Chapter 23 - That’s The Way It Is.

Brian didn’t manage to see Justin again for several days after the Lock-in Party. The busy pilot left a note with Daphne saying that he was being posted back to Croydon again and would be flying some long missions so it would be too tough for him to make it back to Covent Garden every morning. Justin advised that he probably wouldn’t be back until Wednesday or so, but that he’d send word or a note if anything changed.

Brian was almost ashamed by how disappointed he felt when he read the note. He had really been looking forward to yet another night of lascivious lessons with his eager little student. He’d been enjoying their time together so much that he’d been spending pretty much every single night here in the past, and to find out that his playmate wasn’t going to be available for several days, was a total drag. But then he mentally kicked himself for being such a wimp. Since when did he become so dependent on Justin for his entertainment?

Brian thanked Daphne for playing mailman for him, then turned around and headed back towards Duckett’s Passage and the twenty-first century.

Even so, Brian still found himself trotting back to 1941 every evening, hoping against hope that he’d find his wayward Blue Eyes had finished whatever this latest assignment was early. Brian did get either a message, a drawing or a letter from the boy every afternoon, but there was no Blue Eyes in his arms or in his bed. So, every evening he’d pick up his latest message, have a beer with Daphne, maybe join the boys for a little conversation, and then go shuffling dejectedly back to his own time. It was annoying and boring, but there was nothing he could do.

To fill the time, and keep himself busy during his empty evenings, Brian started looking into the WWII bombing reports on the German side, which he’d previously not bothered with. From what he could find online, it seemed that the British had been busy the past week or so with retaliatory bombing attacks in response to the heavy Nazi bombings on the 17th and 19th. They’d sent huge strategic bombing missions deep into the heart of Germany, hitting Hamburg, Dusseldorf, Mainz, Berlin, Munich and more with thousands of tons of bombs. No wonder his personal RAF pilot was being kept busy.

While the British were more conscientious, on the whole, about only targeting military and industrial assets, Brian was still upset to think of how many people - including civilians - would be killed by these raids. War was a shitty business, regardless of which side you were on; fucking Hitler and all the other authoritarian nutjobs that started wars and didn’t care about the people as long as their egos were appeased. It didn’t help much to learn that the British RAF casualties resulting from some of these bombing forays were quite high. Brian tried to hold on to the knowledge that Justin would be safe at least until July, when his plane was destined to disappear over the North Sea, but he still worried for the kid.

The worst moment of the week for Brian came on Wednesday, when he strolled into the pub, only to discover that his daily note was missing. Daphne said she hadn’t heard a word from Sunshine all day. Brian found himself feeling both crushed and worried. Either Justin had forgotten him, or even worse, something bad had happened that prevented him from getting word to Brian. Neither of which boded well.

Taking the pint of Best that Daphne handed him with a sympathetic smile, Brian made his way over to a vacant table in the corner. It was still a bit early in the day for the irregular crowd to have arrived, so Brian didn’t even have anyone to commiserate with. He simply sat there, all alone, brooding morosely over his beer. Daphne kept him supplied with alcohol but didn’t otherwise interrupt his moping, which was good because he didn’t feel much like chit chat. And he didn’t care that he was acting like a silly twat - he was going to pout and grumble as much as he wanted - he was THAT disappointed.

Finally, when it was getting seriously dark outside, a few of the more picturesque pub patrons began to trickle in. Brian looked up from his pint long enough to nod at a few but didn’t invite anyone to join him. He wanted to be alone to thoroughly enjoy his sullen mood.

“Hello, Handsome. Why the long face?” Brian’s pouting was interrupted a few minutes later by the overly cheerful figure of Fancy, who plopped down in the seat across the table from him without waiting for an invitation. “Whatever it is, I’d be happy to kiss it all better for you.”

“Fuck off, Fancy. I’m not in the mood,” Brian grumbled.

“Oy! Such a dirty mouth on you! I love it!” Fancy teased, not taking the hint that Brian didn’t want company. “Come on, Handsome. Tell Fancy what’s bothering you. You never know - I might be able to help.”

