"Fuck, I'm hungry," Brian kvetched, his head lolling back against the top of the sofa. He took another toke from the joint in his hand, annoyed by the way it was dwindling so fast. "You got that ready yet?" he harried the blond when the microwave pinged.

Justin giggled, retorting, "You normally don't want any kind of food after seven, much less the kind with lotsa carbs."

"Yeah, well, at least Deb's food has filling carbs," Brian assessed, "instead of the empty kind we were stuck with at the club." Only Debbie would consider the entire casserole she'd sent home with them after Sunday dinner ‘leftovers,' he thought in amusement. Of course, Brian had seen right through her flimsy reasoning about making too much of the casserole to fit in one dish. After all these years of putting together hotdishes, Deb damned well knew exactly how much filling she needed for a large casserole. She also knew equally well how addicted Brian was to that particular hotdish - even if he always acted like he couldn't stand it - and made extra just for him.

"Oh come on. I saw the way you were smiling every time you heard a ka-ching from one of the cash registers," Justin teased. "That's probably how angels get their wings at Babylon."

Brian chuckled at that sally, wondering if he could incorporate it into the club's Christmas festivities somehow. They could even hand out stickers with every purchase of a specialty cocktail, and once someone had collected six stickers, they'd get their very own pair of fake wings. Maybe he could induce his blond to wear angel's wings again to promote the idea? That would have all the fags stampeding to acquire their pair.

His mood soured as he recalled the no-show by the caterer and his crew. The guy called at the last minute, claiming he'd come down with fuckin' bird flu, of all things. 

Brian had started to lambaste him, but Theodore backed up the guy's assertion. Apparently the avian crap Brian thought had been eradicated a few years earlier was still flying around, waiting to infect the unsuspecting. That had meant the hungry hordes packed into Babylon to eyeball Pittsburgh's home-grown contortionist had nothing to nosh on except the chips, pretzels, and peanuts that were always available. 

Honeycutt had been insufferably smug about the whole thing, laughing his head off about how they'd been done in by a bird. Even though he couldn't be there to oversee the set-up, Emmett had claimed that his party planning business, Oz, could still do a better job for Brian than anyone else. Em had tried to convince Brian to let him arrange for a variety of appetizers - to be served by waiters in scanty Halloween costumes - but ultimately he wasn't comfortable using Oz without Honeycutt's expert supervision. 

You'd have thought being booked nearly a year in advance for two ‘haunted' weddings on the thirty-first - by morons who didn't think getting married was already scary enough - would have been as much as Emmett wanted to take on. Even though Brian had actually used the word ‘expert' when explaining his rationale to the party planner, that wasn't sufficient to soothe the man's ruffled feathers. Miffed, he'd flounced out of the meeting with Brian and Ted, singsonging, "You'll be sorry." 

Annoyingly, the southerner had turned out to be right; even cold hors d'oeuvres from Oz would've been way better than traditional bar snacks. It wasn't all bad, though, Brian mused, his frown smoothing out and his lips curving into a smirk. All those salty snacks had led to copious consumption of alcohol and then to some truly innovative attempts in the backroom to replicate Bendy Boy's moves.

"Here you go," Justin announced, delivering another bottle of Roundabout IPA and a steaming bowl of Deb's cheesy tuna and broccoli bake - a freshly rolled reefer sticking out of the top.

"Jesus!" Brian bolted upright, a scowl marring his features as Justin set the items on the coffee table. "You can't treat prime Chronic like that!"

"Relax. I covered the tip of the joint with foil." Justin pointed to the silvery stuff which protected the reefer.

Baffled, Brian blinked at the foil. How the fuck had he missed that?

"Anything else, your majesty?" the blond coyly inquired, wiggling his ass in Brian's face as he took a step toward the kitchen.

"Yeah, gimme." Brian reached for the pert, plump rear - perfectly displayed in a pair of form-fitting cargo pants - and gave the right cheek a squeeze, temporarily forgetting his hunger pangs.

"Mmm," Justin hummed in approval.

