on your back, blowing smoke towards the ceiling.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked you. The way he asked the question meant he already knew the answer.

“No,” you said anyway. And then you turned your head to look at him propped up next to you, “Though, now that we’re married, I feel like I have to.”

He laughed a little, “You don’t.”

You moved your gaze back to the ceiling, closing your eyes on the inhale, enjoying his hand rubbing up and down your stomach, focusing on how soothing his touch felt.

……

“Justin,” you said several minutes later, right as he was laying his head down on your chest.

“I know,” he said quietly, “The honeymoon’s over.”

********************
she’ll be driving six white horses when she comes

There are always priorities in life. Some you choose and some that choose you. The game of life, the trick to it, is knowing which ones merit your attention.

Nate and Sarah had matching Land Rovers in the garage at The Rockford; he willingly gave you the keys around dusk, when you and Justin had emerged from your room—fucked, shaved, and showered. The two of you had unwittingly skipped lunch, so you took Justin down the mountain for dinner at an unremarkable establishment that Nate assured you had ‘the best beef in Dixville.’ You were anxious to get out for awhile, to enjoy the last night of your honeymoon.

“I’ll bet it feels really weird to be driving a car that doesn’t talk to you,” Justin pointed out to you as you drove off The Rockford’s property.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” He smacked you with the New Hampshire guidebook Nate had given him. “Ow, take it easy.”

“Did you know that New Hampshire is ‘the granite state?” he asked you.

“Well, that makes sense. I’ve been hard since I got here.”

……

“Oh my god, me too.”

“Live free or die,” you added.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”


********************
this land is your land

Justin continued flipping through his book as you navigated your way along the narrow roads, “Okay, we’re in Coos County. Wow, Dixville is almost at the very top of the state.” He turned the book in your direction, as if you were going to take your eyes off the mountain roads while you driving Nate’s car, “See, New Hampshire is basically a triangle.”

“I’ll take ‘shit I already know’ for five hundred,” you offered.

He closed the book and put it in his lap, “Okay. I’m going to fuck you after dinner.”

“Double or nothing?”

********************
I’ve got a yankee doodle sweetheart,
she’s my yankee doodle joy

“So, what do you want to do after dinner?” Justin asked, as the waiter was pouring both of you a glass of the wine he’d recommended—a 1999 Castello Banfi Brunello di Montalcino.

You waited until the waiter had left the table, “I want you to suck my cock in a homosexual entertainment establishment designed for such activities.”

“Only if you eat your vegetables.” He took the bottle of wine from you while you were trying to read the label, “Here, let me.” He cleared his throat, “ Impressive saturated ruby, extremely dark for Brunello. Brooding aromas of dark berry syrup and licorice; distinct hints of surmaturite. Then big, broad and extremely unevolved; highly concentrated but currently monolithic, and not really displaying its fruit. Finishes with big, chewy but ultimately rather fine tannins. Impressive in a modern style, but is this too solid for its own good?”

“No comment.”

“That waiter wants to get in your pants. Your ‘extremely unevolved, high concentrated but currently monolithic’ pants.”

“Because I’m not really displaying my fruit,” you added.

“Your forbidden fruit.”

“You’re so hot when you’re jealous.”

********************
ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall

“You’d think a town called Dixville Notch would have a bigger selection of gay clubs,” you said to Justin as you pulled up in the parking lot of The Rabbit Hole. You’d gotten the name from the waiter, who smiled a very big smile when you asked him if there was anywhere to ‘unwind’ in this town.

“I can’t believe how that guy was practically throwing himself at you,” Justin remarked, and you raised your eyebrow at him and said,

“Really? You can’t believe it? I seem to recall a time when—"

“Shut up.”

The Rabbit Hole reminded you less of a club and more of an early American gentlemen’s club, the kind that denied membership to women because no one was interested in fucking them. The street number on the outside of the club was 620 ½, which essentially meant that you had to enter the club through a single door and climb up a very narrow staircase. It was only when the two of you were at the top of the stairs that you saw the doorman and heard the music.

“Thumpa thumpa,” Justin said, as if the music was the confirmation he needed of The Rabbit Hole’s validity. “Where’s the dance floor?”

The doorman answered him, “See that long hall to the right of the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“Go down that hall, through the door, and you’re in it.”

“Thank you.”

“Where’s the fucking?” you asked. Priorities.

“On the other side of the dance floor.”

“Great.” And then you put your hand on Justin’s shoulder and pointed the way, “Onward ho.”

