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Test Drive



It seems like a fucking miracle, but by the time we both settle back into our seats, he's got this smile plastered all over his face and I'm pretending I don't.

I don't know how or why things seem so right when so much is well and truly fucked up. We're heading off to buy a car I'm probably going to hate on sight and at some point this weekend I not only have to turn up at a fucking family lunch, but I have to face another damned birthday. Oh, and I'll have to be on my best behavior at the fucking birthday ‘celebration' or the my damned partner will be prissy with me for the rest of the day. Not to mention all the shit with Mikey and the fallout that's going to have in all directions.

I should be somewhere between totally pissed off and out of here.

Instead, I'm sitting back, feeling like the world is finally going right for once and trying to pretend that I'm not grinning from ear to ear. That damned little shit knows it, too. For some reason that's part of what's right.

He's started the car and driven four blocks before I even realise I'm not in the driver's seat.



Brian's really relaxed on the way to the dealership, and somehow, so am I. I mean things are really fucked up. And we still have to deal with all the Mikey shit. And I somehow have to get Brian to the Munchers' on Sunday. But ... we're okay. We've somehow come through it all so far, and we've done it together. Even though we both tackled things in our own way, and on our own, somehow, we still did it together. Which is really something to think about. Meanwhile, he's sitting beside me, with that look on his face which means that he's trying so hard not to smile, and I feel like laughing out loud with sheer happiness.

I totally expect him to queen out on me, though, when we finally make it to the dealership and he actually sees the car. He sort of stands there with a look on his face like he thinks maybe he's got the date wrong and it's still only April 1st.

I'm trying to be cool about the car and not let the sales guy see how much I like it, but I really want Brian to understand why to me it's ... not the perfect car, I don't mean that, but the car that's perfect for what we need. For what I need. I knew it would be, because one of the guys that I partnered with on a project early this semester had just got one. He specialises in found object type sculptures and he said that it was perfect for carting all his stuff around. Not to mention that he and his girlfriend found it very useful as he shared a two bedroom appartment with four other people and she was still living at home. He'd driven me in it a couple of times, so I knew it would suit me fine.

If there's one thing that the past with Brian has taught me, it's that I have to be really clear about what I need. And I have to be prepared to tell him, to make sure that he understands. If I don't, I have no one to blame but myself when my needs don't get met. That's what he was telling me that day at Vangard when he told me to get some balls, not just to walk away. He was right. For a long while I did back away from things that I thought might cause confrontations between us. I can't afford to do that anymore. He's relying on me not to do that anymore.

So I get him to walk around the car, and I open the doors to show him how easy it would be to get Gus in and out of the car. Not to mention all my shit. He's still looking really prissy about it, like he thinks he's going to lose major points on his style meter if he even touches the thing, but at least he's still listening.

The salesman damned near loses him when he starts being helpful. He can see Brian's not impressed, but he's got the message by now that I'm going to be the one driving it most, and he can see the ‘Vette sitting outside, so he knows what Brian drives and he starts saying, "Well, of course, it's a young person's car."

That nearly fucks the whole thing of course, but just when I think Brian is going to annihilate him, and probably me too, and stalk out of there, the guy has to take a phone call. I don't say anything. I don't look at Brian. I just keep walking around the car, poking my head in and touching things, and finally he comes over and starts peering in the windows and doors and he doesn't say anything either, but he rubs up against me a couple of times and I know the hissy fit's been averted for a while at least. As long as that moron doesn't say anything else helpful.


I can't believe it when we get to the dealership and he points out the damned car he wants to get. It is the most ugly assed thing I have ever fucking seen. But he's wandering around it, pointing out all the good bits - like anything that ugly could have good bits, and I'm about to make it really clear that it's just not happening, when the fucking sales guy says something like "Well, sir, of course it's a young person's car" and I damned near walk out on the spot.

But he gets called away to the phone, and Justin doesn't say anything, just keeps looking at the damned thing, and I look at him, and realise the guy is right. It is a young person's car. That's what it's going to be. And if it's what he wants ...

So I go over and start really looking at it and I realise that it will be a good car for us. Not just because no one seeing Justin driving that damned thing will think his sugar daddy bought it for him ... sugar daddy's have more fucking taste. But because he'll be able to get his stuff in and out of it easily, without putting any unnecessary strain on his hand, and he'll have plenty of room for everything, so he can bring his work home to do in the loft and not have to leave it all at school and try to work in their tiny cubicles just because he can't get the stuff home easily.