Before Brian had a chance to either physically remove Fancy from his table or, in the alternative, bare his soul to the man, the front door of the White Lion opened again and admitted a large group of young men in military garb. And, much to Brian’s everlasting relief, right in the forefront, he saw the familiar mop of blond hair that he so longed to see. Justin was laughing as he came in the door, his bright smile making the atmosphere of the pub seem suddenly brighter. The sound of his laughter went even further towards lifting Brian’s mood.

“. . . I know. It was crazy,” Justin was saying to his companions, who were all smiling at him as if the story was hilarious. “And there I was, after flying all the way back from Rotterdam, barely able to keep the darn plane in the air, with one engine on fire and leaking gasoline the whole way, and the tower tells me I can’t land because they’re under attack from the Gerries? Well, I didn’t have time for that. So I just came in, guns blazing, shooting at everything that moved, you know? And I guess the Gerries must have known I meant business or something because they didn’t even bother shooting back. They just all moved out of my way.”

“Damn, Sunshine. That sounds hairy!” one of Justin’s RAF mates responded, clapping the blond on the back.

“That wasn’t so bad. I’m used to that stuff. What did give me a little scare was the fact that, once I did have a clear shot at the runway, I couldn’t get the landing gear down. But I was completely out of fuel by then, so I didn’t have a choice. I ended up making a belly landing and only barely kept the plane on the tarmac,” Justin explained to his rapt audience, which now included Brian. “It was a real beaut though. Textbook perfect, if I do say so myself. I kept the nose up and just laid it down, soft as a bird’s feather, managing to slide to a stop about twenty feet from the hangar doors.”

That earned Justin a rousing round of congratulations.

“So, the fire squads are running out to me trying to put out the engine fire, and I’m climbing out of the cockpit barely able to breathe because of all the smoke, and up comes my CO. And I’m thinking he’s there to congratulate me on not getting shot out of the sky and managing to make it back to base in one piece or something, but no . . . He’s all like, ‘What the hell did you do to my brand new plane, Taylor!’” Everyone around Justin, except for Brian, broke out laughing. “So, I guess I’ll be flying my old Hurricane for the foreseeable future now. Evermere said he wasn’t giving me another new plane just to have it shot up again.”

Justin had made it over to Brian’s table by that point, smiling down at his guy with a happy grin and a squeeze to Brian’s shoulder. He sank down in the chair next to Brian and, with an impish waggle of his eyebrows, stole Brian’s glass of ale, taking a big swig as he waved off the rest of his admirers. As soon as all his friends said their goodbyes and moved off towards the bar to get their own drinks, the blond pilot turned to Brian.

“Hey there, Handsome. Miss me?” he joked, knocking his knee against Brian’s thigh under the cover of the tabletop.

Brian smiled tightly and took back his beer. “So, Blue Eyes . . . sounds like you’ve been having a fine old time,” he answered, snippily.

“What’s wrong, Brian?” Justin responded, looking at his apparently angry lover with evident concern. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m just fine and dandy. No life and death situations for me, thanks,” Brian barked back. “Of course, I’m not out risking my ass on a nightly basis, and then joking about almost getting killed like it’s no big deal.”

“Brian . . .” Justin sighed, not exactly pleased with the greeting he’d received. “It really wasn’t that bad. I promise. It’s just . . . well, that’s my job, you know. I handled it. I’m fine.”

“How many planes did you lose last night, Blue Eyes?” Brian asked in an angry whisper. “According to my sources, it was more than forty bombers and around twenty of the escort detail. One of them could have been you. Tell me how, exactly, that qualifies as fine? Huh?”

Justin didn't know what to say so they both just sat in silence staring at each other, neither one wanting to look away first. Finally, when it became apparent that Brian wasn’t going to back down on this issue, Justin turned his chair so he was directly facing the older man, reached out and grabbed Brian’s hand, and offered up a tiny, albeit serious, smile. Brian was still angry but he didn’t pull away; he was just too relieved to have his Blue Eyes back in one piece.

“Setting aside the matter of how it is you seem to know the exact casualty count from my mission last night,” Justin started off, “I really don’t see that it’s any of your business, Brian.”

