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Hit and Miss




Brian's not here when I wake up. I mean, not in bed beside me. The sheets where his hot body should be are cold. I struggle to sit up and call his name. I don't know why I'm anxious, I mean, he might just have been taking a slash, anything. But I guess subconsciously I'm thinking 'it's his birthday and anything could happen'. He hates birthdays. Hates the necessity of getting older. But at least, I think, or hope, that he no longer thinks there are better alternates.

He told me once about the scarfing thing that he'd tried on his thirtieth. He was really drunk, and pissed off because some queen had made a crack about him being a chickenhawk. This was back in the post bashing pre Ethan phase and I don't think I really took in what he was telling me. Maybe I was drunk as well, or tweaked. Anyway it all just seemed to pass over my head at the time. Later, though, I thought about it a lot. It really scared me. Last year, when I was with Ethan on Brian's birthday, I got really freaked and wanted to ring him a hundred times during the day to make sure he was okay. I couldn't though. I didn't have the right. I could only hope that his other friends kept some sort of eye on him.

This year, though, he's mine again to guard and protect and he's not here, so I wake up and like the little drama princess he calls me I immediately start calling out his name. He comes bounding up the steps full of energy and I can bet that he's spoiling for a fuck. Well, he's going to have to wait long enough for me to pay a visit to the bathroom. Before he can jump on me, I slide out of bed on the side nearest the bathroom door and head off.

"Hey!" he pouts. "Get your ass back here! It's my birthday!"

Well, that sounds healthier than him brooding about it anyway. I finish what I need to do, gargle some mouthwash and dance back into the bedroom. I stand near the bed wiggling my hips at him. I can feel my cock getting heavier, it sways with my movement, but is definitely not really dangling now.

He's sprawled on the bed, but he sits up when he sees me and reaches for me. I laugh, and sway out of his reach. He settles back on the bed, propping himself against the pillows.

"Ooohhh, yeah," he purrs. "My very own birthday show."

So I put on a show for him, bumping and grinding, turning my back and waving my ass at him, looking back at him over my shoulder.

He pushes a hand down inside his sweats and starts stroking himself. I feel myself get harder watching him, so I mirror him, standing at the foot of the bed, slowly rubbing my cock.

His eyes gleam and he wriggles out of his sweats, kicking them off his feet. He still has his sweat shirt on, but as I start using my other hand to caress my nipples, he mirrors me, pulling the thick cotton up over his head and tossing it out of the way and baring his nipples to his touch.

I rub mine for a moment and then tweak them - left first, then right. They're standing out stiffly from my chest now, and as I watch he does the same and it has the same affect.

Then he spreads his legs wide, and moving his hand slowly down his body (all the time keeping up a slow rhythm on his cock with his other hand) he slides it down between his thighs to cup his balls. I pause for a moment, this isn't something that it's easy to do standing up with any sort of grace whatever, so I climb onto the bed, kneeling between his feet.

I spread my knees apart and sit back on my heels, then I let my hand trail down. I watch his eyes follow it and the look in them when I finally start fingering my balls gives me a jolt of pleasure as strong as if he'd touched me.

I want to make sure though that he's watching the next bit, so I tilt my head back and lick my lips. I swear I can feel the moment his eyes move to my face. I feel my skin flush and I realise how slutty I must look. Knowing that gets me hotter, and I take my fingers from my balls, and brush them over the now-dripping head of my cock. Then, staring straight into his eyes, I take them from my cock and bring them to my mouth. As I slide my tongue out between my lips to lick the precum slowly from my fingers, his tongue, runs once and then again over his lips. His eyes have left mine now and are fixed on my mouth. I lick my fingers once more, then flick my tongue over my lips before snaking it back into my mouth. I let my lower lip pout out at him a little. I know how that gets him going.

Then, while his eyes are still caressing my mouth, I open it a little, and push my first two fingers inside.

His eyes go dark suddenly and his hips jerk. I suck on my fingers, moving them in and out of my mouth, while I arch my own hips forward, coming up off my heels to push my groin towards him. I think of how I must look and for some reason that makes me go even further.

I sit back onto my heels and then I let myself lay back on the bed. My head is almost over the edge, but that doesn't matter. I move my feet out from under my ass, but keeping my knees bent I let them fall wide apart. Then I lift my feet off the bed completely and pull my knees up so that my asshole is fully displayed to Brian. I take my hand off my cock, and reach down and use those fingers to stroke over the hole while I keep sucking on the ones in my mouth.

