Experiment by Wren

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I think this one was another challenge, although I can't remember what the topic was now. I have a notion it was an "include these three words" type of thing.   Again - it seemed to logically flow on from the end of the last one, so the story grew a little more.

In this chapter we find out what's on the Senator's agenda.




By the time we’d finished up the pasta and the wine even I decided to pass on the cheesecake for a while. We were in that drowsy, lazy, mid afternoon after a big lunch sort of state, so we headed for the bed. Not that we intended to sleep.

But I guess we must both have been more tired than we thought, or maybe it was just the wine, because, although we started making out a little, in the end we just sort of snuggled up and went to sleep.

Brian is hilarious when he wakes up. He's all ‘if you tell anyone about this’ and mumbling about ‘dickless fags’. I start laughing and then he gets seriously pissed off. He goes stomping into the bathroom with his hair all standing on end and I hear him clanging about and then the shower coming on.

I gie him a couple of minutes, and then gofter him. It's funny to me, but I know that he feels really threatened by anything that he thinks might undermine his self image - age, me, having a “boyfriend” - if that’s what I am. Anything.

So I go in and he’s in the shower but when I join him the water’s nowhere near as hot as he’d have it if it was just for him, so I know he was waiting for me. His back is to me, so I scoop up a handful of the gel he uses instead of soap and start rubbing it over his shoulders and down his sides. He takes a breath and lets it out in a woof, then just relaxes under my hands, putting his head forward and letting all the tension slip out of his shoulders and neck.

I love his neck. It’s one of the most beautiful things about his body, one of the things that make him such a perfect model for an artist, his long elegant neckline. I run my hand up the very back of his neck into his hair, and then draw my fingers down, caressing each vertebrae on the way, all the way down his spine.

He hisses as I reach his tailbone and sucks in another breath. I keep my hand going, sliding my fingers down his crack, across his hole and down further. He hunches a little and spreads his legs as my hand keeps moving down between his thighs till I can cup his sac in my palm. I squeeze gently, and juggle his balls a little. He gives this little grunt of satisfaction as if that’s just what he was wanting and I feel myself smiling.

I kiss his shoulder blades while my hand continues to squeeze him in soft rhythmic pulses for a few seconds, then I let go so he can turn to me and I can get what I really want.

When he does turn, though, he takes both my hands and pulls them to his chest, just holding them there for a moment. Then he slides his hands up my arms and tangles them in my hair and then we’re kissing and the world expands to be just him and me and the sound of the water and the taste of each other’s mouths. We’re outside time, and outside space, and those are the only things that exist, that are real.

Then his cock touches mine and suddenly it’s all urgency and need, want, must have, must have now.

We’ve got shower fucking down to a fine art. If there was an Olympic event, we’d be gold medallists for sure, with a different routine for every day of the week. This time it’s routine number three. I grab the condom and start rolling it on his cock, while he reaches round me with the lube and starts opening me up. Then he lifts me. I press my shoulders against the slippery tiles, and wrap my legs firmly round his hips, while he lowers me onto his cock.

This is my favorite position for shower sex, and he knows it. But it takes a lot of energy, so it’s not one we use a lot. I don’t know whether he feels like he has something to prove after his nap, or whether he’s just woken up refreshed and raring to go, but either way I’m not complaining.

I feel his cock at my hole and then it’s pressing up into me. His shoulders are straining with the effort of not just letting me slip down onto it until I’m ready, but today that doesn’t take long and I feel the initial stinging give way to a jolt of pure aching pleasure as his cockhead nudges my prostate on the way in and then I’m fully impaled and his pubes are brushing my ass and I can take most of the strain with my thighs now as I lift up and then sink down again, slowly, so slowly, and it feels so damned good.

I catch at the walls, at the top of the screen, trying to take some of the weight, but he’s not worried about that. He’s bucking his hips up into me as I ride him and I can’t believe the strength in his thighs and calves. He looks skinny, but slender as he is he’s all muscle.

I’m working myself up and down on his cock, angling myself to make sure it hits me in just the right place each time and meanwhile squeezing hard as I pull myself off him to make sure that he’s getting as much pleasure as I am.

I meet his eyes and he grins at me, an almost feral grin of pleasure and lust and desire and it drives me wild. My thighs are screaming off somewhere where I can hardly hear their message as I drive myself up and down on his cock, harder and faster and harder. My cock is pulsing and I am close, so close.

He comes first and I feel his cock jerking inside me and for some reason that does it for me and my cum joins the water that’s running down between his chest and my belly. He somehow finds the strength to lift me off him and we lean into each other and prop each other up and just breathe for a few moments.