Brian immediately bristled, ready to argue his point, but Justin wasn’t about to let him have his say yet.

“No, Brian. Hear me out.” The young man’s serious expression immediately quelled Brian‘s response, forcing him to sit back in his chair and listen, even if it was against his will.

“Regardless of whatever is developing between us, you don’t have the right to tell me how to live my life,” Justin asserted with quiet resolve. “I wasn’t gonna let my father tell me what to do with my life. I damn well wasn’t going to let the U.S. Army tell me how to live my life. And no matter how much I care for you, I’m not gonna let YOU tell me how to live my life, either. I am a pilot. I’m an officer in the Royal Air Force. I have given the RAF my oath of loyalty. They, in turn, gave me the training to become a fully licensed pilot. I am not backing out of my agreement with them. Part of that agreement, unfortunately, includes me putting my life on the line on a daily basis. That’s just how it is, Brian.”

Brian reflexively squeezed the hand holding his, as if afraid Justin was going to be snatched away from him there and then. Justin squeezed back but his expression didn’t relent. The stubborn little shit simply continued to stare him down.

“If you and I are going to make a go of it, you’re going to need to learn to deal with that fact, Brian. We’ve already talked about this. If you can’t handle the fact that THIS is who I am, then you need to just walk away. Because I’m telling you now, until this war is over, or I’m discharged or killed in action, I’m committed to doing what I’m doing now.”

Brian felt his shoulders slumping and he sagged even lower in the chair. He knew what Justin was telling him was true. He also knew by this point that his Blue Eyes wasn’t the kind of man who would give in on a subject like this. Justin was stubborn as shit, had an overdeveloped sense of honor, and wasn’t about to change for Brian or anyone else. Brian had never met anyone who had as strong a sense of self-determination as his own before. Sadly, that was one of the things about Justin that Brian found so attractive. So even if he had wanted to pressure Justin into changing, he would never do that. He would never change that particular aspect of the young man’s character.

“Fuck, Blue Eyes . . . I fucking hate this fucking war.”

Justin cracked up at Brian's admission of surrender.  “I think pretty much everyone I know would agree with you there, Handsome,” the boy replied, finally giving his lover a more relaxed smile. “Now, how about we start over . . . Hi, Honey. How’s your week been?” he asked with a light and airy tone.

“Boring. I had no one to play with,” Brian answered, with a return to his earlier pouting.

“Oh, poor baby. Good thing I’m back,” Justin teased and then leaned in so he could whisper in Brian’s ear. “I missed you too. And I’m ready for more ‘lessons’, Sir.”

Brian felt the younger man’s hand sneaking onto his thigh and giving it a quick squeeze. Brian heard himself growling in anticipation. Damn this boy; he made it impossible for Brian to stay angry at him.

Before Brian could suggest that they get the hell out of the White Lion and head back to The Palace as quickly as as possible, however, their little tête-à-tête was interrupted. “That’s it? You’re not even going to kiss and make up? Darn! I was hoping for a real show,” Fancy joked as he leaned forward from the far side of the table, looking like he’d been enjoying the private conversation between the two other men.

“Didn’t I already tell you to fuck off, Fancy?” Brian questioned, giving their eavesdropper a Kinney death glare.

“You did at that, Handsome, but I’ve never been good at following directions. Besides, with entertainment like this, where else would I want to be?” Fancy replied with a girly giggle added in.

Brian rolled his eyes but didn’t comment.

“I’m glad we’re amusing to you, Fancy,” Justin answered for the both of them. “But Brian and I were just about to leave; we’ve got some serious catching up to do. Besides, I’m sure you’ve probably got someone else to annoy this evening?”

“Fine. If you think I’m annoying, I’ll leave, and I’ll take all of my very interesting and highly pertinent news with me . . .” Fancy tantalized and made a motion as if to reluctantly rise from the table.

Justin sighed, but as expected, he relented. “What news?”

Fancy immediately plopped back down in his chair with a confiding grin on his face. “Well, if you insist.” Then the man leaned in towards them and lowered his voice so that no one around could overhear. “I heard you two went to the party at the Polaris Club with Lucky and Curly last weekend?” Both Brian and Justin nodded. “You’re fortunate you got out of there in one piece. It turns out the cops made several arrests that night. Including, I’m afraid to say, your pal, Lucky.”

