The Present



“What?!”



“I said wouldn’t you just rather lie here and . . .”



“No, no, no. I know what you said, you said ‘cuddle.’”



“So?”



“So, I’ve never ever once even heard you use that word, much less actually want to do it . . .”



“Okay, can we just turn the lights off . . .”



“No! No. Brian Kinney fucks, sucks, rims, rams, but never cuddles.”



“Okay, so I used a word that offends your sensibilities. Forgive me. I apologize. I will never do it again.”



“No, it’s more than just that. Every day we get closer to being married, the person I know gets further away.”



“I’m right here."



“But it’s not you! Looks like you! Feels like you! But you . . . you would never go to your own stag party and not fuck every hot guy in sight. You would never be more interested in gardening than getting laid.”



“I’m just trying to make you happy.”



“I want you to do what makes you happy. Not me.”



They stared at each other, and Justin watched as Brian’s expression gradually softened. For the first time in days, he looked like Brian – the real Brian.



“What about you,” Brian said after a moment.



Justin flopped down on the bed, annoyed. Where was this going to go?



But Brian didn’t let up.



“Yes, you,” he said. “Not going to New York?”



“Fuck New York.”



“Conquering the art world?



“Fuck the art world.”



“Why? ‘Cause you’re afraid.”



“I’m not afraid.”



“Then what?”



“I don’t want it.”



“Bullshit!”



“I don’t. It means nothing.”



“Would it still mean ‘nothing’ if I wasn’t here?”



Justin sighed with exasperation.



“How do you expect me to give you a rational response when the circumstances presented are completely suppositional and as such have no basis in reality?”



“Just answer the Goddamn question!” Brian said angrily.



Goddamn it!!



“I don’t know!”



Justin lay back down. It was over. He knew it was over.



They looked at each other. Justin was on the verge of crying.



“Well, I do,” Brian said. “I don’t want to live with someone who sacrificed their life and called it ‘love’ to be with me.”



Justin turned to look at him.



It was over.



“Neither do I.” he said.



Brian took his hand.



It was over . . . . . Or was it?



______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



Twenty Minutes Later



The kiss is lingering – no tongues, just mouths – the kind of kiss that’s so long and soft that their lips stick together for an instant when they pull apart as though they are made of sugar. They don’t speak. They’d said enough, at least with words. Now it’s time to speak with their bodies, skin to skin, completely naked, no barrier between them. No cloth, no latex, no unspoken doubts, no unarticulated fears.



What about you? Not going to New York? Conquering the art world?”



Fuck the art world!



The second kiss is also lingering, but less soft, less tender. Hunger snaps and crackles beneath it like stoked embers. Their tongues touch – lightly at first, almost tentatively – but then fill each other’s mouths. When Brian tilts his head so they won’t bump noses, Justin combs his fingers through his hair, the thick silky strands brushing his skin, igniting the fire inside him – the fire Brian had kindled the moment they lay eyes on each and that had burned ever since.



Are you afraid?



No, I’m not afraid!



Then what is it, Justin? If it’s not fear then why stay here? Why stay with me?



Justin curls his fingers and drags his nails lightly against Brian’s scalp. He knows Brian loves to be touched like this, rough but gentle at the same time. No one else touches him like that; no one else ever will.



Brian Kinney fucks, sucks, rims, rams . . .



Yes, but he also holds Justin close, whispering dirty words against his ear – telling him what he’ll do when they get home. How he’ll kneel on the floor and unbuckle Justin’s belt, pulling down his jeans and his briefs, freeing his cock, kissing the tip as it swells and hardens. Brian may fuck, suck, rim, ram but he never kneels – not for anyone else. Never for anyone else.



I don’t care, Brian. You never asked me if I wanted us to be monogamous. I don’t. I don’t need us to be. I never have. What I need is your time and, when we’re together, your undivided attention. I need us to plan together – to dream about our future together.



Brian shifts so he can press his cock against Justin’s thigh. He’s still wearing his shorts. Justin pulls away from their kiss and looks down. He loves seeing the bulge inside the gray cloth, the quarter-sized wet spot of leaked fluid. He traces the length of Brian’s cock, feeling it lurch, pressing against the cotton restraint, yearning, needing. Brian sighs, his breath moist and warm against Justin’s neck.