I don’t know about him, but my legs feel like jelly and I can hardly stand upright, but he’s there and as I ease the condom off him and toss it out the shower to the bin he’s touching me - soft stroking caresses over my arms and chest and back and thighs and then I’m in his arms and he’s in mine and we’re trying to climb inside each other’s mouths and then with a sort of laugh he reaches for the shampoo and starts washing my hair. My head falls forward against his chest and I let him while my lips and tongue lazily caress whichever bits of his skin come within reach.

Until a streamlet of shampoo winds up in my mouth and I splutter and toss my head back. He moves back a little as well and we stand just looking at each other for a moment, and words are beyond unnecessary. We both know. We know what we feel, and what we have and this time we’re both heading in the same direction. Together. And choosing to be. That’s all that matters really.



He turns off the water and then takes my hand and leads me out the shower, and I follow like … I was going to say like a puppy dog, or a sheep, or something else fucking pathetic. But it doesn’t feel pathetic. It feels like - sometimes I lead, and he follows, and sometimes it’s okay for him to lead. And okay for me to follow.

Especially when what he leads me to is a warm fluffy towel that wraps around me and dries all my little nooks and crannies and then gives way to a warm wet mouth that touches some of those nooks and crannies in a way that should probably be illegal - shit! it already is in some States - and gets me hard again much faster than is reasonable and then spends aeons or a few seconds, I’m not sure, bringing me off again.

I want to return the favor, but he shakes his head and says we don’t have time. I try to persuade him that there’s always time for a blow job, but he gets all prissy about keeping the Senator waiting.

That’s the first time that I realize just how long we slept and I begrudgingly accept that we have to motor if we’re going to get to the restaurant on time.

The Grand Concourse isn’t the sort of place that I’d normally go if left to myself (and anyway, it’s better for brunch than dinner), but it’s okay. At least the food will be good and enough of it to fill the bottomless pit, him with the hollow legs and arms and backside. (I swear his body uses that bubble butt of his to store excess food to get him through the unbelievably long time between supper and breakfast!)

It’s heart breaking to take him to a new restaurant and find out it’s one of those places where you get a tiny portion of meat on a spinach leaf set in the middle of a huge plate. His face drops and he scarfs it down as if he hopes he’ll get more if he empties his plate, and then the same sort of thing happens with dessert and you wind up filling him up on McDonald’s on the way home. I know, because it’s what happened when his mom took us out for his birthday a few weeks back. Molly and Daph were there as well as Jenn, Justin and I and we all wound up at McDonald’s. I have to admit even I ate a few fries. Justin force fed them to me, of course, but they went down okay. If I was still ready to eat more, he must have been starving.

At least that won’t be a worry tonight. I’ve taken some of our more conservative clients there a few times and the serves are big enough to satisfy even Justin.

Anyway, by the time we both get ready we have no choice but to take a cab to the restaurant. Justin is huffing and puffing about it, but it does make sense. Anyway, after today I feel like maybe the money thing is going to work out all right and tell him to stop fucking fussing.

He looks at me for a moment and then takes a deep breath and smiles. “You’re right. Let’s have a good night out, and just relax and enjoy ourselves.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. With the Senator? But he just grins. “We can go to Babylon later,” he promises.

As it turns out that’s just what we do, because she gives me a lot to think about, and I don’t feel like doing that tonight. So we head for Babylon and have a few drinks and I get a bump off somebody and for a few moments I think ‘to Hell with the experiment’. But then I see this incredibly hot guy on the dance floor being hit on from all sides and I realize that what the Hell, I’ve got the hottest guy in the place anyway, and why the fuck would I want to settle for second best? So I stalk in and stake my claim just like I did that night a million years ago, and he turns to me and gives me that smile and I can’t wait till we get home.

We head for the back room and I have him up against the wall, hard and fast, amid all the grunts and sighs and groans from the other losers there who aren’t the ones fucking him, aren’t the ones who are going to take him home and have him all night long, aren’t the ones who’ll wake up tomorrow with him lying close alongside and ready to start all over again.

The losers who aren’t the one he loves.

So when we finish, before I even get the condom off, I pull him round into my arms and kiss him long and deep, so he knows … what he needs to know.



It’s funny how sometimes things feel so familiar and yet they’re so different. Brian was still sleeping when I woke up and my mind started going through all that happened yesterday, so I knew I’d never get back to sleep. I crawled out of bed like I used to do all the time and got my sketchpad and started to draw him. Just as I’ve done what seems like a million times before.

But that was back then.