“What?” Both Brian and Justin hissed at the same time.

“I’m afraid so,” Fancy confirmed sympathetically. “If you hadn’t taken off to Croydon the next day, Sunshine, you would have heard by now. Curly has been absolutely despondent over the whole thing. He was in here the other night complaining that they wouldn’t even let him see Lucky.”

“How did they get Lucky and not Curly?” Justin asked.

“The story I heard was that Lucky sacrificed himself so that Curly could escape. He practically threw himself into the bobbie’s path while Curly was running up the stairs. I take it that Curly was dressed up rather . . . shall we say, provocatively . . . and Lucky rightfully assumed Curly would get a much harsher sentence if he was caught dressed like THAT than Lucky would. Although, now, I’m not so sure about that. I have a . . . friend . . . who works in the Magistrate's office and they’re talking about making an example of ALL the suspects arrested. Something about how the perverts are undermining the war effort and the club being cover for subversive elements.”

“How is us being queer undermining the war effort?” Justin scoffed. “I happen to know for a fact that at least half the guys there are in one branch of the military or another.”

“True, but that only makes it worse that they found German propaganda materials there,” Fancy confided with a knowing look. “My . . . friend . . . told me they found Nazi leaflets at the club.” The skeptical looks he got from his audience only encouraged Fancy to tell more. “It’s true. They found what the Magistrate suspected was a German Officer’s overcoat and, in the pocket, there was some kind of prototype propaganda materials designed to try and get us Brits to buy black market, German-made, goods. My . . . friend . . . got a glimpse of it even. He said it looked like a bunch of ads for Nazi-made cars and banks and stuff.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Justin interjected. “There’s an import embargo with Germany. How are we supposed to buy their cars?”

“I don’t understand it myself,” Fancy agreed. “But from what I heard, the papers my . . . friend . . . saw, talked about Deutsche Bank, Fanta and even some newfangled, crazy-looking Mercedes-Benz cars . . .”

That last tidbit caught Brian’s attention. He remembered picking up an advertising flyer when he was at the shops the day before the party - it had shown an ad for the new Mercedes SLK convertible sedan he’d been thinking about buying when he got back to the states with his bonus from the Britcom deal in hand. It was a beautiful automobile and Brian knew he’d look hot in that cherry red model. He wasn’t sure what other ads had been on the flyer, but he vaguely recalled a soft drink ad on the reverse side and Deutsche Bank was a huge presence in 2016 London, so . . . Damn, he must have put that flyer in the pocket of his brand new Karl Lagerfeld jacket - the one that got left behind at the party that night.

“. . . But anyway, it sounds like your pal, Lucky, was particularly UN-Lucky that night,” Fancy continued with his story. “He got pinched like a Scottish penny.”

“Shit! I just assumed they got away along with all the rest of us,” Brian cursed, now feeling a little guilty for inadvertently making things worse for Justin’s friend. “Is there anything we can do? Does he have a good lawyer?”

“It won’t do any good,” Justin interrupted, sounding dejected. “Even if he gets off with a light sentence, he’ll still be kicked out of the Army. The British might be less picky about homosexuals than the Americans are these days, but there’s no way they’ll let a convicted sodomite stay in the service. He’ll be dishonorably discharged and labeled a pervert for life. Nobody will hire him, even with the labor shortage around here. His life is pretty much over.”

“That’s fucked!” Brian complained, his voice rising to the point that he was shushed for his language by several of the pub’s other patrons. “Lucky didn’t DO anything wrong. None of us did. Hell, except for dressing up and a little fairly tame kissing, nobody at that damn party was even doing anything overtly homosexual. This is fucking ridiculous. It’s not like it was a fucking orgy or anything.”

“Just being there - in the company of known reprobates - is enough, Brian. You should know that,” Justin grumbled. “It’s not that much different back in the States. Although, back home, you’re more likely to get taken out back and beaten to a pulp than arrested by the police, I’ll give you that.”