And our future can include New York . . .



But I don’t want to go to New York.



Bullshit.



When it’s clear that Brian can’t take the absence of skin-to-skin contact a second longer, Justin watches him take off his shorts, pushing them down his thighs and freeing his feet. It’s not the first time he’s seen Brian’s cock – of course not! – but for some reason, it feels that way. It’s a dusky purple-red, hard and proud, the head clearly defined, the veins thick, pulsing so close to the surface of his skin . . . so very close. Justin knows what it smells like, what it tastes like, what it feels like – the heat and heft of it in his mouth – but he’s never felt it slide into him just like it is. Just like this. Bare and blood hot.



You do realize that if I decide to continue tricking, that we won’t be able to fuck raw.



I’ll leave that to you. It’s your choice.



You won’t be upset?



I won’t be upset. I want you to do what makes you happy – no matter what that is.



Brian wraps his fingers around his cock and strokes it for a moment, slicking the head with his pre-come. Justin watches, mesmerized. He’s always loved watching Brian masturbate, and Brian knows it. He's always loved watching the tip disappear and then reappear, the slit opening wide. Brian smiles at Justin and winks.



What will it be like when Brian comes inside him? Will he be able to feel it? Will there be so much that it will gush out when Brian withdraws? Justin has no idea. He’s never been fucked without a condom before.



Brian continues to stroke himself to the edge of orgasm and then stops abruptly with a groan of self-induced frustration.



And you? Will you trick in New York?



If I go to New York.



I thought that was settled. I thought we agreed you would.



Only if we get married – only then. I know you, Brian. I remember how you decided not to come to L.A. You’ll push me away thinking it’s for my own good. Try that with a ring on your finger. You won’t be able to do it.



Brian reaches out and places his hands on Justin’s sides, pushing his shirt up and then off over his head. When he tries to lie down to pull off his shorts, Brian stops him.



“Slow,” he whispers.



“I don’t want ‘slow,’” Justin replies. “I don’t want to ‘romantic.’ I want you to fuck me, Brian.”



Brian kisses him and smiles against his mouth. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. If we’re going to do this – especially if we’re only going to do it once – we’re going to do it right.”



He combs his fingers into Justin’s hair, tugging his head back and exposing his throat.



“If I was a vampire, I’d be worried right now if I were you,” he murmurs between light kisses and the barely-there scratch of his teeth.



Justin tries to laugh, but it’s hard to laugh in the position he’s in.



“Swallow,” Brian whispers. “I want to watch you swallow.”



Justin does as he was told and feels the wet heat of Brian’s tongue press against his Adam’s apple. He swallows again, and Brian hums his approval. When he releases Justin’s hair, he turns his attention to his collarbones. Justin watches him, Brian’s closed eyes, the dark lashes, the hair that half-obscures his face.



“Mine,” he thinks and shivers. He’s never thought the word before – he’d never even dared.



“Cold?” Brian asks between kisses that vary between light and firm, wet and dry.



Justin smiles and kisses his temple. “No,” he says. “Just happy.”



Brian lifts his head and looks him, his expression unexpectedly serious.



“You mean it?” he asks.



“I mean it,” Justin replies. “I’ve never meant anything more.”



Brian’s answering smile is just a twitch of the corner of his mouth, but his eyes are laughing.



“Mine,” he whispers.



Brian furls his lips. Justin can tell that he’s contemplating whether he’s okay with what Justin had said. But then the twitch of a smile returns.



“Yours,” he says.



Justin can’t stop himself. He grabs Brian and pulls him close, kissing his neck, his shoulders, his face, his ears – every part of him he can reach. Hunger surges like a spring tide, creating pools of longing, of wondering . . . what is this going to be like? Fucking raw . . . being married. He doesn’t know yet, but there is one thing he knows for sure. Deb was wrong. Brian can change. Brian has changed.



I don’t want the house.



Okay.



You shouldn’t have done that, Brian. You shouldn’t have made such a huge decision without me.