********************
all she wants to do is dance

The dance floor at The Rabbit Hole left a little to be desired. There was an okay sound system, no DJ, and lighting that seriously needed an upgrade. You tended to critique these things out of habit after owning a club yourself. But despite the lack of aesthetic, Justin was excited to be there, probably because he was getting some exercise in a standing position. The place seemed crowded, but you figured it was because you were used to Babylon. Justin pulled you to the middle of the floor and started to dance, his arms draped over your shoulders. It quickly became something much more than dancing, something that could best be described as ‘mobile molestation.’

“Everybody in here wants you,” Justin whispered in your ear.

“I know.”

“Too bad for them.”

“Yeah, but ‘go me.’”

He laughed, and you put your hands on his hips as he moved, letting your hands wander to his ass. Justin’s hand slid down over the front of your jeans, pleased that you were hard, “Mmm, best beef in Dixville.”

“Let’s take it to the slaughterhouse, shall we?”

********************
doesn’t have to be sophisticated

The backroom at The Rabbit Hole was really just an unfinished hallway that they’d been kind enough to heat. There were men, very good-looking men in that all-American sort of way, lining both sides as you and Justin stepped inside. You followed him down the hallway until he found a free spot and then leaned against the wall, pulling him to you. His hands were in the back of your hair as you kissed him and they began to move down your torso. You widened your stance as he unbuttoned your jeans.

Justin was always irresistible to you when he was on his knees, the way he’d always smile as he freed your cock from your pants. His hands were warm; his mouth was perfect. He teased you for a little bit, letting your cock rub the side of his face, around his jaw, his tongue quickly licking any wetness you had. When he finally opened his mouth, you let out a deep breath and put your hands on his head. His hair slid back and forth underneath them as he sucked, as he moaned around your cock, the vibration so sublime.

It wasn’t uncommon for men to stare at you or him when you were fucking in public places, but their stares were particularly intense that night. But they weren’t looking at your faces, they were looking at your hands. At your rings. Probably thought the two of you were on the down-lo.

Coming in his mouth was one of your non-so-guilty pleasures; you loved feeling his throat respond to you as you came. And then he stood with a mouthful of you and kissed you, letting it pour over your tongue.

“Justin.”

He moaned into your mouth when you said his name. And then you turned him so his back was against the wall, so you could lean in and kiss him as hard as you wanted, closing your eyes as his hands ran underneath your shirt. It was everything you could do not to turn him around and fuck him, but the thought of wearing a condom seemed utterly unacceptable to you at that point. So, you opted for something else,

“Wait here a minute,” you told him. He looked puzzled as he let go of you. “I’ll be right back.”

********************
land of the free,
home of the brave

You exited the backroom, crossed the dance floor, and walked back into the bar. “Can I have one of these?” you asked the bartender.

“Sure. That’s what they’re for.”

“Thanks.”

You rolled the commemorative Rabbit Hole rainbow flag up, stuck it in your back pocket, and headed back to the backroom. When you returned, there were a couple of guys trying to talk to Justin. They gave you an apologetic look as you approached and then walked away.

“We just got invited to two orgies,” he told you.

“The hospitality in this town in fucking unbelievable.”

“I told them we were married, and they were completely un-phased.” You laughed. “So, then I clarified by saying that we were monogamous.” He laughed and then whispered to you, “But they don’t believe me.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed him, “I have something for you.”

“What?”

“Wedding present.”

“What is it?” he asked, his eyes starting to dance. He was so easy. “Tell me.”

“Okay.” You released him and got down on one knee.

……

“Brian, what are you doing?”

“Making it official,” you answered, pulling the flag out of your pocket and letting it unroll. He stared at it and then at you like you’d lost your fucking mind. You had the attention of every other man around you as well.

You cleared your throat and held up the flag, “Justin Taylor, will you let me, Brian Kinney, in this sacred land of our forefathers, Dixville Notch, suck your cock in front of all these witnesses as a symbol of my eternal devotion to you?”

He was embarrassed, hiding his face behind his hands for a few seconds, but when he realized that you were serious, he answered, “I will,“ and then added, “And will you, Brian Kinney, promise to swallow my entire cock?”

“I will.”

He held his flag up by his face, “Then by the power vested in me by the legend of Deep Throat, I now permit you to blow me.”

A guy standing close by added, “Amen.”

“Why can’t we get married?” someone asked his trick for the evening.

“Because I just met you three days ago,” the man responded.

“Oh yeah.”

Justin’s fingers wound tightly in your hair when you slipped your hand between his legs and started fingering him as he fucked your face, determined to give him an orgasm neither he nor his audience would ever forget. When he came, his hands spread and flattened on top of your head, pushing your face between his legs.