Brian had to concede that point. Even in his own time, the police were not known to be overly kind where gays were concerned. It didn’t make him feel better about Lucky’s situation though. This century’s approach to homosexuality was just so aggravating. It was ignorant and irrational and inhumane . . . And there was nothing that Brian could do about it.

“. . . Yeah, Curly was beating himself up about it right wickedly,” Fancy was saying as he and Justin discussed the matter further. “But there’s really no help for it. At least they probably don’t have grounds to get anything more than jail time for Lucky.” Fancy looked over his shoulder as if to ensure nobody was listening in before he continued. “I had a friend a few years back that got himself pinched in a VERY compromising situation and the court actually handed down a sentence of chemical castration against him. Poor fellow couldn’t bear it and he . . . Well, he only lasted about six months after that.”

Brian heard himself gasp loudly. “They can do that?” he asked, completely aghast - he’d never heard of that type of barbarity before.

“They can and do, on a regular basis, Darling,” Fancy assured with authority.

“You don’t think that’ll happen to Lucky, do you?” Justin asked, his expression gloomy and his face going pale with a combination of anger and fear.

“No. Probably not. He’ll likely just get a month or two of jail time and then be allowed to go,” Fancy offered. “They only do the OTHER to the worst of us. If they catch us, that is.”

Brian reflexively reached under the table and grabbed hold of his balls, just to make sure they were still there and safe. The very thought of someone being physically maimed just for being gay was so repulsive to him that it was almost incomprehensible. How the fuck did they get away with shit like that? That type of response to homosexuality literally made no sense at all to Brian’s 21st century mind. To be punished so egregiously - castrated - just for the biological fact of finding someone of the same sex attractive, couldn’t seriously be allowed. Could it?

Then the possibility that such actions could be taken against HIM, struck home.

“Shit! What the fuck am I doing here? This can’t be real,” Brian exclaimed before he realized he was speaking aloud.

“Welcome to London, Dear,” Fancy responded with a consoling pat to the back of Brian‘s wrist.

After that, they all fell silent for a long time. What was there to say? They were all in the same boat. None of them had any right to question or challenge the actions being taken against Lucky. And they all knew they would be in exactly the same situation if they’d been the one arrested.

Eventually, Justin took a deep breath, picked up Brian‘s pint glass and drained it, then nodded towards the door. “Come on, Handsome. I’m not in the mood for another drink. Let’s get out of here.”

Brian was forced to agree; if anything, his mood was even darker now than it had been before Justin arrived. With a shrug and a goodbye nod to Fancy, Brian got up from the table and followed Justin. On the way to the exit, though, Brian veered off towards the bar. When he got there, he pulled out his wallet and peeled several large bills off the stack he kept there, sliding them across the counter towards Daphne.

“Daph, can you find a way to get this to Lucky? If he doesn’t need it for a lawyer, he can just keep it for later. And if he needs more, you know where to find me,” Brian offered quietly.

“Sure thin’, Andsome,” Daphne said as she stuffed the bills into the front of her dress. “‘At’ll be right helpful, I expect. ‘An I’ll thank yer on ‘is behalf now, seein’ as we won’t likely see ‘im ‘round here fer awhile yet.”

Brian gave her a wistful smile and then turned back to Justin, who’d been waiting just a few steps away. They exited the pub together without saying more. In fact, they were halfway down the block before Justin finally spoke up.

“Thank you, Brian. That was awfully nice of you,” Justin commented, but then added with a bit of a worried frown. “£200 is a lot of money, though. Are you sure about that?”

“It’s just money, Blue Eyes. I wish I could do more.” Then Brian chuckled inexplicably. “Besides, I can always make more.”

Justin shoved his hands into his pockets and bumped their shoulders together as they walked the rest of the way back to the Strand Palace hotel in a comfortable, yet subdued, silence.

Neither Brian nor Justin said anything in response to the cheerful greeting they received from the doorman at The Palace. They took the elevator up to the top floor and made their way to Brian’s room without a word. Even once they were inside the room -  the door locked to keep out the world - there still didn’t seem to be anything worth saying. Justin moved over to sit on the bed while Brian remained standing in the middle of the room, both of them still lost in their individual thoughts.