I hear him moan softly and then the sound of the condom wrapper being torn so I bring those fingers down and start pushing the first one into my hole.

That's when he moves.

He takes hold of my hips and pulls me towards him. so that I'm no longer in danger of falling off the bed onto my head. Then he's over me and lifting my ass to his cock. I feel it press against me and then slowly, so slowly, he enters me. It burns a little, stings a little as I stretch for him, then he's past that first tight ring and he pauses, making sure I'm ready, giving me all the time I want to adjust. I take a deep breath and push down in just the right way and he knows, and moves to match me and then he's sliding deep, deep inside me, hitting all the right places on the way.

I put my hands up to his shoulders and he knows what I want, what I need, and he presses deeper inside, and folds me up more and then his mouth is within reach, so I kiss him.

"Happy birthday," I murmur against his lips.

He sucks his lips in and gives me a look for a moment. Then he smiles, and nods.

Which makes my heart feel like it's overflowing because he's saying something so amazing to me - he's telling me that he is happy. That it's a happy birthday for him because of this, because of me.

I don't know what to do, so I kiss him again and say his name.

"Brian," I breathe. "Oh, Brian!"

Then there's no need to say anything else because our bodies are saying everything that could ever need to be said and although it's slower and more gentle than it usually is with us, somehow it's just right, too.





It's a funny thing. I was so damned ready to pride myself on how I'd try anything sexually, but I've never tried this before. Never tried having sex with the same partner over and over till you're so familiar with their body and they with yours that you know exactly how to give each other the maximum amount of pleasure in any given fuck. So familiar that you know just by the sounds, by the breathing, how close, how soon. So in tune that you can read each other's moods, you know intuitively just what sort of fuck you're both looking for - hot and hard, or slow and sweet or anything in between.

That level of familiarity should be boring, predictable. But somehow with him it's not. With Justin it never is. He loves to tease me, surprise me. He loves to be teased, surprised. So part of the giving pleasure thing is in the games we play before the serious sex starts, it's in the anticipation as much in the act. But whereas with tricks the hunt, the anticipation is often the only thing that makes the fuck even vaguely interesting, with him that really is just the prelude, the overture. And once the full production starts, it's a show stopper every time.

Today, when he wiggles his ass out of the bathroom, putting himself on display for me, he looks so fucking hot! And when I start to jerk myself off, nice and slow, he doesn't jump on me and try to get into the act, like just about any trick would; he just stands there, mimicking me till I'm ready to shoot just watching him. Then he kicks it up a notch, and then another, and another. Till we're both so close that we have to pull back a bit or risk coming way too soon. Then when we're ready, when we do let go, it's ... right. Hell! it's ecstatic.

If I still had any of the belief my mother tried to cram into me, I'd say this was what I think Heaven would be like. I'd say Heaven isn't some fucking field full of flowers, or any of that angel-on-a-cloud shit. Heaven is that moment when I'm inside him, and I come, and he's right there with me, gasping my name as I shout out his; or maybe the moment after, when the endorphins are still flooding through my system and he's in my arms and I'm in his and ...

Well, that's what Heaven would be like.

As for Hell, where my mother would say I'm going - I've got news for her. I've already been to Hell. I've seen it. Felt it. Hell is kneeling on a cement pavement watching your whole life, all the love and warmth and hope in your life, bleeding out of the broken shell of a beautiful boy who should never have met you. And you'd let it all go, give it all up, all of it, everything, if the bleeding would just stop and he'd look up at you and be all right. But it doesn't, the blood keeps spilling, soaking everything so that for days, weeks, everything seems to smell of his blood. And Hell is watching his face go colder than any stranger's as you meet his eyes across a great cavern of emptiness, empty despite all the gyrating bodies, empty because he's already gone. Hell is watching him walk away from you. Hell is a half-empty closet and a silent cave that used to be your home, the home you once shared with him. I've been to Hell. I've been there twice. I'm not going back. I can't. I won't. I will not lose him again.

I'm smarter this time; like they say, older and wiser, and I'm not going to let my stupid fucking pride prevent me from fighting to keep him any more.

"I've decided to end the Experiment," I blurt out.




Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I knew he'd gone somewhere weird in his head. I could feel his arms sort of tighten round me, but ... his mind was a long way away. And not in any place good. I knew it. I could tell.


Not this morning, Brian. Not after what just happened between us. Why does it have to be now? Why did you have to pick now, to pick this morning, to tell me this?

