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Chapter 12 - Going Home.



Things were slow at the gallery that Friday so Sydney sent me home around two. I was glad to be out of there early. I was exhausted after my sleepless night, worried about Brian, and not in the mood to coddle pretentious wannabe art collectors. Strangely enough, though, I wasn’t at all eager to go back to the loft and deal with the problems I knew were waiting for me there.


I shouldn’t have been surprised, upon my return, to find that Brian still wasn’t out of bed. It had been a rough night. I hadn’t got Brian back to bed after his night terror episode for almost an hour. I don’t think he ever completely woke up but he did eventually quiet sufficiently so that I was able to guide him towards the bed. Then it took another half hour or so before all the adrenaline wore off, allowing me to get back to sleep as well. However, poor Brian didn’t sleep well even then; he’d had at least two more, slightly less intense, nightmares before my alarm went off at 7:30. Needless to say, we were both total wrecks today.


So, yeah, it was understandable that Brian had stayed in bed, trying to catch up on his sleep a little. But, from the bags under his eyes, it didn’t look like he’d got any real rest. He looked wiped out - like a hollow husk of his real self - and almost completely drained of life. He barely stirred when I came into the bedroom to find him and ask how he was feeling. 


It fucking broke my heart to see him like this.


“Hey, Brian?” I asked, sitting down on the edge of the mattress so I could run my fingers through his slightly sweaty hair in a gesture that was more to comfort myself than him. “Can we go somewhere? Anywhere? Just to get out of the loft? I need a change of scenery and I think you do too.”


Brian slowly raised his bruised-looking eyes to mine. He hesitated a moment and then nodded. I let out the breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. 


“Yes!” I felt so relieved. Any reprieve, no matter how small, was welcome at that point. “Great, so where do you want to go?” 


Brian replied, his voice cracking and gruff after a night without sleep, “I want to go home.”



I finally realized, after we’d been driving west for more than twenty minutes, where Brian was taking me.


It had been more than two years since I’d last been out this way. It was winter then and the hillsides had been a dull brown dotted with icy patches of white where the lingering snow had remained in sheltered nooks and crannies. Now it was late spring and the scenery was a glorious green, with all the trees blooming, and brightly colored flowers decorating the landscape. The way the colorful scene outside the car windows blurred as we sped past reminded me of any of a hundred impressionist paintings from the nineteenth century. It was a beautiful afternoon. Maybe that was contributing to my buoyant mood. Or maybe it was just because I’d finally realized where we were headed.


Brian was taking me back to Britin. 


We pulled up to the large, rambling country house and I was amazed all over again at the scope of Brian’s overt generosity. The house was perfect. It was practically a castle. Which brought to mind again the way Brian had called me his ‘Prince’ the first time he’d dragged me out here and used it as a prop to convince me to accept his proposal of marriage. I wished now - for about the millionth time - that we had gone forward with the wedding. Instead, I’d let other people put grandiose ideas into my head and push me away from Pittsburgh. And from Brian. At least I was back now, though.


“I didn’t know you kept the house,” I commented as we both got out of the Vette. “I thought you’d probably sold it after we called off the wedding.”


“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brian scoffed, hiding a small smile by rolling his lips inward. “I’d never sell your house out from under you. Especially not without at least telling you first.” 


“My house?”


“Well, the title’s in both our names,” Brian explained, “so I suppose it’s technically OUR house but . . . Well, I bought it for you so I just . . .”


He didn’t have to finish that sentence. I smiled over at him to let him know how much I still appreciated the gesture. He tried so hard to hide it, but Brian Kinney was the sweetest man ever invented, and I was well aware of that fact. But I’d let him obfuscate if it helped protect his poor manly ego.


To distract us both, I turned to another topic altogether. “It looks like there’s been some landscaping work done.”


“Yeah. I’ve made a few changes,” Brian hedged.


“I’m glad you had all those ugly juniper bushes pulled out,” I commented, earning a smile from Brian. “I hate those things. They always look so scraggly when they get big. These reddish ones look so much nicer.”


“They’re arborvitae. These ones are called ‘Fire Chief’ because of the red foliage. They’re still evergreens, so they’ll stay colorful all year long, but they’re easier to maintain.”