Finally, Justin seemed to shake himself a little and looked up at his lover. “Brian, I . . . Can you just hold me, please? I need . . . I need to feel you here next to me.”

Brian nodded and took the three steps needed to reach the bed himself. Then he sat down next to his blond and stretched one arm around the younger man’s back. Justin turned towards him, leaning his head against Brian’s big, solid chest, and let out a deep sigh as his body noticeably relaxed. Brian also felt himself relaxing as soon as they’d touched. There was something eminently reassuring in just knowing that there was another person there, with him, that understood what he was feeling and felt the same. Even when the entire outside world was ranged against them, they at least had each other.

“Take your shirt off,” Justin ordered quietly, his cheeks flushed as he spoke. “I want . . . I just really need to feel your skin.”

Brian grinned as he sat up, throwing his shirt onto the chair next to the bed and laying back down, enveloping the blond in his arms.

“I really missed you, Brian. I missed this,” Justin whispered into Brian’s bare chest. “Every day I was gone, every mission I flew, I spent all my time thinking about you. And sometimes I felt like I could almost feel your arms around me . . . I needed that, Brian.”

The way Justin was clutching so desperately at his arms, his breathing coming in short gasps, belied the quietude of his voice. Brian realized that he felt the same. That he’d missed Justin. Missed touching him and holding him and even just looking at him. And right then he simply needed to feel Justin. Every part of him. To reassure himself that, despite whatever the law and the times said about them, this wasn’t wrong. How could THIS be wrong? How could feeling fulfilled by another person - regardless of who that person was or what gender the person happened to be - be wrong?

Releasing his hold on the boy’s slender frame, Brian helped Justin lie back. The blond looked up at him with hungry blue eyes filled with the ultimate trust. Brian felt himself falling into those pools of blue, wanting whatever it was he saw there even though he didn’t completely understand it. It was something outside of his scope of understanding. Something Brian didn’t think he’d ever experienced before. But deep down, he knew he wanted whatever it was. He wanted Justin to always look at him with those eyes.

Brian didn’t know what to say to those eyes, but he knew what to do. He immediately began to undress the reclining blond, working quickly from button to button until the rough cotton shirt of the man’s uniform was laying wide open and he could easily push it off the ivory shoulders. The twill trousers only took a minute more. And then Justin was lying there, bare as the day he was born, looking so delicious and open that Brian wanted to eat him up from head to toe. He wanted to devour him. He wanted to make this beautiful man his and thereby prove to a world that would dare to try and prevent them from feeling these feelings, that the world was wrong, not them.

“I have a little something for you,” Brian breathed, when he finally remembered that he was supposed to be doing something other than just sitting there admiring the boy’s body from afar.

Shifting onto his knees so he was perched next to Justin’s side, Brian reached over to the bedside table where he’d left his little toiletries bag and pulled out a small purple bottle.

“Oooh, what is it?” Justin asked, as he lifted his head off of the pillow and tried to look at what was in Brian’s hand.

Brian leaned down for a kiss as he gently nudged the blond’s shoulder. “Roll over onto your stomach.”

Justin complied but still asked once more, “what is that stuff, Brian?” and tried to look over his shoulder while he rolled, only to have his head pushed back down by Brian as the older man quickly slipped off his own pants and straddled the kid’s lower back.

“You’ll see, Blue Eyes. Now hush,” Brian directed.

Brian poured some of the aloe-scented gel into his hands and rubbed them together. This stuff was stickier than the typical massage oil he was used to, but since it also doubled as lube, he wasn’t going to complain. When he was ready, he started in on the boy’s tense shoulders, enjoying the way Justin melted beneath him as his warm hands began to work on the knots he found there. Damn, his boy was tight . . . And not in the way Brian usually liked. Brian added more gel to his hands and ran them up into the blond’s hairline and then back down his neck, rubbing away every smidgen of tension as he went.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, ‘kay?” Brian whispered, as his thumb and forefinger rubbed firm circles along the base of Justin’s skull and back down his neck, his blond boy moaning happily as the stress from the last few months was massaged out of him with strong fingers.