Back when I was either ‘the trick who wouldn’t go away’, like Michael used to call me; (or ‘adopt a trick’; or ‘your little stalker’: anything to dismiss me and make me feel not important, not welcome, not a part of Brian’s life). Or else I was the pathetic little fag I felt myself become after the bashing. I couldn’t even draw, let alone be strong enough to deal with really being part of Brian’s life. Yet I had to pretend I was; had to hang on at all costs. He was the only thing I had. My family had split up, my dad hated me, my sister blamed me, and I didn’t even have my art. Well, except for the fragments that Brian rescued for me with the computer, and he pissed all over those. Brian was the only thing I had left. So I hung on desperately, letting myself become more and more pathetic until Ethan happened and the whole pretence that I was okay, that I was fine, that I was capable of making a real relationship with Brian fell apart. It went to Hell in a handbasket and that was the best thing that could have happened.

This time it’s very different. I don’t have to fight to be part of Brian’s life now. I am. I have my own place inside the Kinney fortress, and don’t have to keep storming the walls. What’s more, he wants me here. And we both know it’s where I belong.

So this morning while I sat and sketched him, it was the same as before, but totally different at the same time.

Just as he’s the same, but different.

The same Brian. Babylon. Drinks. Drugs. Backroom.

But this time it was me he took to the back room. And me he took up against the wall. And me he took in his arms afterwards and kissed and kissed and kissed until our lips were swollen and red and I’d forgotten totally where we were.

I think he had too, because when we finally fell apart, desperate for air, he looked round sort of dazed.

He wasn’t the only one. People were staring at us.

In the backroom at Babylon where nobody takes any notice of anything that is not directly related to the current fuck, people had stopped what they were doing, literally stopped, to stare at us. Well, to stare at Brian.

I know what they were seeing too. They were watching Brian Fucking Kinney kiss someone like it meant something. Like he felt something, other than another twitch of his cock. Like I meant something. Because I do. I know it now. I know that’s what he was telling me.

I thought he might freak out a bit then, but he just laughed. Really laughed. And pulled me against him and kissed me again before he got rid of the condom and did up his pants.

I got dressed and we left then, and got a taxi home. I didn’t even protest. It wasn’t far. And we needed to get home.

We fucked again when we got home of course, but we haven’t talked yet. Not really talked about what the Senator had to say. I hope we can today, because there’s a lot to consider.

The Senator wants him to work for her - either to join her Campaign Committee or to take her on as a client. She says that the combination of his talent and his integrity make him the ideal person to shape her next campaign. He tried to tell her what he thought of politicians in general, but she headed him off by saying that if there was anything about her policies or her practices that he didn’t like, and didn’t feel comfortable promoting, she would discuss it with him, and if they couldn’t agree, he could opt out, no hard feelings, no contract problems, nothing. Coming on top of the stuff today about the opportunities that would open up for him if he could sign just one decent client, I know it gave him a lot to think about.

I have my own thoughts about it, but it’s his decision and I’ll be there right beside him no matter what he decides. And I’ll fight anyone who tries to stop me. Brian included.



The damned phone wakes me. Who the fuck …? 

Mikey. Of course.

I cut him off yesterday when he called because Justin got home and I needed to talk to him. So of course he thought he’d punish me by calling first thing in the fucking morning.

Well, ten o’clock, but that’s first thing when you’ve been at Babylon till after one.

Of course, Mikey wasn’t at Babylon, he was at home with the hubby and the kid.

I let him tell me all the latest shit in the Hunter saga while I lie there trying to wake up. He's rambling on about needing the car for a few more days because the lawyer’s office is up on Mount Washington. Hell! take a taxi. Take a bus. Take the fucking incline.

I was just going to let it go. A few days is hardly going to make a difference in the scheme of things, but then he says in a that snarky voice he uses when the subject turns to the one person he shouldn’t talk about at all, “Or does Justin need it to run errands?’

And I lose it. Just lose it. The way I never do with Mikey.

Well, once. I did once.

And I do again today. For the same reason. He just can’t keep his mouth shut where Justin is concerned.

I thought of Justin uncomplainingly taking the fucking bus to and from that shitty job at the diner. And to Daph’s. And dragging bags back from the supermarket to save the fucking delivery fee. Using the hand that still isn’t strong enough for that shit. And I heard Mikey coming out with yet another of his bitchy little comments trying to make Justin out to be some sort of spoiled fucking princess, and I just let loose.

Among other things I tell him that he's a selfish fucking prick who doesn’t have a clue what friendship and loyalty are really about. That he spends more time worrying about how it would look if he and Hunter have to go to the lawyer’s by bus than he does worrying about whether I might lose the fucking loft if I can’t pay off some of this debt. That the whole fucking world does not revolve around him and if he wants a car he could go on ebay and sell of some of his fucking collectables and pay for one of his own. And that I don’t want to hear him mention Justin’s name again until he can do it with respect because Justin is worth a dozen of the lot of us.

Then I hang up.

