Six-thirty had come and gone. Brian was still hovering in the lobby. He had expected to see a note from Justin as soon as he got there, but other than the usual mail from the current time/dimension, there was nothing. Unwilling to wait any longer, he quickly penned a note to the boy and watched as it disappeared from view as soon as the 'outgoing mail' flag had been raised. But, no response materialized.
After waiting fifteen minutes, Brian again jotted a quick note to Justin and again watched as it vanished from the box. Waiting an even longer time for a reply this time, Brian started to get a little concerned. 'Where is he,' he worried. 'He's the one who said 'same time tomorrow? He should be here. . . .' . Brian paced, he leaned against the wall, he tapped his foot impatiently, he replied offhandedly to the other residents as they came through the lobby on various personal errands and muttered their 'hello's. Still nothing.
It was now more than an hour past their usual meeting time. Brian was not only worried, he was also starting to get pissed. He had been actually looking forward to hearing from Justin this evening. After receiving the portraits from the boy this morning, he'd been unable to get the picture of that beautiful body and captivating face out of his thoughts for even the briefest of times. He had somehow managed to muddle through his pitch this morning - he honestly couldn't remember how he'd done it, though. He'd sat through three or four meetings with staff throughout the afternoon, but couldn't tell you what they had been about. He'd even had to take several personal 'time-outs' in his private bathroom to take care of the reoccurring effects caused by the visions now implanted in his head by the sight of those two self portraits. Gawd he wanted that boy! He didn't know how he was going to get him, considering they were separated by two years of time, but Brian was determined to find a way. And in the meantime, if he couldn't have the boy in the flesh, he at least wanted to have what they already had shared - the contact via mail was better than nothing.
He eventually admitted that he probably wouldn't be hearing from Justin tonight after all. With disappointment evident in the lines of his slumped shoulders and the frown on his luscious lips, he finally gave up and headed for the loft.
Brian opened the door, sliding it back along the overhead track, and dropped his briefcase onto the chair at his desk, then proceeded to empty his pockets as per his usual routine. It was a Monday night, which was one of the only nights of the week when he regularly stayed home, so he did what he would normally do on such a night - he grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed towards the bathroom for a shower. Emerging twenty minutes later, showered and dressed in more casual attire, he sorted through the delivery menus on the counter, and settled in the end for Thai (again). But, after calling in his order (the usual; sesame beef and Tom Kha Gai, aka thai chicken soup with veggies), he still felt unable to settle down.
He wandered restlessly around the loft without any real purpose. He was jumpy - when the buzzer sounded announcing the arrival of his dinner he literally jumped a few inches off the floor in surprise. He paid the delivery guy for his food, giving him a carelessly large tip, but found he wasn't really hungry so he just put the boxes in the fridge for later. Deciding that beer was apparently not cutting it that night, he decided to switch to Beam thinking that a slug or two might calm him down more rapidly. Four shots later, though, it still hadn't had the desired effect and Brian was getting even more antsy. 'Something is wrong,' Brian sensed, but had no idea what.
As he paced, wandered and roamed, Brian's mind kept drifting back to the drawings safely locked away in his briefcase. He'd looked at those pictures so many times already today he had them practically memorized. In his mind he traced the lines of the younger man's cheek, his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, his lips. As he recreated the drawings line by line in his imagination, Brian finally felt himself calm a little. He still felt restless, but not quite so unsettled or panicky. Realizing that he was finally relaxing a little, Brian willingly continued with his self-directed therapy. He moved on from Justin's lips to his eyes, limning each in his mind's eye, lash by luscious lash. Finally, settling into the couch and closing his eyes tightly, he imagined himself kissing those beautiful, expressive eyes and those soft, tender lips until his nerves seemed to slow their overexcited firing, allowing him to calm down even further.
Then, giving in to the temptation, he allowed himself to move on to the other portrait and the erotic lines of Justin's lower body. He could see the lines of the man's slim hips and pictured running his fingertips over the pliant yet firm skin. He would then allow his hands to drift upwards to graze over the taut belly and around the belly button. His mouth, desiring to be included in the fun, would join his wandering fingers, softly trailing over every plane of the boy's hips, belly, and down the strong, supple thighs. Then, while massaging those well toned thighs, he thought about how he would gently extend his tongue towards the focus of his desire and lick that glistening drop of pre-cum off the tip of Justin's hard, proud shaft.
A small slice of reality somehow penetrated Brian's overheated brain at this juncture. He realized that his jeans had become unbuttoned, seemingly of their own volition, and he was touching himself as his fantasies swirled through his mind. He was aroused, yes, but also somehow felt comforted and at the same time protective? He had no words to describe his confused emotions. The worried and restless feelings from earlier in the evening were fast ebbing, though. Breathing in deeply, he grabbed his erect member more firmly, increasing the pace of his motions, and with the image of Justin in the forefront of his mind, he finally reached a full, mind-numbing orgasm.
Once his breathing had returned to normal, Brian headed to the kitchen to grab a towel. He saw that, according to the clock over the stove in the kitchen, it was almost 10:30 pm already. Still not sleepy, he found himself veering towards his desk. He thought briefly about working for an hour or two, but quickly realized that he would never be able to work around the still prominent images of Justin which continued to dominate all his other thoughts. Inspired though, he sat down and pulled a stack of stationary out of the desk drawer and began to write.
I hope you are alright - when you didn't show up tonight at our usual time, I was a little concerned. I've been wanting to thank you all day for the amazing self portraits you left for me this morning. Obviously, your talent is only exceeded by your physical perfection. Does that sound as corny when you read it as it did while I wrote it? See what you've done to me with those damn drawings - I've been useless all day. But, in a positive, life-affirming way, of course.
Your artwork really is fantastic though. I work in advertising, and while I don't have much artistic talent myself, I work with enough artists on a day-to-day basis that I can honestly say I know great art when I see it. I could really use someone like you at my company, in fact. Today alone, I spent over an hour trying to knock my ideas for a new campaign through the incredibly thick heads of two of my art department staff . . .
When Brian finally looked up from his writing, he realized it was well after midnight and he had filled a half dozen sheets of stationary with his scrawled ramblings. He purposefully chose not to read over what he had written - vaguely recalling a stream of possibly lesbionic sentiments that had escaped his psyche onto the paper and not wanting to be reminded of or acknowledge any of them. Instead, he folded the stack and inserted the whole thing into an envelope as fast as possible, sealing the same with a quick swipe of his tongue along the pre-glued edge. To further alleviate the temptation to take back all he had written, he decided to immediately deposit the letter in the mailbox and took off at a run for the stairs down to the lobby before he could change his mind.