I’m sorry.



Fuck ‘sorry.’ I’m through with the Brian who says he’s sorry.



But I am sorry.



No, you were just scared. They’re too different things, and one doesn’t necessitate the other.



Justin leans down so he can kiss and suck on Brian’s nipples. Brian’s already aroused, so they’re already hard. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back when Justin scrapes them gently with his teeth and then groans raggedly when Justin nips them. Brian loves this. Justin can still remember when he’d first figured that out, how Brian had arched off the chair, ice cream melting on his chest.



Brian releases his cock when his hips buck up. He’s close again. Justin sits up straight and kisses his lips.



“Your shorts . . .” Brian orders. “Off. Now.”



Justin laughs. So much for going slow.



God! They’d come so close – so close to letting this go, to letting each other go!



Go to New York, but marry me first.



“Stop thinking,” Brian said. “And start sucking.”



He lies back, propped against the pillows, long legs spread. Justin nestles between them. When he kisses the head of Brian’s cock, it twitches and bops his chin.



“Subtle,” he says and Brian laughs.



“We know what we want,” he replies.



Taking the hint, Justin wraps his fingers around Brian’s cock, lifts it and swallows it, his mouth loose, barely touching, letting the wet warmth and the gentle pressure of his tongue drag a hitched moan from Brian’s throat. Justin removes his hand from Brian’s cock and pushes his legs even wider apart, encouraging Brian to bend his knees and lift his ass off the bed.



“Lube,” Brian says breathlessly and reaches for the ever-present tube of KY. Justin takes it from him and smears the slick jelly on his finger, only releasing Brian’s cock for a moment before swallowing it again.



“Don’t make me come,” Brian says. “Stay away from my prostate, Sunshine.”



Justin hums his laughter and Brian moans again. It’s a legitimate request. No trick has ever been able to make Brian come before he’s ready, but Justin can. He’d learned how to years ago. He’d always wondered how much of his ability was expertise and how much was Brian, himself, his emotions taking over, overwhelming his body. Justin had liked to think it was the latter . . . but now – now that Brian has finally said “I love you” – he knows it was. Brian’s body is putty in his hands. So is his heart. Perhaps it always had been. The knowledge is sobering.



Just . . . just don’t . . . Go to New York. I want you to, but don’t . . . don’t fall in love with someone else. No more Ethans.



No more Ethans. Brian, you’re going to be my husband. I’m not going to cheat on you.



You do realize we’re putting a lock on the door.



I know that. It’s what I want. The question is, do you?



I do.



“In me,” Brian says and then, because Justin doesn’t comply fast enough, he reaches down and grabs Justin’s hand, pressing Justin’s fingertip against his entrance. When it slides inside him, he bends his knees and lets his legs flop open like the wings of a butterfly.



“God,” Brian mutters in-between groans. “Fuck.”



Justin sucks hard on his cock and fingers him, careful not to apply pressure on his prostate, concentrating instead on the sensitive rim, letting his knuckle catch against it over and over.



“Gonna fuck you,” Brian gasps. “I haven’t come in days. I’m going to fill you up . . . oh God . . . Justin, stop . . . stop . . . seriously . . . stop.”



Justin quickly stills his hand and releases Brian’s cock, watching it throb against his belly, slick with spit. Brian had almost come, one second longer and he would’ve lost it. He raises his gaze to Brian’s flushed face. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his hair clings to his forehead, dark and damp.



“That was close,” he says, laughing when Brian smiles, his eyes still closed. “Think of lesbians going down on each other.”



Brian feigns a shudder and sits up.



“Water?” Justin asks.



“Yeah.”



“A bottle or a glass?”



“Bottle.”



“Anything to eat?”



“Just your ass.”



“That can be arranged.”



Justin gets up and walks to the kitchen. For some reason he feels more at home in the loft tonight than he ever has before – certainly more than he ever would’ve felt in that hideous mansion in West Virginia. Yes, they should find a new place – a place that the two of them agree on. But in the meantime, this is home. His and his soon-to-be husband’s.



Deb told me to let you go.



She said the same to me.