Brian shifted a little lower, so he was sitting on that delicious bubble butt, and began to rub his hands up and down Justin’s back. The muscles felt tense beneath him. He rubbed his flattened hands up and down Justin’s back on either side of his spine right up into his neck. He then returned to the lower back by rubbing his hands down the sides in small circles, increasing the pressure and size of the circles each time he moved up and down the strong back.

“Mmmmm,” Justin hummed happily as Brian used his knuckles on the pilot’s lower back, avoiding the spine and concentrating on those particularly tight lumbar muscles.

“Feel good?” Brian asked, as he ran his knuckles back up the length of Justin’s back and worked on the rigid muscles between his lover’s neck and shoulders, kneading away the knots that built up from sitting hunched over in a plane night after night.

“So good,” Justin mumbled.

Brian wanted his boy relaxed, but he didn’t want him to fall asleep, so he sat back up onto his knees and ordered Justin over onto his back. “Roll over.”

Justin did as he was told and rolled sleepily onto his back. Brian sat down, straddling Justin’s crotch, and wriggled around until he was comfortable, causing Justin to groan loudly, his hips involuntarily bucking upwards as he tried to make contact with the parts of him that wanted to reach Brian so badly. Brian only chuckled and used one hand to hold the boy’s hips still while he squirted a cold dollop of the massage gel onto the boy’s stomach.

“Ahhh! Applesauce, Brian! That’s cold,” the young man complained loudly.

“It’ll heat up, Blue Eyes. I promise,” Brian advised, and then leaned forward so he could use both hands to spread the gel all over the lean, pale abs.

Brian didn’t spend as long massaging this side of the blond boy, since, rather than relaxing Justin, he now seemed to get more excited as the rubbing went on. The bucking hips would have been pistoning into him if Brian hadn’t been using his weight along with one hand to hold Justin down. And the moaning was becoming quite insistent. Plus, Brian was starting to feel just as needy as his boy.

Carefully scooting backwards, Brian filled his hand with a generous helping of the gel and commenced massaging the funner bits of the boy, including the perfectly pink prick, the small, firm rounds of the younger man’s balls, and then further down, trailing small circles over the tender raphe and perineum, until his fingers found the tight little knot of the boy’s pucker. The happy whimper as Brian’s digits found their way inside, was music to his ears. His sexy student was coming along nicely, Brian thought. Very nicely, indeed.

“Oh, Brian . . . I . . . I love feeling you . . . inside me. . . yeah . . . just like that . . . Oh, Brian, please . . . I need . . . I need you. I need you,” Justin was practically chanting, his eyes heavy and unfocused.

“I’m coming, Blue Eyes,” Brian promised, tearing open a condom with his teeth and using his free hand to roll it on as quickly as he could.

With that, he plunged in, sinking all the way to the root with a satisfying skin-against-skin *swack*. Damn, that felt so good. And judging by the groan of ecstasy he received from his Blue Eyes, it must have been just as good for the boy. The hands scrabbling at his back and hips, trying desperately to pull him in deeper, urging him to move faster, directing him and encouraging him, made the experience all the more gratifying.

Brian had never before bothered to spend enough time with any one trick to learn what each of their little moans or grunts meant. He’d never cared enough to consider what his partners wanted or needed or liked. His only goal had been to get himself off, and while he generally spent sufficient time on a trick to get the other guy off as well, that was only to ensure his reputation remained intact, not because he was actually concerned with their half of the experience. So, it struck Brian as a bit odd that with Justin he seemed to intrinsically know what each of those moans and grunts and whimpers meant. He knew exactly how to angle himself to bring his Blue Eyes the most pleasure. He knew when to speed up and when to slow down to keep the boy perfectly on the edge. He knew - and even more remarkably, he cared - how to please the younger man in every single facet of their fucking.

And Brian found that it all of a sudden mattered to him that Justin didn’t just get off, but that his partner was satisfied. That Justin was pleased. That Justin found the experience to be not just good, but the best he’d ever had - and not just because the quality of the fuck would reflect on Brian, but for Justin’s sake.