When we start getting down to the details about colors and features, I'm braced for him to want the fucking red one, but he goes for the darkest color, which is near enough to black, so that's something.

When the sales guy realises that we're ready to sign the deal on the spot, he becomes almost frisky, and starts suggesting every damned feature known to man. Of course, Justin wants every gadget going, up to and including remote locking so the guy heads off to make some calls to see if he can get us just what we want today. The one thing I tell him I want is that it should be an automatic.

Justin gives me a look, because he knows that the ‘Vette is a manual, and so was the Jeep, but the truth is that watching him drive over here, I realised that shifting gears is just one more thing that might put unnecessary strain on his hand. He's fine, most of the time. But it still gets tired if he's been drawing or painting too much, so why not get what's going to be easiest for him? But I don't want to make a big deal out of it, because if I do, he'll probably demand a manual just to prove that he's up to driving it. Twat!

He doesn't say anything, though. Just, when the guy is off making his calls, he nudges his shoulder against my arm.

"I know it's not a Jeep," he says.

I just grunt.

He nudges me again. "Brian ... if you'd really prefer it, we could forget this, and get another Jeep"

I grunt again. "Not so good for Gus," I say.

He grins. "Or for us," he promises.

I take a look again at the amount of space that's created when all the seats are laid flat and start working out where we can test it out. That fucking prick better hurry up and find us one.


Okay, so the guy says they can get one brought over from their other dealership that's just what I want and it'll take about an hour and meanwhile, would we like to take the one on the lot for a test drive while he prepares the paperwork and makes the necessary credit checks?

I look at Brian and he's got this look on his face, that tells me just what sort of test drive he's got in mind, so Brian hands over his credit card and gives the guy all the bank details and shit and off we go.

I want him to drive but he says there's no sense in that so I get into the driver's seat. Brian does claim back the keys to the ‘Vette first, though.

He directs me through the streets till we come to this place that's like an abandoned warehouse or something. We park in the lot in back. The place is closed in and feels completely private. Almost as if no one else even knows it's here. He turns to me and runs his tongue over his lips.

Then he leans in and runs it over mine.

Shit! My cock throbs and I feel a pulse deep in my ass as if it knows what's coming and just can't wait for it to arrive. Then he pulls back, rolls his tongue into his cheek and, staring straight into my eyes, starts reclining his seat.

It takes us a few minutes to get them all flat. And even then, they're not completely flat, but it's near enough. I pull the lube and condoms out of my pocket and he kisses me.

"Good boy," he breathes into my mouth, as he pushes me onto my back and lowers himself over me..

I want to hurry. I want him inside me now. But he's teasing me; squeezing the bulge of my cock through the material of my pants and sucking on my bottom lip. I'm trying to get his pants undone, but he laughs and grabs my hands and forces them back over my head.

"Leave them there," he orders, and my cock hardens further at the lust in his voice.

I do as I'm told and he slowly pulls up my sweater, then my shirt until my nipples are exposed. He licks each one and they stiffen as the cold air hits the moisture. He pulls down my pants and jerks them off over my feet. Then he kneels between my legs and just looks at me for a moment. I can feel the sticky wetness of precum spilling from my slit, and I think I'm blushing a bit, realising how wanton I must look, lying there so exposed just waiting for him to take me.

Slowly, he wriggles out of his pants, and pushes them to the side. I guess he doesn't want them soaked with cum this time.

He's hard, his cock red and thick and curving up towards his belly. I almost lunge forward, desperate for the taste and smell and feel of it, but he doesn't give me a chance. He pulls on my hips, pulling me towards him as he kneels there between my legs, so that the back of my thighs wind up resting on his. He stares into my eyes, running his tongue over his lips again as he opens the lube and coats his fingers with it. First one, then two, then three.

I suck my breath in. I know this means I'm in for a hard fast ride and I want it. I want him. I manage to plant my heels and arch my hips up.

He huffs a soft laugh. "Patience, Sunshine. Patience."