Brian moved his other hand between the blond's legs and trailed a couple of fingers up and down the back of the crotch seam, pressing a little harder when he got to Justin's perineum, wanting the boy to feel it through his trousers and underpants. He'd wanted to rip the damned cargos off the boy all night - ever since Justin had gotten dressed hours ago, deliberately tantalizing Brian by wearing a pair of his old tighty-whities. The brunet didn't know why the briefs were such a turn-on, but every time the lad wore them, his dick instantly sprang to attention.

When the boy's knees started to buckle, Brian steadied him with his left hand, intent on using the fingers of his other hand to lower his zipper. Unfortunately, just as he closed his thumb and forefinger around the tab of the zipper, his stomach let out a horrendously loud rumble.

Justin giggled, which hardly helped, leaving Brian torn between two desires. "Go get your food, brat." He swatted Justin on the ass, intending to do a lot more with those juicy cheeks later on. 

After Brian had polished off a second bowl of the casserole and Justin a third, the brunet shoved the dirty dishes out of the way, propped his feet up on the coffee table, and fired up the joint that had been in the first bowl of casserole. Taking a long, relaxing toke, he blew smoke rings at the ceiling.

"How much do you reckon you raked in?" Justin inquired as Brian passed the blunt to him.

"Dunno. Ted'll count it down to the last bean, though. I won't be surprised if he calls me in the middle of the night to give me the exact number."

When the blond giggled, Brian felt an answering tug in his groin.

"Hey, did you notice Michael's face during the show?" the boy asked. "I was sure he was gonna pull a muscle, the way he kept contorting his mug."

"He wasn't the only one." Brian couldn't help gloating about the success of the evening - not just in terms of the financial take, but also because it had kept the audience on the edge of their seats, thereby ratcheting up Babylon's already stellar reputation. Pittsburgh's queer community would be gossiping about the year's premiere event for ages.

Justin giggled again, agreeing, "Yeah. People were squealing and screaming, practically crawling under their seats. Guess who I caught with their hands over their eyes, peeking through their fingers?"

His first guess would normally be Emmett, but the southerner had proved immune to the horror of anything spider-related. When the contortionist had scuttled across the stage, showing off his signature maneuver, Honeycutt threw his arms up in the air in his ‘Praise Jesus' move and excitedly cheered along with everyone else. Brian feared for a moment that the crowd's manic cheers for ‘The Scuttler' had rendered him deaf.

The professor had mustered up the courage to be there, but he was clinging tightly to his husband's arm before Distorto even trod the boards, muttering, "I can't watch. I just can't." over and over. Once the spotlight shone on the small chest from which Bendy Boy would emerge, Ben started shaking all over and buried his face in Mikey's neck. With Michael squinting his eyes shut and making some of the weirdest faces Brian had ever seen, that left both of them out of the running. He'd be surprised, in fact, if either of them had caught more than ten seconds of the action.

Not quite ready to admit defeat, he threw out a wild guess. "Debbie?"

"Please, she's got balls of steel. You're not far off, though."

That must mean it was someone who'd been sitting near Deb. Through the weed-induced haze in his brain, Brian struggled to remember who all had been part of the Novotny-Bruckner-Horvath clan earlier tonight. Hunter had been there, ogling Brian as always, although that was more pro forma these days than out of genuine interest. He'd had some chick with him, although Brian hadn't paid her any attention and couldn't recall what she looked like. From what Mikey had told him, HIV status notwithstanding, Hunter had become a serial dater, going through girls so fast that neither of his dads bothered to keep track of them. It pissed off Brian that Michael didn't call those dates what they were - fucks - but his friend was so deep into playing the happy Stepford fag that there was no point in calling him on it. Mikey would just ignore him if he did.

"Do you give up?" Justin prodded.

Pushy brat. Brian scowled at the grinning blond as he mulled it over. Justin wouldn't have cared about some random chick, though, and would know that Brian wouldn't give a flying fuck about her. That left-

"Hunter?"