……

“Bet they believe me now,” he said as you stood, kissing him and buttoning him back up at the same time, his face smiling up at you.

“Perhaps my little speech convinced them.”

“Take me back up the mountain and fuck my brains out.”

“That was the next activity on my itinerary.”

“Good.”

He waved his flag on the way out of the backroom and all the way home, “Brian, this is, hands down, the best honeymoon I’ve ever had.”

“Pants down,” you corrected him. “You mean ‘pants down.’”

“My bad.”

********************
JUSTIN’S POV

and it's just like the ocean under the moon

The ride back up the mountain was beautiful, the trees in silhouette against a dark, bright sky. Nate’s car still smelled brand new, and Brian took his time as he drove. The images through your window were breathtaking at times, and you felt yourself tucking many of them away for when you were back in your studio. Any artist would be hard pressed not to find inspiration in New Hampshire. What interested you even more, though, was the juxtaposition of this place compared to New York or even Pittsburgh. Scenery, you decided, could make any place seem so simple; it never tells the whole story.

There had to be people that lived here, that suffered here, that were unaffected by the beauty of their surroundings, just as there were city dwellers who were awe struck sometimes at a bird landing randomly on top of an idling taxi cab. That was what you wanted to paint—the intersection between expectations and reality.

Perhaps that was why Brian was so often the subject of your work. There was an innate tension in his entire existence, a tension that kept him alive. Brian was often the point at which expectations and reality collided.

Fucking him the night before when he was bound to the bed had launched a slide show in your mind that you wanted to sketch while you were still inside him: the muscles in his upper arms, the long lines of his body, his back flexing as he wrapped his fingers around the rope, his face as you penetrated him, arguing with desire.

You turned from the window to look at him, relaxed as he drove, his legs apart, his left arm resting on the side of the door. You tucked your left leg under your right and turned in your seat so you could see him better. His right hand was at one o’clock on the steering wheel, the car going thirty-five miles an hour.

It was hard for you to believe sometimes that he was yours. He could’ve had anyone he wanted.

He shifted in his seat, stretching his left leg a little, smoothing his hand over his thigh, and then resting it back on the door. You could tell he wanted to smoke.

The day before had been a new moon, so there was little light from Mother Nature. Each time a car passed, your head would turn, catching a glimpse of what its lights illuminated. The woods on either side of the road were black, making it look like miles and miles of trees were rooted in a lake of oil.

You turned back around and watched out your window again, lost in the view until you felt Brian’s hand on your leg. It moved instinctively to be closer to him.

“Are you cold?” he asked you.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Help me watch for the turn. It’s coming up.”

“Okay.”

…..

Less than a minute later, the trees seemed to part, and you pointed to your right, “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

You were ready to get back in bed. Somehow not fucking for almost three hours felt like an eternity. The other Land Rover wasn’t in the garage as you pulled back in; Nate and Sarah were out for the evening.

********************
the chills that you spill up my back
keep me filled with satisfaction when we’re done

You didn’t waste any time once you were inside your room, pulling Brian into your arms, walking backward until you fell back on the bed with him on top of you. “I want you to fuck me.”

There were clothes coming off, piece by piece, and you weren’t really sure whose were whose; you just knew that you were eventually naked underneath him, his body so warm.

You were moaning in some sort of a loop, unable to stop as he kissed you, your fingers combing through the back of his hair. You could feel his hand on his cock, feel it pushing between your legs, needed him inside you immediately, “Brian.”

He spread you with his thumbs as he pushed inside, and you dug your nails into his upper back. His arms looped under your knees as he fucked you, sending him so damn deep inside you that you wanted to take a bite out of him. Your restlessness wasn’t lost on him; he held you down.

“You’re so fucking horny, Sunshine,” he said, his voice rough beside your ear. You moaned louder. “Goddamn, I love it when you get like this.”

“Make me come.”

His thrusts got harder against your legs, and you could hear him in your ear, “Justin... Justin… Justin.”

“Harder.”

He pinned you then, and you braced yourself for the torment you’d been begging for, for him to fuck your orgasm out of you like it was a demon that had to be exorcised. He fucked you so hard, you came and woke up in church.

Naked and waiting to be baptized. Brian Kinney. Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come..

“Holy mother of God, Brian, that was fucking fantastic.”

You kissed the side of his face as he panted by your ear, “Marriage will be the death of me.”

“But just think, if it is, you’ll be buried in my ass.”

He raised his head up and looked you straight in the face, “That’s an excellent point,” and then collapsed on top of you again.

“Thank you very much.”

“My pleasure.”

********************
satisfaction of what’s to come

“I think you’re ready,” Brian whispered a little while later, and your legs slipped off of him and fell open at the suggestion.