Then the first finger pushes into me and it's all I can do not to buck so hard that I lose it. He's stroking me and working me and I can feel the flush that covers my face and floods down my neck. He's still staring at me and I want to hold eye contact with him, but now another finger has joined the first and I have to close my eyes in sheer ecstasy and need. When the third finger pushes into me I nearly arch right off him again. He's scissoring them all apart, stretching me, and every now and again one brushes my prostate and I can only lie there and moan and pant as the feeling builds and builds in me. And he hasn't even touched my cock.


He's lying there in front of me, all spread and ready and wanton and I've never seen anything so beautiful in the whole of my fucked up life. His face and neck are flushed, and he's sweating a bit, and all over him there's that beautiful sheen of sex and lust. He just fucking glows with it. I go on tormenting him a little, twisting my fingers in his ass, just so that I can watch that glow intensify. I know that once my cock gets inside him, I'm going to lose all power of coherent thought, so this is my best chance to see him like this. To memorise this moment.

"Bri ... Brian ... please ..."

Oh, fuck! The need in his voice goes straight to my cock, and before I can even think about it, I've pulled my fingers out and smoothed a condom over my dick and then I'm pushing into him and although I know he's been well stretched by my fingers, I still want to take my time, don't want to hurt him, never want to hurt him, but he bucks up against me and I can't stop, can't slow down and he grunts and then grabs my ass and pulls me harder against him and then I'm home. Home. This is home.

His hands are clutched into my hair and he drags me down to kiss me. His tongue is urgent in my mouth, fucking me, demanding that I open for him, let him in, give myself to him while my cock is making the same demands of him. So we have each other, take each other, give to each other and all the time he's making these amazing sounds, growling and mewling and begging ‘more' and ‘there' and ‘oh, yes, there, don't stop, don't stop'.

So I don't. I manage to get back enough control to take most of my weight on my arms, and then I can work him better, angle the thrusts, twist my hips so that I hit the places he needs to be hit and claim him; claim all of him; make sure that his ass is never ever going to forget the feel of my cock because I will touch him everywhere, touch him in places no one else will ever have the chance to find, and mark him as mine. Mine. As I am his.

For some reason, it's that thought, the thought that once would have had my dick go completely soft, that this time does it for me and my balls tighten and my cock pulses and the condom fills with the sudden flood of my cum.

And then as the blood starts flowing to other parts of my body, I hear my own voice.

"Justin," I'm saying. "Justin!"

Breathing it, sighing it, over and over, like it's a mantra or a fucking prayer. Like it's some kind of magic spell that, if I say it often enough, for long enough, can make the whole world better. Shit! Maybe it can. My whole fucking world, anyway.

I'm about to reach for his cock to finish him off when he grunts my name and I feel the warm stickiness spurt over my chest and belly that tells me I don't have to. All I have to do now is hold him, kiss him, tell him ...

Tell him ...

"Justin," I breath again, and he smiles at me and nuzzles against my face.

"Brian," he sighs happily.

So I know he's heard me.


We lie there for a while, just sort of getting our breath back, and it strikes me that this is the bit of Brian that is just mine. I don't know that he's never done this with anyone else. Maybe sometime in the dim dark distant past. But I know he hasn't often, or in a long time, and that none of his tricks, none of the hundreds of men he's fucked since he became the Brian Kinney that everyone thinks they know, have ever shared this with him. This is mine. And has been since the first night we spent together.

I didn't realise then, of course, what it meant that he let me stay after Mel's phone call. How differently he treated me, right from the first, no matter what he said. No matter how much he tried to make both of us believe I was just another trick.

Even when we first lived together, I still didn't get it. I was too busy trying to make him into my "boyfriend" in the hetero sort of way that he mocks so harshly, and at the same time, too inexperienced and too busy trying to prove to him that I could handle things, could deal with anything he sent my way to appreciate what these quiet moments meant. And later, after the bashing, I was too insecure, too unable to believe that I had much to offer him apart from great sex, to believe that these quiet, nothing really sort of moments held the key to everything I ever needed to know about whether he really wanted me around.

I'm smarter now, more experienced. Now I have done some of the stuff that he does every night. Well, that he used to do, and probably will again soon. Maybe. Anyway, now I've had the ‘fuck them and leave them' experiences and I have some point of comparison. It's not what I want for myself. I can't ever imagine really getting off on it the way Brian does. But it does mean that I understand the difference now between what he does with his tricks, and what he does with me.

Part of it is in the sex itself. It's different between us because we know just how to move, just what to do, where to touch, how to touch. The sense of discovery is still there, but it's different. It's about finding new ways, trying variations, not about each time being new and different.