"Fuck, no." Justin screwed his nose up in disgust. "He was too busy shoving his tongue down the throat of the girl he was with to notice what was happening on stage."

Heteros, Brian thought, almost as revolted by the notion of a het PDA as Justin. Fresh out of guesses, he asked, "Who then?"

"Horvath."

"No fuckin' way." The hard-bitten cop must've seen way worse things. Then again, Brian mused, maybe the totally unnatural way Distorto bent and flexed had creeped Carl out, just like it did Ben.

"Uh-huh," Justin insisted. "It was hilarious. Debbie kept punching him in the arm and shouting things in his ear. I'm not sure what she said, but it was probably something like, ‘Look, honey, look! Isn't that fuckin' amazin'? You wanna try that?'"

Brian had to laugh at the boy's rather excellent imitation of an excited Deb. "I'll check the video feed," he decided. "We had a camera panning across the audience the entire time. If I can catch Carl in the act, it'll make good blackmail material for the next time we need something from Pittsburgh's finest."

"Like we need that," Justin scoffed; "we've got Deb."

"True," Brian acknowledged. But an ace in the hole couldn't hurt, just in case there was some kind of public indecency or other ludicrous charge brought against him or Justin.

"Stan is fuckin' hot," his partner claimed, jumping from one topic to another as he tended to do when stoned.

Brian allowed, "He's not bad." Thank fuck they'd seen the contortionist earlier today, or he wouldn't have remembered what the guy looked like. He would've had to be passable looking for Brian to fuck him - he didn't do pity fucks - but beyond that, he'd only recollected that Bendy Boy could lick his own balls. Something like that tended to stick in a man's mind.

"Beeent," the blond giggled, drawing out the name he'd invented. 

Brian shook his head at the doped-up boy. Was he the only fag in town who could take a toke or two without getting high - and ridiculously silly to boot?

"Gotta redeem Bent in Rage - make him one of the good guys who's helping to save Gayopolis."

"You know a spin-off would be a hard sell, right?" Brian probed. "Michael's got equal rights to the comic; he'd have to sign those over to you if you want to use any of the characters from Rage - including Rage and JT."

The loopy blond waved a hand in the air as if Brian's concerns were of no consequence.

The adman continued relentlessly, wanting the boy to see sense, "Mikey might go for it if you can convince him a spin-off will increase the comic's popularity, or if you give him a larger share of Rage."

Justin jutted his chin out, a possessive gleam entering his blue eyes. "Not gonna share you."

"It's not me you have to worry about, Twat - I'm yours."

Justin smiled happily at Brian. "I'm yours too."

It was nice to be reassured, Brian silently conceded, irritated all over again as he recalled the way Honeycutt had put his hands all over his blond at lunchtime today.

"Maybe we should, like, confirm that," the lad suggested, the possessiveness in his eyes darkening to lust.

Brian's dick twitched in response. It took an effort not to jump the kid, but he forced himself to keep talking. After the Hollywood fiasco, the kid should know better than to pin his hopes on anything other than the comic book itself. It supplemented both Justin and Mikey's income, but it didn't bring in enough money to serve as a single source of income. 

"You don't have sole rights to Rage," he reminded the boy. "You can't just do what you want with a new comic."

"Doesn't matter. Michael'll come around."

The mischievous grin on Justin's face clued Brian in that all might not be as he'd suspected up till now. Unable to suss out what the blond was up to and recollecting the mutinous, put-out expression on Mikey's face - which did not bode well for Bent - he decided to just ask the question that was nagging at him. "Why the fuck didn't you just stroke Mikey's ego, brat?"

"'Cause it's so much fun to needle him." Justin shrugged, his mischievous smile growing. "Michael makes it so easy."

Brian chuckled. He'd been known, on occasion, to pull the wool over his gullible friend's eyes in a similar fashion. 