“You do?”

He was answering you wordlessly, pulling out, letting his fingers take his place inside you. He kissed his way down your body and when his mouth skimmed down your cock, you reached for the back of his head, pressing his face against you. You twisted his hair in your fingers as he ran the side of his face down the length, his tongue teasing your balls on the down stroke. He was torturing you, eventually moving his face along your inner thighs, pushing them back open as you tried to wrap your legs around his upper body. You had an overwhelming urge to crush him while having the shit fucked out of you again. But you arched instead, reaching for the headboard behind you, and gave in to him; knowing that resistance was beyond futile.

The first time Brian ever brought up fisting with you was when he had cancer. The two of you were lying in bed after another failed love making attempt, and you were quiet that time, knowing that the more you said, the more you upset him. You wanted to tell him that it was fine with you, that you didn’t expect him to perform on command every night, but you knew that a conversation about how he over-identifies with his sexual prowess would not sit well with him at that moment. So you reached out for him and were surprised when he let you hold him, his head weighing heavily on your chest. He mentioned it to you almost in passing as he laid there, as if struggling for some way to keep you satisfied.

As if you were even mildly unsatisfied.

You thought about it for a minute and then declined, feeling like the time wasn’t right, that neither of you needed that kind of pressure. And then you left to work in the movies, and when you returned, the trust between the two of you was beginning to disintegrate and fisting was the last thing on your mind.

But after he proposed for the second time, when you’d convinced yourself that he was serious, one of you would mention it now and again, and you knew that someday it would happen, when the time was right. And since the theme of your long-awaited return and crazy honeymoon seemed to be ‘expect the unexpected,’ you weren’t shocked when the subject came up again or that the suggestion wasn’t verbal. Since the second time you’d ever been with Brian, you realized that most of the things he said to you, he never actually said at all.

And if he felt you were ready, you believed him, and more than that, you trusted him.

“I want you on your back so I can see your face,” he said, and then he kissed you, slowly. “So I can keep an eye on you.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t move,” he told you as he rose from the bed. When he returned, you were staring at the ceiling when you felt it, the re-entrance of his fingers, gloved and generously slicked, and your mouth refusing to close at pressure of his knuckles.

“Do it,” you whispered.

The lights in your room were still on, and you thought about how ungodly beautiful Brian was as he knelt between your legs. He leaned forward a little and spoke to you, “I’ll stop whenever you want. Don’t let me hurt you.”

“I won’t,” you told him, as he bent his forehead to yours and then kissed you before returning to his sitting position. “Just go slow.”

“I will.”

Brian’s voice was reassuring as he pressed on the back of your thighs, gently pushing them up, “There you go.” And then you felt him further inside you, listening to his voice rain down all over you, accompanying the light show that was starting behind your eyes. “God, this is so fucking hot, Justin. Jesus.”

“Uh.”

Your eyes would open now and then just to take in the sight of him watching you, to catch his eye and smile some sort of inadequate appreciation for the pleasure he was bringing you, any pain that came with it overshadowed by the emotions flooding your body. You told him you loved him, and he smiled.

There were competing sensations pumping through you then, a tingling that you couldn’t pin point at any one place in your body, and a permeating sense of determined calm, that at any other moment in your life would’ve felt like a paradox. You were having a conversation with him, but your words seemed to float away before you could remember what they were.

His words began to feel abstract to you, but you knew your body was obeying him, the tone of his voice conveying that over and over.

“Open up for me, Justin.”

You knew the fact that Brian had fucked you about a million times since you’d come home was making this possible, and you moaned his name when the rise of his thumb pushed past your final resistance, your breathing becoming shallow and in pace with the pink streaks bouncing behind your eyelids.

Brian asked you to open your eyes and look him, and when you did, you saw him so tall in front of you, felt his knees pressing against the back of your thighs. You smiled and he smiled back, rubbing the back of your leg.

“Okay?” he asked you.

“I did it?” It seemed like a stupid question, but you needed to hear him say it.

“I’m looking at my wrist,” he told you, and just hearing that made your body tense around it. “Whoa, don’t get nervous on me now.”

“Sorry.” Your voice was so quiet you could barely hear it. “What’s it feel like?”

“Tight.” You smiled at him when he said that, your right hand coming down, reaching for your cock. He held your hand. “And very warm. And wet.” You squeezed his fingers as you held them. “Tell me how you feel.”

“I can’t describe it physically. It’s really weird…I just love you. God, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, moving his hand to his cock. You watched him stroking himself, wanting to be doing it for him. “You’re making me so fucking hard, Sunshine.”