With his tricks he doesn't give a fuck. He pleasures them, because he's good at sex, but not because he seeks out ways to do it. He just goes with what he's feeling at the time, and because he's a natural, it works for them. But with us, with me, it's as much about my enjoyment as it is his. And I can feel that when he's fucking me. Again, although I was too young and dumb to understand, that was another thing he gave me from the first night.

Shit! it's no wonder I fell in love with him so hard and so fast; he was giving me so much that he never gave anyone else. I might not have had the experience to know that with my head, or to understand, but my heart knew it. Something did, anyway, no matter how much he denied it, something inside me knew that it was different between us. I guess I just tried to analyze it all too much, instead of trusting my instincts. But then, post bashing, my instincts about stuff were pretty much for shit. I was so scrambled for a long time. Maybe the time with Ethan was more about letting the dust settle so that I could see clearly, than it was about anything else. Maybe I just needed some perspective.


All I know is that after all that shit, we're here together and I know enough now to appreciate what these moments mean.

They mean he loves me.

He may never say those words.

I may never actually say the words to him again.

But every time he holds me after sex: every time he takes the time and the effort to make sure that it's good for me as well as for him; every time he breathes my name ...

That's what he's telling me.

And when I lie there beside him, and whisper his name back to him as if it's the most wonderful sound on earth, that's what I'm saying right back to him.

Of course, it's just at this moment, while I'm basking in the afterglow and enjoying all the loving, that he says, "So, Sunshine, did you bring something we can use to try out this fucking wipe clean upholstery, or do we use your shirt?"

"Fuck off!" I say, pushing at him so I can sit up, before he just rips it off me.

We don't have anything of course, so we drive to a nearby service station and use the men's room to clean up a bit. Then Brian decides he wants to try the car, so he drives to a supermarket and we get some handywipes and in the parking lot we manage to wipe up any spills and clean ourselves up a bit more. Then we open all the windows and the sun roof. Although it's fucking cold we start off again with the wind whipping through and hopefully the car will air out enough so that the sales guy might have his suspicions about what we've been up to, but at least the car won't completely reek of it.

By the time we get back to the dealership, it's not too bad, so we close the windows again and drive in as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Which I guess it hasn't. Not for us, anyway, although I'm not sure how many other test drivers would be quite so thorough.

Anyway, we get the paperwork organised. I try not to react when Brian insists that the papers are in both our names. He makes some joke about me having to pay it off if the deal with Vance goes sour, but I know he sees how much it means to me, because he finds a way to wrap his hand around mine even while we're signing the papers and I just hang on.

Then we say goodbye to the sales guy and walk out together to take possession our new car. Our car.

That's when it hits that we now have two cars. Which means that we have to separate long enough to drive them both back to the loft.

Right now, that's not such an appealing idea at all.


I can actually see the moment the realisation that we have to separate for a while hits him. His face sort of twists, and then his head comes up in that way it does when he's faced with something that he just has to do, no matter how much he might not want to. He braces his shoulders and then turns to look at me.

"So," he says. "Do we just drive straight back to the loft, or do you have some other stuff you ... "

He hesitates then, realising how I might hear that. It pisses me off that he has to be so fucking careful all the time of what he says to me. I'm such a fragile little faggot that if he doesn't watch what he says, I might break. Or at least go off in a hissy fit.

"I mean ... maybe I could do the supermarket shopping on the way home, or ..." he goes on.

I look at him, trying to judge whether what he really means is that he wants to show off the car to his mom or Daph, or his college friends. Or if he's still just trying to give me space.

While I'm trying to work that out, he says, "I mean ... I guess you have things ..."

His voice trails off again. I pull him against me. He comes to me easily enough, but he still looks a bit worried.

"Today was about us spending time together, remember?" I tell him.

He looks at me and must see that I mean exactly what I'm saying to him, and he lets me know it's what he wants too with one of *those* fucking smiles. I can't help myself, next thing I know I'm rubbing my nose against his. Little shit! Making me behave like some breeder or lovesick lesbian in the middle of the fucking street.

"I've had an idea about that," I say.

"Oh, yeah?" he responds, putting his hands on my hips and brushing his lips across my jaw.

"Mm-hm," I confirm. And then I let him in on what I've been thinking.


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