What’s she going to say at the wedding? Do you think she’ll stand up in the middle of our vows and object?



No, but even if she does, I won’t care.



It would actually be kind of funny.



Certainly memorable.



When he returns to the bedroom, water bottles in hand, he finds Brian setting up his mirror against the wall. His “fuck mirror” as he’d christened it when they’d used it for the first time. Justin grins. This is going to be fun.



“I want to watch my dick fucking your ass,” Brian says unnecessarily. What else would they be using the mirror for? Personal grooming? “I didn’t want you on your hands and knees. Ride me. I want to see your expression when I come inside you. In the meantime, come here and sit on my face.”



Justin laughs. Their communication outside the bedroom may be cryptic and easily misunderstood, but inside the bedroom, it leaves nothing to the imagination.



Brian positions himself so he’s lying with his head at the foot of the bed, while Justin sixty-nines him, groaning when he feels the wet warmth of Brian’s tongue.



“Not too much,” he says. “I want to be tight.”



“Not so tight that you strangle my dick,” Brian replies, his voice muffled.



“Mmmuh murmuffff?” Justin says, making fun of him.



Brian pinches his ass making him yelp.



“Asshole,” he laughs.



“Interesting choice of words,” Brian replies. “Now shut-up and let me rim you.”



Justin doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans forward and rests his cheek against Brian’s belly, relaxing and enjoying the sensation of being opened.



He’s going to miss this in New York – their daily lovemaking. But doesn’t absence make the heart grow even fonder; the body’s anticipation even more intense? He closes his eyes and imagines what it will be like. A midtown hotel; thick, soft 1,500 thread-count sheets; breakfast, lunch and dinner in a king-sized bed . . . a week or more of pent-up craving . . . God! They’re going to fuck like they’ve never fucked before . . .



Suddenly, Brian slides a finger inside him as deep as possible.



“Stop thinking,” he says.



“I’m thinking about you fucking me,” Justin replies.



“Oh, okay. In that case, carry on.”



He laughs but then gasps when Brian presses against his sweet spot making his cock throb.



“Ready?” Brian asks, his voice hoarse with desire.



Is it Justin’s imagination or is Brian shaking? He lifts his head and looks at Brian’s cock where it rests on his belly and watches the clear fluid flow from it with each thudding beat of his heart. And then it hits him again – that gorgeous fluid isn’t going to end up in the tip of a condom. Brian’s come is going to fill him. Brian is going to fuck him raw . . .



Holy shit!



“Ready?” Justin says. “Seriously? I was born ready for this.”



Brian laughs. When Justin moves, he sits up and takes a swig of water, emptying most of the bottle in one swallow.



“You’re going to need to be hydrated,” Justin says. “Because after you fuck me, I’m going to fuck you.”



Brian lowers the bottle and arches an eyebrow. Go ahead, Justin thinks. Try and say no. I dare you. He’s ready for pushback, but it doesn’t come.



“Okay,” Brian says with a shrug as though it’s no big deal – as though Justin fucked him every other day instead of never – well, at least not since Justin had left him in the fall and (as he now knew) broke his heart like a china plate.



Will you wear your ring?



What do you mean ‘will I wear my ring?’ Of course, I’ll wear my ring.



Even when you’re painting?



I’m sure platinum cleans up well. But what about you? Will you wear your ring while you’re fucking other guys?



Do you want me to?



I don’t know . . .



Because if you don’t, I’ll take it off.



No. No, keep it on. I want you to keep it on. I don’t want you forgetting me when you’ve got your dick in some trick’s ass.



I’d never forget you – I never have, ring or no ring.



I never forgot you either.



Never?



Never, Brian. Never.



Justin flops back and stares up at the ceiling unseeingly, mouth open in awe. Oh. My. God. Brian is going to let him fuck him raw. If he gets any more turned on, he’ll probably have a heart attack.