Justin snatched the reefer out of Brian's fingers and took a long drag. "All I have to do to ‘make up' with Michael is get Stan to stop by Red Cape with a signed flyer from Babylon, and he'll go totally gaga. Michael will forget he was ever pissed off about not being the fucker, fuckee, er, whatever..." Justin trailed off shaking his head, evidently unable to determine how Michael and the contortionist would have done it.

Brian snorted. It was simple; Mikey would have bottomed, like always. To the best of his knowledge, Michael had never had the slightest interest in topping anyone. The only one who might be able to gainsay that was Ben, but the professor was - with one notable exception - an utter top, so Brian doubted he'd be contradicted.

Justin resumed speaking, settling on, "...you know, being the fuckless one where Stan is concerned. Instead he'll get all puffed up about how he's important enough for Distorto to come to him. Michael will start jabbering at everyone who comes into the shop about how great Distorto's performance was and how he always knew the guy would make a great Rage villain. That's why he's helping to make Bent a success, by inducting him into Rage. He'll whip out the flyer..." The lad made what was probably supposed to be a whipping motion with his hand, although it looked more like the loop-de-loop a bird stoned on blackberries would make. Justin looked at his hand in confusion for a moment, his brow furrowing and his nose wrinkling.

Christ, the kid was adorable when he did that, Brian mused, immediately wanting to bang his head against the coffee table for thinking something so lesbianic. 

Justin picked up the thread of what he'd been saying. "Michael will have gotten the signed flyer laminated, and he'll show it to all and sundry, boasting about how he had a front-row seat at the Babylon performance."

By this point, Brian was laughing uncontrollably. He could see Mikey doing exactly what Justin had described, shoving the signed flyer in the faces of everyone who visited Red Cape and going on and on and on about Bent. 

"Would you like to illustrate your own comic?" he asked when he'd sobered up a little. Brian was genuinely curious. The lad was starting to gain a measure of fame for his paintings, bringing in upwards of five figures for most of them.

"Nah. My career is just now taking off. I even have my first solo show at the end of the year." Justin beamed at the older man, beyond excited by that prospect.

Brian grinned back at the lad, so fuckin' proud of what Justin was accomplishing that he could barely contain it.

"Besides, Michael really is good with the dialogue. He's the one with the years of experience reading comics and knowing what people like."

The adman, who'd heard Mikey and Justin conferring about the comic on multiple occasions, humphed. The dialogue wouldn't be nearly as good without Justin's input.

"I've gotta come up with a reason for Bent to do the splits in the next issue of Rage," Justin mused aloud. "Maybe Reverend Swineheart - he's trying to take over Gayopolis again - has to imitate that ‘falling split' to gain access to Rage's lair. He thinks his balls are gonna burst and that scares him so bad that he scurries back to Straighthaven, Mississippi."

"Did you see the drunk dipshit who tried to imitate that falling split in the backroom?" Brian laughed as he visualized the scene. "He probably strained something. He could barely hobble out of the club with Oscar and that other bouncer holding him up."

"You don't think he'll sue, do you?" Justin asked, concern drawing a furrow across his brow.

Brian scoffed. "What's he gonna sue us for? His own stupidity?"

"Yeah, you're right. He won't stand a chance, especially if we sic Mel on him."

"Christ." Brian shivered dramatically. "I pity the poor guy for something that isn't even gonna happen."

Justin rolled his head toward his lover. "My favorite was the jackass who couldn't even manage a forward somersault. He just lay there, flat on his back, laughing his fool head off."

Contemplating somersaults, Brian blew another smoke ring at the ceiling. "I bet that's what would've happened to Blake - you know, if he and Theodore'd had the balls to demonstrate that fuckhand. Fuckstand," he corrected himself. "I could do it way better," he boasted, making a sweeping gesture with his hand and nearly poking Justin in the eye with the joint.

"Yeah, right," the blond jibed.

"I'll show you!" Brian sprang up. Okay, it was more of a stagger, but that was because his right leg had gone to sleep. Brian massaged the charley horse and moved around gingerly until he was sure the cramp was gone. 

"C'mere." He motioned to the blond boy. "You stand against this post, so I don't knock you over-" He stopped, glaring when the brat rolled his eyes.