“Look at you, Mr. Landscaping,” I teased, impressed against my will at my partner’s apparent knowledge of a topic I knew absolutely nothing about. 


By then we’d reached the front door, which Brian opened with a key he had on his keychain which looked strangely well-used. When I followed him inside, I could see that the changes to the exterior were just the tip of the iceberg. There’d been significant remodelling done in here as well. I took my time, walking through the downstairs and looking around, noting that some of the plans we’d tentatively made had already been completed. The wall between the front room and the kitchen had been taken out, leaving only a few pillars to support the upper floor, thus creating a huge open-concept greatroom. The beautiful wood floors had been refinished and were now a gleaming Golden Oak color that went well with the fresh pale gold paint on the walls. The room was so much more cheerful with just these few changes. I definitely approved. 


Brian watched intently as I surveyed the downstairs, shadowing my steps from room to room as I catalogued all the changes I remembered. It looked like he’d done an excellent job of accomplishing all the little remodelling plans I’d made while lying on the floor in his arms after making love that one, long-ago afternoon. 


“I’m sorry that I went ahead and did all this work without consulting you,” Brian apologized after waiting for several minutes without me saying anything. “I needed to get some of it done because  . . . Well, I come out here a lot on the weekends to get away from the city and I needed it at least minimally furnished. So it just made sense to do the work first . . .”


“I don’t care, Brian,” I rushed to reassure him. “It looks like you did a great job. And I’m just so happy to be here.” I spun around and practically leaped into my man’s arms, overcome with happiness to find that the house was still ours and to know that Brian had invested so much effort into remaking it into the vision we’d shared. “Thank you. Thank you for keeping it. And for doing all this to make it livable.” 


Brian beamed back at me. His expressive hazel eyes sparkled with satisfaction and love. He never could hide from me, much as he would have liked, but nowadays he rarely even tried. 


Better even than the joy of rediscovering the thouse, though, was the way Brian was perking up at the prospect of showing it off to me.


We spent the next half hour or so doing a full tour of the house starting in the basement. Brian gave me the play-by-play of everything he’d already done and outlined all his remaining plans. We discussed decorating schemes and paint choices. I made a couple of suggestions here and there. I was glad to see he hadn’t yet started on the kitchen, which would be my sole domain, because I’d wanted to be in charge of that. But, for the most part, I approved of everything Brian had done so far. 


By the time we’d made it up to the second floor I was just feeling so amazed and grateful, I couldn’t take it anymore. Interrupting Brian The Tour Guide’s dissertation on his choice of flooring for the upstairs hallway, I grabbed him by the shirt, towed him closer, and just started kissing the bejesus out of him. Another miracle; Brian kissed me back. I hadn’t seen him this amorous since our return from New York City. It felt so good. The kissing, almost more than the house, restored my faith in the fact that my Brian was still there under the sad surface of the zombie I’d been living with for the past several weeks.


“What was that for?” Brian asked when I finally broke for some air.


“Consider it my way of thanking you for all the hard work you’ve put in here.”


“My pleasure,” Brian purred. 


And, for the first time since the whole Langley debacle had begun, I heard the real Brian speaking. 


He leaned down and took my lips again, kissing me so hard it almost hurt. But that was fine with me. I needed him right then more than I could say. It felt right. There was heat involved. Did I mention how long it had been since Brian and I had been intimate or how incredibly horny I was? Brian could have eaten me alive right then and you wouldn’t have heard any objections from me. Not as long as he was kissing me like that. And touching me like that. And putting his hands there . . . Oh, yeah! Definitely there!


The kissing inevitably led to more. There were pieces of clothing coming off right there in the hallway. I was thrilled to find that Brian was actually responding as hungrily as I was. This was more like it!


“So, I just have one question.” I managed to fit in a few intelligible words between tongue-fuckings. “Have you finished the main bedroom too?”


Despite my driving lust, though, I was thrilled with Brian's answer. “No. I wanted to leave that for us to do together,” he replied, interrupting his unbuttoning of my jeans to offer up a sweet smile. “But I DID finish off one of the guest rooms - which is where I usually sleep when I come out here - if you’d care to follow me . . .”