Brian laughs at his stunned expression and lies down on top of him, kissing him breathless. Justin wraps his arms and legs around him, holding him close, not caring if he looks like a baby sloth clinging to its mother. Fuck dignity. He squirms and wriggles until the slippery head of Brian’s cock is pressed against his entrance and then does everything he can to get it inside him. Brian buries his face in the space between Justin’s neck and his shoulder. Justin no longer has to wonder if he’s shaking. The answer to the question is no longer in doubt. Brian is shaking like a proverbial leaf.



“Brian,” he says, suddenly feeling tender and full – too full – of love, so full he’s afraid he might tear at the seams or burst open like a balloon full of water. “Brian.”



At the sound of his name, Brian loses what little control he still had. With a suddenness that makes Justin’s world spin, Brian enters him, thrusting frantically. Justin spreads his legs and draws his knees back, giving Brian as much access to his body as he can.



“Fuck,” Brian grunts. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”



“Does it feel different?” Justin gasps, dying of curiosity.



Brian merely squeezes his eyes shut and nods. It’s all he seems capable of.



What if you like it so much you don’t want to trick anymore?



Then I won’t trick. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.



Brian pulls out just as suddenly as he’d slid in, panting for breath. Justin’s reaches for his cock, ready to jerk him off, but Brian bats his hand away.



“Don’t,” he gasps. “I want to come inside you. Just give me a second. God, that felt good!”



He flops down on his back and Justin straddles his waist, careful not to touch his cock. It’s not easy; Brian’s hips buck involuntarily with an animal need to be inside again.



“Sit down on it,” Brian growls. “Fuck yourself.”



“Do you still want to use the mirror?”



“Hell, yes. Here, move. There. Now impale yourself, Sunshine. That’s it . . . deeper . . . oh God!”



Justin helps prop Brian’s head on a pillow so he can see around Justin and watch himself in the mirror. Justin is about to ask him if he’s comfortable when Brian thrusts upward so suddenly that it hurts. Justin cries out, and Brian grabs his hips, pushing him up – not so much that his cock slips free, but enough to keep his thrusts shallow.



“Sorry,” he gasps. “Fuck, I’m sorry . . .”



Justin leans forward and shuts him up with a kiss.



“Just not ready,” he says. “Give me a moment.”



Brian nods and stills himself, obviously with a great effort, as Justin slowly sits down again. Brian’s eyes roll back for a second when Justin reaches around to cup his balls in his hand.



“As soon as we start moving again, I’m going to come,” Brian says, his breathing fast and shallow.



“Are you ready?”



“Not really, but I can’t help it. You have no idea how good this feels.”



“Well, I will soon.”



Brian smiles. His hair isn’t just damp with sweat – it’s soaked. When Justin removes his hand from between his legs and starts riding his cock again, Brian squeezes his eyes shut and opens his mouth in a silent scream. His hands are clutching Justin’s hips so hard, there’ll almost surely be bruises tomorrow. Justin covers them with his own, feeling a strange need to comfort, to protect. When Brian’s orgasm finally hits, he thrusts upward with all his strength and comes with a shouted expletive that Justin can only barely understand. Suddenly everything is really wet, more than just the usual wetness of lube and more slippery than sticky. He can feel Brian’s cock throb, which is nothing new, but the wetness is. Justin has to sit down all the way to prevent Brian from slipping out.



“I think we just ruined the sheets,” he said breathlessly, but Brian is so out of it that he doesn’t seem to even register that Justin had spoken.



Justin leans over and kisses him. Brian combs his fingers into his hair and holds his head steady, kissing him back with a hunger that let Justin know he could come again.



“Fuck me,” he gasps into their kiss. “Turn me over and fuck me.”



“But don’t you want . . . ?”



“No. No fingers, just your cock. Use my come.”



Justin didn’t need to be told twice. He rolls Brian onto his stomach and yanks his hips up off the mattress, rougher than he wanted to, but he can’t help it. He isn’t thinking any longer; pure instinct has taken over. When he pushes inside Brian’s body, Brian makes a little yelping sound, but instead of making Justin stop, it only makes him needier. For an instant he has the strangest thought – couldn’t Brian get pregnant? Why hadn’t they thought of that, but then he laughs because he’s losing it. Absolutely fucking losing it. He curls his fingers and drags them down Brian’s back, leaving behind red, almost bloody, welts. At some point the pleasure had taken over; he’d be able to think more clearly if he’d drunk three bottles of Beam.