Once he had Justin where he wanted him, Brian lay down on the floor and curled up on his back by his lover's feet, his butt toward his lover. His palms flat on the floor, he slowly extended his legs and pushed up with his hands. The lad had to prop him up when his legs listed to one side, but Brian put that down to a blood rush to his head.

Brian whooped when he pushed his ass against Justin's crotch. "See, it's eas-"

Unfortunately, he'd celebrated too soon. He went ass over teakettle, sprawling on the floor in an ungainly heap.

Justin slid down the post, laughing helplessly. "That was even worse than the night Gus was born," he gasped between bursts of laughter.

His lover's laughter proved infectious, Brian's merriment mingling with the blond's.

"Who needs this shit anyway?" Justin wondered. "We have our own acrobatics. We should stick with that."

It was true, Brian acknowledged. They were fucking virtuosos. It was good to mix it up occasionally, though... An idea germinating in his foggy brain, he got up, leaving Justin sitting on the floor, and strolled toward the steps leading to the bedroom. He stripped off his clothes piece by piece, leaving a trail for the blond to follow.

Justin's sock-covered feet didn't make much noise on the hardwood floors, but Brian could still hear his lover scrambling after him. That was his ‘tenderfoot,' Brian thought with a wry smile. The least touch of a chill in the air - it had reached almost seventy degrees today, for fuck's sake - had the kid refusing to go without socks.

"How about this instead?" Brian proposed, lying down on the bed and wriggling around till he was in the center of the mattress.

Justin cocked his head in puzzlement when Brian didn't move, but then his eyes lit up, blazing a bright, sapphire blue. "Yeah?" he checked to be sure he had it right, his voice coming out in a squeak as he knelt on the bed and crawled over to Brian's supine form.

Brian felt a little ashamed of himself. Sure, he'd been letting Justin top more - and enjoying every fucking moment - but he always rolled over onto his stomach or his side, with Justin behind him.

"Well, if I'm gonna practice gymnastics..." He waggled his eyebrows at his partner. 

"Can't get it up?" the little shit teased maybe five minutes later, Brian flat on his back with one leg over Justin's shoulder, the other one hovering in the air near the blond's waist. 

His hip joint creaked as he tried to lift his right leg, causing Brian to redden in embarrassment and frustration. "I don't bend that way," he grumbled.

"You should do yoga. That's what Bent recommends to improve dexterity."

"I'm not a fucking lesbian."

"And I am?"

Mellowed out by the pot, Brian just said, "You're young."

"So you could fold in half back in the Dark Ages?"

The little shit. Brian glowered at the boy, not about to admit he couldn't bend in half back then either. He'd been a nimble athlete, damned near impossible to catch on the soccer field, but he'd never been flexible in the same way as Justin.

"Tell you what" - the lad smiled softly at him - "let's start over. I'll get your muscles nice and loose before we try this again."

Not about to turn down a massage from his lover - Justin had magic hands - Brian went to roll over.

"Uh-uh," Justin remonstrated. "Stay on your back."

"I might poke your eye out," Brian joked, pointing at his raging erection. That hadn't flagged all evening, he thought, proudly eyeing his nine-and-a-half inches, which were currently a glorious purple-red.

Justin chuckled. "I'll chance Little Bri doing that."

"He's not little!" Brian protested, adding slyly, "There's no way the Face of God would have a little wiener."

"Fuck," grunted Justin in reply.

It was Brian's turn to laugh. God, he loved the girl for betraying that secret shortly after he'd discovered Justin was still in the Pitts. The three of them had been enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon, blowing smoke rings and chowing down on a high-fat bucket of KFC - one of the most unhealthy things Brian craved when under the influence of premium ganja. Her filter gone, Daph had blurted out what Justin called him after their first night together.

"Face of God, my ass," Justin muttered.

Brian giggled. "Nuh-uh. You're the Ass of God."