You felt his fingers start to move very slowly, and you froze, relaxing again when he reminded you to, trying not to imagine them curling inside you. Your eyes flitted back to the ceiling as you concentrated on just the sensation created by the movement, not the mental image that came with it.

“Oh god.”

A pressure began to rise inside you.

“S’okay, you’re gonna come.”

……

A tremoring sensitivity to everything you’d ever known, every smell, every color, every sound.

“Oh fuck.”

Every feeling you’d ever had, every picture you’d ever seen, or drawn, or painted.

……

“Just let it go.” And then as if in response to a question you might’ve asked, “I’m right here, Justin. Right here.”


“Oh my god.”

……

And then it burst, an almost bewildering force that fought to be set free, your body twisting in on itself in response to it.

“Holy fuck,….I can’t.. be… still.”

“You’re not moving. You’re okay.”

……

“No, I’m shaking.”

“Look at me, Justin.” Your eyes opened again on his command. “You just feel like you are. You’re not; you’re fine. Try to breathe.”

You did, and it surprised you. And then you sighed, aware of your body again, a ridiculously content feeling spilling everywhere inside you. Endorphins.

So underrated.

……

“Gonna pull out, now. Okay?”

“Okay,” you said, unsure if you were really okay with it at all.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you at all and I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

Brian’s free hand rested between your legs as he slowly pulled out, reassuring you the entire time. As the widest part of his hand slid out of you, your body made a funny slurping sound that almost made you laugh. Your feet fell to either side of Brian’s legs when he was out, an empty sadness pouring over you that surprised you.

Brian leaned down to kiss you, “Hey, come on now. I’ll be right back. Gotta clean up.”

You tried to blink away the tears in your eyes, “Okay.” You watched him walk toward the bathroom, turn on the sink, and then return with a washcloth and two clean towels.

He cleaned you as you lay there completely spent, covering the sheets with towels, and then returned to the bathroom to wash his hands again. You wiped your eyes when he flicked off the lights and watched his dark form make its way back to the bed. He stopped once, reaching into his suitcase, and then returned to you.

“You okay?” he asked quietly as you pulled your legs up and rolled on your side, a reaction to the cramping that was starting. “Talk to me. You’re hurting?”

“Yeah.” You knew you were shaking for real this time. Brian’s arms wrapped around you, almost cradling you, his thumb wiping the tears that seemed to be flowing without purpose down your face. “I’m crying,” you told him, as if he needed the update.

“I know. It’s okay. You’re just overwhelmed.” Your teeth began to chatter and Brian’s hand pressed your face against his chest, kissing your forehead as you tried to stop trembling. “S’okay. I’ve got you.”

You whispered into his chest, “My stomach’s all crampy.”

“I knew you’d start your period if we did this.”

You laughed, which made it hurt even worse, “Don’t. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Swallow this,” Brian told you, handing you two white pills and some water.

“What was that?” you asked, after you swallowed it.

“Dr. Brian’s Secret Fisting Remedy.” You laughed again, as he pulled the covers up over both of you, the feeling of being held against his warm body seeming to ease the pain.

“As long as it wasn’t Tylenol.”

“Oh shit.”

“Very funny.” You held Brian’s right hand between yours, pressing it against you, and told him, “Let’s have breakfast in bed in the morning, okay? Maybe The Rockford has a post-fisting menu.”

He tucked his head and kissed you, his hand brushing your hair off of your face, “A picture of my cock? I doubt it.”

“Yeah, it’s copyrighted.”

Brian laughed, signing your name in the air, “Yeah, ‘Justin Taylor, 2000.’”

“That’s right.”

……

……

“Still hurting?” he asked you a few minutes later, his voice soft in your ear.

“Stuff’s working,” you told him, feeling a calming, medicated fog come over you.

“Good.”

……

Minutes later, you heard the television flip on and knew that Brian was watching the news.

“The Northeast can look forward to February-like temperatures for the rest of the week, Paula…”

You smelled cigarette smoke as you drifted off to sleep.



Painting is N.H Winters by Monique Sakellarios. Other images taken from Google Images. Icon of man with present behind his back made by br0kenicons. Lyrics from The Propellerheads featuring Miss Shirley Bassey’s History Repeating, She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain, author unknown, Woody Guthrie’s This Land Is Your Land, George M. Cohan’s Yankee Doodle, Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer On the Wall, author unknown, Don Henley’s All She Wants to do is Dance, Groove Terminator’s Here Comes Another One, The Star Spangled Banner written by Francis Scott Key, Rob Thomas w/ Santana Smooth, and Deee-Lite’s Groove Is In the Heart twice.