Today's going to be a shit-heap of a day. Mel and Lindz are probably still fighting over the Mikey thing. The little shit might still turn up at their place, and if he doesn't, then Deb and probably the others as well will be all over it, talking and probing and prying and probably pissy about it.

You're going to be pissy anyway because someone is bound to make a crack about your age, so it will be up to me to charm and cajole you into getting over it, and playing nice, because it's your fucking birthday and they all want a chance to celebrate it with you. But that won't stop them harping on your bad attitude and picking you to pieces like they always do if I can't keep things going smoothly. Except this time if it gets out of hand it will be worse, because of all the damage Michael has done. In some ways they will all be looking for ways to make you the bad guy, because that's what they've always done, that's what's easy, that's what's safe. So today I have to work really hard make sure that they don't have any excuse to do that.

And that's a hell of a lot for me to deal with, trying to keep you happy, or at least not totally miserable, and tryng to find a way keep things smoothed over with everyone else Trying to make sure that what Michael's been up to doesn't completely destroy all of this little family that you need very badly whether you want to admit it or not.

So why the *fuck* did you have to pick today to tell me your little ... game was over. A game. That's all it fucking was to you. Just a game. One that you wanted to win, like you want to win every time, but once it's over ... you can just walk away. You proved to yourself you could do it. You could give up tricking if you wanted to. So now it's not about whether you don't have the strength or the will, you've proved to your own satisfaction that you do. And now you've done that, there's no reason, no reason at all to stop.

And I know I said I understood. I know I said I was okay with it. I know that.

I was.

And I will be ... but right now ...

I'm not. Right this minute, I'm not okay with it. I'm just not!

I loved knowing I was the one ... the one you came to, the one you ...

I loved ...

I get up before I start crying. That's all it would fucking need.

I'm headed for the bathroom when he catches my arm and pulls me back towards the bed. I try to pull away but he holds on and he's strong and I feel so fucking weak, because ...

So I try to choke back the tears, and I feel his hand on my face.

"Justin, I'm sorry."

"Sorry's bullshit," I choke out, slapping his hand aside and pulling away so hard that he's surprised and lets go. I stumble and nearly fall, but then he's up off the bed and gripping my shoulders and when I won't, can't look at him, he pulls me into his arms.

It makes me feel like I did that time he was leaving for New York, and I lost it, and he held me, and he let me cry. Which was all the concession he would make to the fact that my fucking heart was breaking. Or I thought it was. So he held me, and I let him.

But I'm not that fucking little twink any more and my heart is *not* breaking, not over this. No! It's not important enough to let it matter this much. So I fight to get a grip. But I'm still mad at him, although I don't know if it's his cavalier decision just to go back to tricking without a backward glance or even a second thought, or his pitiful sense of timing that's pissing me off more. So I try to push him away, and when he won't let go, I pinch him; hard, near the ribs where he's got no flab and it will hurt.

And he laughs, the fucker! He doesn't let me go, he just fucking laughs!




He pinches me again, the little shit, so I reach behind me and grab his hands and pull them away from me, although I make sure I keep my body pressed against his.

"Justin, calm down!"

"I am calm!" he spits, not so calmly.

I push his hands back behind him where he can't do any more damage and grab them both in one of mine. Then I cup my free hand round his face and make him look at me.

Sure enough, there are tears sparkling on his lashes and pooling in the corners of his eyes. He blinks hard to get rid of them.

Fuck it, Kinney! you are such an idiot.

"Justin, I put it badly. I'm sorry ..."

He snorts. "Brian, you put it just fine. I get it."

Okay, so now I'm tempted to just let him have his fucking little hissy fit. To pull on some clothes and just go stomping out of here while he sulks all he wants. Shit!

The only thing that stops me is that I know that's exactly what I would have done last time around. Hell! last time round I would have gone out and picked up the first half-decent trick I could find and dragged him back here so that by the time Justin got out of the shower he'd find me fucking someone else in his bed. Just so that he'd really know his place.

But he does know his place. And so do I. His place is right here. With me.

I stroke his face with my thumb and then I bend my head and kiss him. He tries to twist his head away at first, but I keep it gentle, soft, the way he really likes it and eventually I feel him relax against me. So I let go of his hands and wrap that arm around him properly.

Then ... I'd deny it on a string of fucking bibles, but then I find myself kissing away the tears.