Justin collapsed on top of Brian, both men laughing like lunatics, wrestling as they rolled around on the bed. Brian ended up on top and could've had his way with the blond, the boy's breathing speeding up as he stared into the older man's hazel eyes, but Brian just smiled sweetly and flopped over onto his back. He really wanted everything Justin could offer tonight...

Stupidly, as soon as Justin sat back on his haunches, he tensed up. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

"Easy, Bri." His lover stroked a soothing hand down his left thigh. "No wham, bam, thank you man. I promise."

Now Brian felt even more foolish. He shouldn't need such careful handling, like some kind of fainting fairy - not after all the years they'd been together. Nevertheless, he was grateful when the stroking motions continued, Justin throwing a leg over his, so that he was hovering over Brian's left leg. He gradually worked at the muscles, taking his time, periodically scooting back until he reached Brian's foot.

The boy rubbed his toes, pulling gently on each one as he moved from Brian's little toe to his big toe. At the base of that toe, he applied more pressure, making small circles with his fingers.

Brian grunted, feeling the tension in his neck muscles ease. How fucking bizarre, he mused absently.

Then, however, the boy leaned down and sucked lightly on his big toe, undoing some of his good work.

Brian's head - both of them, in fact - snapped up. The brunet stared down at Justin, his bobbing member interfering somewhat with his line of sight. The lad hummed around his toe, sending vibrations zinging through Brian's body.

Pre-come leaked onto Brian in a steady stream. What the fuck was going on? Since when did a toe suck turn him on like this? Not that he had much experience with having his toes sucked, but still.

Since it was Justin doing the sucking, he reckoned, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

A couple seconds more and he couldn't take it any longer. His right foot twitched in apparent sympathy with what was happening to his left foot. "Stop, Jus," he begged. "It's too much."

Justin pulled off of his toe with a wet, squelching noise. "Nope, I didn't hear the magic word." He shifted over so that he could place Brian's right in his lap.

"No. No, that's not what I want," Brian protested as Justin began a toe massage on his right foot. He was more than ready to get on to the main event.

"Well?" The brat's gaze traveled up along Brian's body, past his straining manhood, until blue eyes met hazel.

"Fuck," Brian gritted out.

Justin eyed him assessingly, clearly trying to determine whether he was ready for what the ‘magic word' implied.

"Fuck..." Brian paused for a moment before adding the word that would make absolutely, unequivocally clear just what he wanted "...me."

He was rewarded with a fucking huge smile from his blond. The boy scrambled over to the nightstand nearest to Brian, almost knocking the lube to the floor in his haste to grab both that and a condom.

Stupid little twat, Brian thought fondly. Justin had plainly been putting off what he wanted just to make sure his partner was okay.

"C'mere," he ordered, reeling the blond in for a kiss.

Justin let the necessities fall from his fingers as he latched onto Brian's mouth hungrily, their tongues dueling until the kiss finally gentled. Then the boy ran his tongue along Brian's upper teeth, curling the tip up so that it skated across the gums on the underside. 

Christ. The lad had found a new way to explore his mouth. How was that possible? Brian wondered vaguely.

Deciding it didn't matter - and that this was one maneuver he could copy - he reciprocated.

"Mhmm." Justin smiled in delight when their mouths finally parted. "That was like drinking something really fizzy," he mumbled. "It, like, sent tingles to my brain."

Sometimes his partner talked too damned much, Brian thought in exasperation. He tugged on long strands of blond hair and brought those tantalizing lips closer for another lingering, tongue-filled kiss.

Breathing rather hard when the kiss ended, Brian groped around for the lube and condom that had fallen on the bed. The items in his grasp, he shoved them at Justin with a curt, "Here." He drew up his legs, spread them wider, and planted his feet flat on either side of his lover. "Get on with it."

Justin smiled at him knowingly. He didn't say anything, though. Instead, he let the rubber slide between his fingers and land on the bed again. Then he pumped the nozzle on the lube dispenser, coating the fingers of his right hand in the gooey stuff. 