I was more than happy to let my randy partner tow me off towards the room in question. I barely got a glimpse of the modern decor, dark wood furniture, and comfortable ambiance, all accompanied by some shockingly bright sea glass-green accents, before Brian pushed me down on the bed and started to tug off my pants. After that I was far too distracted by what Brian was doing with his fingers to notice any more of his decorating accomplishments.


It had been way too long since I’d seen THIS Brian and can I just say that I’d missed him. A lot. I’d missed the way he would run his nimble fingers over every millimeter of my skin, touching all of me with his warm hands, and setting all my nerve endings on fire. Even after his hands had moved on, my flesh remembered each instance of touch as if it longed to be touched again. It was like my skin was a map of everywhere Brian had been and I could trace his progress via that legend. But it got even better when his lips followed along behind his fingers, depositing little barely-there kisses every couple of centimeters, licking away the lingering tendrils of sensation, adding new layers of sense memories, and nibbling at my body as if he really did want to eat me. I was in ecstasy. This was the real Brian - I was so ecstatic to find he was still in there somewhere - and that discovery, almost more than the sensations he was eliciting from my body, was what was turning me on so much.


While I was pondering all that, Brian had slowly worked his way upwards from where he’d started at my feet, and was now stroking and kissing his way along. I groaned when he skipped over significantly important parts around my midsection, but by the time he’d moved on to biting at my nipples I kinda forgot to be annoyed. Almost without volition I found my torso arching up so that he would have a better angle. I revelled in the way he’d so quickly nibbled me into hard little nubs of pure pleasure, alternating between sides with his teeth and his pinching fingers. It felt like there was a direct connection between my chest and my dick so that, with every tiny bite, my cock swelled even more. 


Lacing my own fingers through the baby-fine brunet tresses, I tried, unsuccessfully, to guide him downward. Nothing doing. Brian was in total control for the moment, which I supposed was a good thing, although it also frustrated the hell out the horny victim of his machinations. Meanwhile, he seemed intent on driving me insane, slowly licking little heart shapes across my chest and nipping hard enough to leave marks; come morning, I supposed I would have evidence of those ‘love bites’ in the form of heart-shaped bruises, but I couldn’t care less. 


Eventually he relented and started moving his attentions downward. The kisses gradually descended until his evil little tongue finally tickled lightly at the very apex of my cock, sending chills over my skin, and prompting me to squirm just a bit. Brian’s hands quickly moved to my hips, pressing down firmly to hold me in place, keeping me still; the lightweight nylon cast which had replaced the bulkier, solid cast on his wrist the week before, barely slowing him down. This allowed him the control he needed to devote all his efforts to my dick, which he began to kiss, all up and down the shaft and around the crown. The kisses never lingered too long and were accomplished with just enough pressure that it made me start leaking. But, struggle as I might, I couldn’t get myself free enough to maneuver my dick more firmly into his mouth where I so wanted it to be.


When I was just about to scream from frustration, Brian relented and pulled away far enough so he could run his fingers across the head of my straining cock. He used his touch to spread the precum that had been bubbling from there down my shaft. His fingers felt cool against the overheated flesh and the dribbles of cum tickled. It was exquisit torture and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.  


All through this procedure Brian had been murmuring - between kisses and nibbles - offering dirty little suggestions about all the nasty things he was going to do to me. I was too distracted to consciously listen, but the sentiment of his comments had nevertheless penetrated through my wavering focus and no doubt added to my soaring lust levels. Nobody could talk dirty like Brian Kinney. But, when his lips were no longer quite so busy, he upped his game by throatily whispering about just how hard he was going to make me cum. I was so on edge by that point, he probably could have brought me to orgasm with just a word. It was obviously overkill, but I loved it.


Taking pity on me - most likely in response to the neediness of  my moaning, which I was too far gone to be embarrassed about in spite of how much begging was involved - Brian swiped his big, broad tongue across my slit and I just couldn’t hold back any longer. When Brian wanted, he could instantly turn me back into that same neophyte teenager without a shred of self-control. In fact, I think he was proud of this ability and used it like a tool, on demand, whenever he needed to reassert himself. Like he was doing then. So is it any wonder that I lost it completely and started to come so hard at just that licking touch, that I soaked the both of us? 