"That's not what I meant," I breath into his ear before I start back to his mouth, and give that some more attention. God! his lips feel so silky and soft against mine. I suck on them both a little, softly, bottom first, then top.

Then I pull back so I can look right into his eyes while I say it.

"I meant ... I figured ... as an experiment, it seemed to work so ..."

He stares at me, his eyes are open very wide now and the sun must be shining on them or something because suddenly they're full of light.

It's moments like these ... it's like seeing him again for the first time. And he is still as fucking beautiful ... more ... than he was that night. I find my arms tightening around him, as our bodies press together, skin smoothly gliding over skin.

He's biting his lip, but he can't quite bring himself to ask the question, so I answer it anyway.

"I'm not saying I'll never fuck anyone else, but ..."

I shrug.

"I won't be out looking for it."

It's the best I can do. I won't make him promises I can't fucking keep. All I can do is try.

He gets this look then, like he wants to throw his arms around my neck, and do a whole girly scene. But he's smarter now, too.

So he just gulps, and nods. Then he nods again. And finally he smiles, and I swear, I need shades.

So I stick my tongue in my cheek, and let myself grin at him.

Then, only then, he puts his hands on me; he pulls my face down to his and he kisses me. Just tiny kisses, almost nibbling at my mouth with his lips. I last about a minute then I pick him up and toss him face down on the bed.

Fuck that! He knows what that fucking does to me. He knows that each of those little nips with his lips goes straight to my cock. He knows that it gets me so hot for him that when he does it at Babylon we wind up in the backroom so fast that anyone who gets in the way is in serious danger of being trampled. He knows just what it does to me, the little shit, and he loves to tease me with it just to see how long I can hang out. He fucking knows all that; so he is definitely asking for it, and now he's going to get it.

I climb on top of him, determined to make sure he pays in full for being such a pricktease, but he's way ahead of me. He's found what we need, and he passes me the condom while he takes the lube, and, drawing his knees up under him, fingers his own ass.


By the time I've opened the pack and rolled the condom over my cock, he's thrusting three fingers up his ass and already panting.

"Fuck me!" he orders. "Now, Brian! Fuck me!"

So I do.

He's already loosened up from our earlier fuck, and his fingers have done their job as well. I thrust hard into him with one long stroke and he moans, a deep guttural sound that makes me pull out quick and thrust in again harder. He bucks back against me this time and then we're fucking like animals. He's cursing me and telling me "harder! harder!" and I'm telling him what a bitch-whore he is and scraping my nails over his belly and his nipples. The sweat is pouring off both of us and I can feel his arms trembling from the strain of taking most of the weight, so I pull them out from under him and push him down so that his face is pressed to the bed, and I can use my hands on his hips to position his ass at just the right angle. I twist my hips with each stroke to make sure that I'm hitting the spot he needs and he stops saying anything coherent then, just gives these hoarse little yelps of pleasure with each thrust. When I feel my balls pull up and that burning tingle at the base of my spine I reach round and jerk his cock twice and he gives a short harsh scream and comes hard. His ass clamps down on my cock and I'm there, coming inside him, and it feels so good it fucking hurts.

I don't want to pull out, but I'm guessing he's not all that comfortable in that position, so I do, then I drop the condom beside the bed and roll to the side as I collapse beside him. He rolls onto his side to face me then his face is in my neck and somehow my arms have got round him and his are round me and we don't have to fucking say anything to know where we are with each other. We're just there. So we lay there for a while, not saying anything in words, while our temperature gets back to normal and our heart beats even out. I rub soothing fingers over all the scratch marks I made on him and his hands are pressed against my back, clinging and caressing and holding me, holding me like he's never going to let me go, while our lips wander all over each other's faces but keep coming back to press together with an intimacy that no words could ever convey and our tongues do all the talking they need to do in each other's mouths.

Then suddenly he bites my neck, hard enough to leave a mark, the twat, and climbs over me to get to the bathroom. I grab his hand on the way past so he pulls me up and we go in and shower and then we come down and make coffee and he has something to eat and we don't talk about it, we don't have a whole fucking dialogue over it and analyse it to death. We don't have to. We just know. And if he seems to want to touch me maybe a little more than he normally would, or if I have to get him back for the bite by marking his skin the way he marked mine, well, that's okay. That's part of how it is. And how it is, is ... amazing.

Why the fuck did I have to wait so long to find this?

Well, I know what he'd say to that. He'd say we both had to wait until I was grown up enough to deal with him.

He's probably right at that.

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