Bringing his greased fingers to Brian's tightly furled opening, Justin circled the hole gently, inserting just the tip of his index finger as he prepared his lover.

Brian's hip jerked under the fingers of Justin's other hand.

The boy looked at him questioningly, halting the gentle motions.

Crap. Justin had plainly taken that as an indication that he should stop - rather than a sign of arousal. Of course, if Brian hadn't been acting like a fucking first-timer, Justin wouldn't be so hesitant. Utterly embarrassed, Brian didn't try to speak; instead, he just nodded at the boy that it was okay to proceed.

The lad gently probed at his opening again, ever so slowly pushing his index finger in until it was in as far as his first knuckle. Then he paused, giving Brian another quick glance.

Brian was annoyed to discover that he'd been holding his breath and let it out in a whoosh.

Evidently taking that as a signal that all was well, Justin forged on, passing the second knuckle with only the slightest of hitches, not stopping until his finger was fully embedded.

As usual, Brian was startled by how thick that single finger felt inside him. Also as usual, he felt a twinge of apprehension at the thought of Justin's much thicker cock entering him.

Then Justin curved the tip of that finger ever so slightly, unerringly brushing across his prostate, and Brian's worries vanished. He just wanted... "More. Now," he demanded.

Justin curled in half, welcoming the head of Brian's cock into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. He sucked lightly, swirling the tip of his tongue around the super sensitive skin of Brian's frenulum. Gradually, he added a second finger and then a third, tantalizingly erotic, squelching sounds accompanying the movement of his fingers.

The blond took his time, refusing to rush the process, no matter how much Brian grunted and squirmed. In and out went the fingers. In and out. He synchronized the sucking to the movements of his fingers, lifting his mouth off of Brian's straining manhood when he withdrew and tonguing at the slit.

When his fingers delved back in, Justin lowered his mouth, sucking a little harder. While scissoring his fingers to stretch Brian, he ran his tongue around the frenulum again.

Coming and going, he grazed Brian's prostate, the older man's shaft weeping more pre-come in response. Justin lapped up every bit of the moisture, licking his lips to make sure he didn't miss any droplets.

Christ. No one, absolutely no one, gave a blowjob as good as Justin's. 

Looking at the boy through lust-blown eyes, Brian moaned. "Nngh, Jus. Fuck."

The boy glanced up at him from under thick blond eyelashes, his pupils so dilated that Brian couldn't discern the slightest hint of blue.

"Fuck," Brian moaned again, unable to manage anything more complex. 

If Justin didn't get a move on, he worried, he was going to embarrass himself and come in the boy's mouth.

Fortunately, the boy appeared to understand Brian's desperate grunts. He slowly withdrew his fingers, this time completely, not leaving so much as a fingertip inside Brian's opening. At the same time, Justin lifted his mouth off of Brian, his cock bobbing forlornly in the air as the blond sat back on his haunches.

A long strand of saliva still connected Justin's mouth to Brian's cockhead. Brian stretched out a shaky hand, yearning for a taste, but the blond beat him to it, slurping the strand up into his mouth.

"Fuck," grunted Brian yet again.

Justin leaned over him, pressing his mouth against Brian's. The brunet's disappointment vanished as he tasted himself on Justin's tongue. "Mmm," he hummed in contentment.

"You ready?" Justin double-checked when he sat back long seconds later.

More than, Brian thought, croaking out, "Yeah," in response.

As he watched, Justin tore open the foil packet and removed the condom, quickly unrolling it onto his thick erection.

Brian salivated. He couldn't wait to have that inside him.

Filling his palm with a goodly amount of lube, Justin slathered his latex-clad shaft with it before pushing some more into Brian's entrance for good measure.

Brian huffed out a laugh. The stuff was gonna be leaking out of him for days.

The moment of humor was fleeting, Brian holding his breath as Justin inched closer and placed his fucking gigantic member against his opening. Neither of the men cared about acrobatic maneuvers by this point, so Brian just let his legs fall open to either side of the blond. 

"Breathe out," Justin husked.

The reminder helped, even if Brian shouldn't have needed it.