Which would have scared the piss out of him, if he’d had the time to stop and think about it. But, since Brian was too busy revelling in the ultimate pleasure of the moment, he merely let these slightly disturbing thoughts flitter through his mind as he happily plowed the boy into the mattress over and over and over again until they both erupted with matching cries of repletion and then collapsed together in a heap of happy man-flesh.

Brian lay there trying to catch his breath for several minutes before he realized he was probably suffocating the smaller man underneath him. He started to roll to the side, reaching down to hold the edge of the condom as he pulled out, but was stopped when the thighs still wrapped around him squeezed more tightly and a hand reached out to grab his wrist. He lifted up on one elbow, putting just enough distance between their bodies that he could look Justin in the eye. What he expected to see there was simple post-coital repletion - the kind of sated, fucked-out, great-orgasm-time-to-go look he saw with his average tricks. But what he actually saw was genuine need and sincere affection bordering on more . . . Something Brian didn’t want to acknowledge. Something he didn’t think he was ready for.

“Please . . . not yet,” Justin pleaded and crossed his ankles behind Brian’s back, locking him in place. “Don’t go. I hate when you pull out. I feel so . . . so empty . . . when you’re no longer inside me,” he blushed deeply. “So . . . so disconnected. I . . . I need to feel you inside me, Brian. Stay inside me, please . . .”

“Sorry, Blue Eyes, but I can’t stay in much longer,” Brian responded, feeling instant regret when he saw the crestfallen look in the blue eyes. “I’ve got one more surprise for you though. This should help.”

Brian fumbled around in the toiletries kit he’d left on the nightstand, eventually pulling out what looked like a small, blue, glass egg on a stem. Justin was clearly confused by this latest gift, as evidenced by the blank look on his face as Brian handed it to him. Which only made Brian smile more, convinced that his boy was going to love this particular lesson.

Justin turned the object in his hands and scrunched up his nose. “What in heaven's name is this, Brian? It looks sorta like a chess piece but it’s way too big. Is it some kind of statue? It’s very pretty but I’ve never been big on art pieces or anything. I don’t know where I’d put it, or how it’s going to help me not feel empty when you’re gone.”

“Justin, Justin, Justin. Let me introduce you to something wonderful. Your new best friend, if you will.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“This little beauty, my dear Blue Eyes, is what we call a ‘butt plug’,” Brian explained, as he took the bright blue object out of Justin’s hands.

Justin looked shocked. “A . . . a what?”

“A butt plug,” Brian smiled evilly, as he covered the shiny object generously with lube, before reaching down, clasping the base of the condom tightly, and pulling out - probably quicker than he should have.

Justin groaned loudly at the loss, his ass painfully empty.

Brian couldn’t take his eyes off of Justin’s twitching hole, the way it pulsated, so desperate to be filled once more.

“With this, it’ll feel like I’m with you even when we’re not together,” Brian breathed heavily as he shoved the lubed plug roughly into Justin’s ass. The blond hissed as he adjusted to the sudden intrusion, but once he’d relaxed, his eyes rolled back into his head, his back arched off the bed and he keened happily at being filled to the brim once more.

“You like that, huh?” Brian asked throatily.

“Yesssss,” Justin sighed as if that butt plug was all he needed to be completely happy for the rest of eternity.

Brian patted the plump posterior familiarly and then moved away to grab a towel so they could begin cleaning themselves up. He sat on the edge of the mattress and carefully wiped up the copious amounts of cum that coated the boy’s stomach. Justin was simply lolling there, looking so fucked out and happy that Brian couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I love this butt plug thing, Brian,” Justin said, doing a little wiggle thing which, judging by the groan, undoubtedly made the plug twist around and bump into his sweet spot. “I love being filled by you, but this is a nice substitute. And now I can go around all day imagining you’re still inside me. My lover will always be with me,” Justin mumbled around a yawn as the fatigue of his day and the reaction to their lovemaking overtook him. “. . . never leave me, Brian . . . LOVE you . . .” Justin’s eyelids fluttered closed and ten seconds later he was sound asleep, snoring soundly.

Which left Brian sitting there, looking down at the sleeping blond, the echo of THAT word still ringing in his ears, and wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.