I guess Justin must have heard me yelling because when I look up he's standing in the doorway to the bathroom. He looks shell shocked. His eyes really are like saucers - small ones, anyway. And they’ve gone that dark dark blue that they do when he gets freaked about something.

I must look pretty freaked myself because after a moment he comes and sits on the bed beside me and puts his arms around me. That’s when I feel myself shaking.

Shit! What have I done? Poor Mikey. He must be wondering where that came from. I don’t really know myself, except that I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t be in the middle. Justin never puts me there. Never has. But Mikey … he wants Justin gone so much. Still.

He has Ben and even Hunter, but he still doesn’t want me to have anyone.

And I just … I need … I need …

I feel Justin’s hand on my hair, but suddenly I can’t sit there any longer. I get up and step away.

God. Away. I don’t want to walk away. I turn and look at him, and he just looks worried. It’s that look again. The concerned look. The “I care” look.

I feel my face smiling at him.

“Come and scrub my back,” I say.

He looks at me and he smiles and I smile back, and suddenly the world is spinning again and everything is okay.

“Don’t ask,” I say as we get into the shower.

“I wasn’t going to,” he says.

I sigh and start kissing him. He seems willing enough to let it go, so it must be sheer perversity that makes me stops and say, “He’s still jealous of you.”

He nods, kind of sadly. “I know.”

Then he turns away to reach for the shampoo.

“He’s going to have to get over it, Justin.” I pull him round to look at me. “I don’t plan on changing things any time soon.”

He's trying not to smile then. Trying not to let me see how glad it makes him to hear that. Which is sad. Truly sad. And my fucking fault, of course. Shit!

So I smile wide enough for both of us and letting my tongue touch my lips briefly, ask, “What about you?”

His attention has focused on my tongue, and when he looks up his eyes are already glazing over in that way they have, “Huh?”

I smack his butt to get his attention off his cock, which I can feel thickening against my thigh.

“Are you planning on changing things any time soon?”

He looks into my eyes then and must like what he sees there, because he smiles, a genuine Sunshine smile, and says softly, “Not a thing, Bri.”

What else could I do after that except slide down to my knees and show my appreciation?

When I’m done, I send him out to get the paper.

The Senator said a lot of things last night, and Justin and I still need to talk about them. But the last thing she said was the strangest. She told us to watch the papers in the next few days, because there could be something that would interest us.



I didn’t hear most of what Brian said to Michael. I just heard him yelling. I stayed in the bathroom till he stopped to give him some privacy.

When I came out he looked so shocked. Like he’d just murdered someone and couldn’t believe he’d done it. That’s the worst thing about any fight he has with Michael, it just kills him afterwards.

I sat down and put my arms around him and he really started to shake. I thought for a moment he was crying. Then suddenly he stood up and moved away, away from me, and it hurt. It literally physically hurt somewhere in my chest. Because it brought back so many bad memories. All the times that something bad would happen, something would upset him, and rather than let me share it, or hell! even let me see it, he’d walk away. Usually to Mikey. Or to the Baths or the backroom or …

I was telling myself that it didn’t matter. That even if he did that, things were different now. That this time round I was not going to take it personally. That I could …

Then he stopped.

He turned and smiled at me; and suddenly the pain gone. There was just this warm glow inside me instead.

Because this time he hadn’t walked away or shut himself off. He’d somehow hung in there with me, for me. And damn! that felt good.

What he said later, in the bathroom, just before he gave me that totally mind-blowing blow job, that was the nearest thing to a commitment that I ever expect to hear from Brian Kinney. But somehow it was the earlier moment, when he could have walked away and didn’t, that’s the moment that meant more to me, the one I want to remember. I guess I finally have learned that it’s actions that count, especially where Brian is concerned. Words are just optional extras.

Anyway, after he rocks my world I leave him to finish his shower and get the coffee on and I go down to get something to eat and the paper. We both want to know what the Senator meant.

Of course, with all the stuff I have to carry, the bagels, and the muffins for Brian (I'm hoping he’ll eat two, and if he doesn’t I can always freeze one), and the milk for his coffee, and some more guava juice and the paper, I don’t get much of a chance to check it out before I get back to the loft.

So we spread it out on the floor - one thing about no furniture is that there’s lots of room - and can’t find a thing that might have been what the Senator meant.

I leave him to go through the jobs pages, and turn on the little portable TV that I used to have in my room at home. Mom unearthed it from some storage bin somewhere. You’d think she’d have gotten rid of it by now, but she’s as bad as Debbie about hoarding things.

Anyway, I'm just channel flipping to see if there's anything interesting on when I hear Stockwell’s name mentioned. I click back onto the channel, and there he is, leaving Police Headquarters and hustling into a car, dodging cameras and reporters as he goes.

And the tickertape across the bottom of the screen reads …

Shit! Brian!


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