Justin eased in slowly, the lengthy, three-finger preparation still not quite enough to prepare Brian for the boy's girth.

It pinched as Brian stretched to accommodate his lover. Then Justin was all the way in, the pain gone. Brian reveled in the feeling of fullness for a few beats before clenching around Justin, pushing his buttocks into his lover's groin. "Fuck," he grunted.

The lad obliged, retreating from Brian's snug tunnel and then advancing again. He pegged Brian's gland every single time, the bundle of nerves sending torrent after torrent of ecstasy through the brunet's veins.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, the sweat streaming down their bodies, the aroma of sex, the rictus on Justin's face - all of it added to Brian's pleasure. 

Brian wished it could last forever, but he could feel a coiling in his groin as Justin thrust into him again, the blond grunting, "So good, Bri. So fuckin' good."

Fuck, Brian silently agreed, unable to articulate even that one word any longer. He didn't even need to touch his cock, a stream of semen erupting at that moment.

He clamped down hard on Justin, wanting his lover to come with him. Another spurt and then a third erupted from him as he felt his partner unloading into the condom.

That was the last thing he knew, a blackness enveloping Brian as he passed out, spent.

Brian slowly came to early in the morning, while it was still dark outside. He blinked gummy eyes open, puzzled for a moment by the ache in his muscles. Then it all came flooding back to him and he smiled, still pleasantly sated.

He drew the blond, who was snuffling a little in his sleep, tighter against his left side. Justin had been fuckin' stupendous, he reflected. They were gonna have to do it this way - Justin on top in ‘missionary' position - more often if it left him feeling all loose limbed and replete like he did right now. Christ, the kid had made him - Brian fucking Kinney - pass out!

Heck, he hadn't even roused when Justin pulled out of him; that was how thoroughly he'd been done in by his lover. As he mulled over the sequence of events from a few hours ago, he grimaced, realizing his front was probably covered in dried come. Fuck. The stuff stuck to skin like glue.

Brian reached down, running his right hand down his stomach, anticipating a crusty residue. He found nothing, though. The realization struck Brian that Justin must've disposed of the condom, cleaned him up, and then snuggled into him, pulling the covers over both of them.

He'd really lucked out in the lovers' lottery.

His eyes sliding closed, Brian started to drift back to sleep. The alarm wouldn't go off for a while yet, so there was no reason to get up.

A building pressure unfortunately kept Brian from relaxing fully. He groaned, realizing the casserole, of which he'd ingested way too much last night, was having an unwelcome effect on him.

"Bri?" Justin murmured sleepily. A few moments later, he murmured, "I know what would start our day off right - a protein drink."

He slithered under the covers before Brian could warn him about what had just happened. "SBD!" Brian shouted uselessly, attempting to keep the smell from escaping by holding down the covers.

He was a beat too late, the rotten egg aroma permeating the air.

"Jesus," Justin gasp-giggled as he shot out from under the bedding, releasing a pent-up breath. He waved a hand in front of his face in a fruitless effort to clear the air. "Now, that was scary."

"Deb's tuna casserole always is." That combination of broccoli and tuna got him every time. If he hadn't been half-baked last night, Brian would have remembered why he shouldn't eat the damned stuff.

"Um, does it keep happening?"

"I think, uh, that was the last of it," Brian said, his face flaming in embarrassment. He doubted the smell would've been quite that bad if it hadn't built up under the bedding. Lifting the covers, he fanned them, hoping that would make the odor disappear more quickly.

Brian took a deep breath a few minutes later, sighing in relief when he didn't smell anything untoward.

Evidently not yet convinced that it was safe, Justin lifted the covers a fraction of an inch and peered beneath them, his nose flaring. "Trick or treat?" he then cheerfully inquired.

"Treat," Brian declared, pushing the covers down and turning so that his face was positioned in front of Justin's groin.

"Mmm, 69 candy," the blond voiced his approval. "Happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween, Twat," Brian replied before taking a lick of his favorite lollipop.