“Nectar of the Gods,” Brian mumbled as he slurped up a healthy serving of my seed and then climbed back up my body to share the taste with me. 


“Mmmm,” was all my brain was capable of saying as I sucked myself off his tongue.


“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Brian summed up the situation nicely, “how about we move on to the main event.”


“There’s more?” I asked, still feeling so ecstatically limp that I didn’t see how there could be more. 


“Silly little boy. Of course there’s more. Weren’t you listening before?” Brian chuckled as he scooped up another dollop of the cooling cum off my belly and promptly used it to begin fingering me open. 


“Oh! Oh, yeah. Yeah, there’s more . . . Yes, more. Please, more. So much more . . .”


My pleading caused him to laugh again. Each note of happiness helped alleviate a tiny bit of the angst that had been weighing on my heart for the past few weeks, so I didn’t bother to curb my begging. It was all for a good cause, right? Plus, the bonus was that I could feel Brian’s dick twitching against my groin with each renewed entreaty for him to hurry along. Not that he acceded to my begging; if anything he slowed down the more I begged, intentionally taking just that much longer, working at me until I turned into a big, dripping, whimpering mess. Which, to be fair, was how he liked me best. 


I have no idea how long that phase of the proceedings lasted. It felt like forever and yet I never wanted it to stop. When Brian removed his fingers and suited up, I heard myself groan at the loss, and momentarily felt confused. My overheated brain somehow jumped to the conclusion that he was leaving me; that something was wrong and he wasn’t going to finish. I felt bereft and confused and so, so sad. I guess the past few weeks of neverending existential dread had shortcuicuited my brain or something. I now automatically expected the worst. Luckily for me, and my needy ass, I was wrong, and Brian was only pausing long enough to move forward with what he’d called ‘The Main Event’. 


Before I could voice all my worries, I felt Brian using one hand to line himself up at my hole. He pushed in slowly. I was so relieved I almost cried. He entered me so gently, so carefully, as if I was fragile and going to break or something, that I think a few tears did escape. Even my overly lusty brain could somehow understand that the care he was taking of me now was a response to the renewed trauma he’d been dealing with and I was touched at just how caring he was attempting to be. Fuck, I loved this man more with every damn day I knew him. He was so good to me. He was so good, period. Too good for all the horrors he’d had to live through.


The slow burn of Brian’s entry served to distract me, at least partially, from my maudlin musings. I was allowed to just let it all go and enjoy the way Brian made love to me, right? 


He was always a master at the art but this time it was evident how much effort he was putting into making the entire experience absolutely perfect. I loved the slowness of his deliberate motions. The way he was cradling my body with his arms as he sensually pushed and pulled himself into my body. The way his face was buried into the crook of my shoulder so that the fragrance of his hideously expensive shampoo filled my nose, suffusing me with the essence of Brian, as he fucked me. The tiny mewlings of pleasure he couldn’t hold back vibrated against the thin skin over my collar bone. I relished the little love runes his fingertips were tracing against my skin where his hands couldn’t stay still even as he pulled us both, irresistibly, towards that point of no return. 


Even as I was going out of my mind with the building fervor of my orgasm, I could feel all the love Brian was putting into this fuck. It was that, more even than the escalating electrical currents caused by his repeatedly brushing across my prostate, that eventually washed me over the edge of ecstasy into one of the most profoundly powerful climaxes of my entire life. When Brian followed me to his own release half a dozen heartbeats later, I wasn’t at all surprised to feel the warmth of a couple tears of his own puddling in the indentation of my shoulder, where he was trying to hide his emotional response.


Maybe my Brian was still there under the Zombie disguise after all?


 

 

Chapter End Notes:

7/11/21 - I figured you folks could use a break, so here’s your happy little porny interlude. Enjoy it while it lasts. There’s still more torture ahead, I’m afraid... *Cue the ominous music* Special thanks for her help on this chapter go out to my wonderful friend, Lorie. You can thank her for the prompts that got me through the sex scene. She’s an awesome writing partner! TAG

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