“Fuck me!” Brian yelled at him. “C’mon, Sunshine, give me all you’ve got!”



Somewhere in the back of his mind, Justin realizes that Brian is coming, and he wants to shout “stop!” He’s not ready for this to end yet. If Brian comes, so will he. He won’t be able to help himself, and he’s right . . . the second he feels the first contraction, his orgasm slams into him as, in turn, he slams into Brian . . . over and over and over . . . coming his brains out . . . watching as the pearly semen seeps out of Brian’s body. He’s surprised how much there is; there’s even more when he comes again and then again a few seconds later. He’s never come three times in a row before, but how can he not when this feels so good . . . so fucking good . . . better than he’d even imagined.



Sure enough, the sheets are a mess. Brian bitches about it perfunctory, but Justin can tell he’s proud of himself, proud of the fact that there’s so much come they’ll need to wash the mattress pad. They make an even a bigger mess when they fuck again. When at last they exhaust themselves and each other, they lie down, carefully positioning themselves so as to avoid the cooling wet spots. Justin body aches – in a good way, but still it aches. When Brian snuggles up against him, he nudges him away.



“No cuddling,” he groans.



Brian props himself on his elbow and frowns down at him.



“We’re not going to start this ‘rims, rams but never cuddles’ bullshit again,” he says warily. “Because I’ll cuddle you till dawn if you want.”



Justin laughs and lifts his head for a kiss.



“I promise – no more ‘cuddling bullshit.’”



Brian rolls over onto his back and takes Justin’s hand.



“I’m going to miss you,” he says.



“I’m not leaving right away, you know.”



“Well, you should. The longer you wait, the harder it’ll be.”



Justin nods. He’s right, of course.



“Okay. I’ll start looking for an apartment – but not until after we get back from our honeymoon.”



“Fair enough . . . speaking of which . . .”



“Yes?”



“I’m not going to be fucking another guy between then and now, and you know what that means.”



“That means we’re going to spend all our time in the hotel room and not see a single sight.”



“Well, we will need to eat. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone and go to restaurants overlooking the shit we won’t be visiting.”



“Clever as usual.”



“Practical.”



Justin rolls onto his side.



“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”



Brian yawns. “So what does one do at a rehearsal dinner? I don’t even know.”



“We show up looking fabulous, drawing applause from the crowd, sit down at my carefully arranged tables and stuff our faces with lobster.”



“Aren’t we supposed to rehearse the wedding ceremony?”



“What’s to rehearse? There won’t be any readings, no parents giving us away . . . although when Deb realizes we’re going to get married and I’m still going to New York anyway, she might insist on walking me down the aisle.”



“Oh, dear God.”



“I’m actually kind of serious.”



“I know you are.”



“Brian? Seriously though. She’s going to be okay with this. I know she is.”



“To the extent she’s okay with anything I do.”



“That’s good enough. And Lindsay will be okay, too. Everyone will. Trust me. You may not always see it – and people are sometimes lousy at showing it – but your family loves you. They always have and they always will.”



Brian snorts, but Justin isn’t kidding.



“If you can’t believe that right now, then fake it until you can.”



Brian rolls over onto his side and pulls Justin close, ignoring his grumbling about sore muscles and wet spots. When he falls asleep, Justin worms his way free and goes to the bathroom. When he returns, he notices that Brian has rolled onto his stomach and is stretched out, taking up more than his share of space. Justin stands for a moment, looking down at him. For a second, he feels far away, as though he’s already left for New York and is looking down at Brian from a great height, as cold and distant as the moon, but then he blinks and he’s back in their bedroom.



They’d come close to letting each other go again. Far too close. But they hadn’t. Was it fate? Or was it just basic, fucking sense? As he crawls back in bed and pushes a dead-to-the-world Brian out of the way, Justin realizes he doesn’t care. If the result is the same, be it due to destiny or happenstance, in the end it really didn’t matter. They were together – and this time they’d stay that way.



The End . . . . so there, Cowlip!