BRIAN’S POV

How do you call your lover boy?
”Come here, lover boy”
And if he doesn't answer
”Oh, lover boy”
And if he still doesn't answer?

1:11 am

The sheets are barely on the bed, and Justin’s not in it. His pillow’s gone too. I follow the light to find him on the sofa in the outer room, sound asleep, the television muted, the remote control lodged underneath him. I contemplate picking him up and carrying him back to bed but decide I ought to have a semblance of a bed to put him in first. Our bedroom is dark. I open the curtains a little, the light from the street enough to re-sheet with. I’m doing a shitty job, wondering why he got up in the first place, why I didn’t notice. Too preoccupied to make a bed. Pathetic. Fuck it. It’s good enough.

My second trip to the outer room finds him the same way. The infomercial running is pushing a pointless piece of workout equipment, but the model is fucking hot. Most nights I can’t sleep he’d be excellent company for my right hand. Tonight I was sleeping just fine until I woke up without Justin. Something I need to get used to. The advertisement switches to the female portion of the workout as I’m walking to the television to turn it off. The room darkens instantly. My eyes adjust.

“Don’t turn that off.” He’s awake, kind of. I find my way back to the sofa, trying not to bump into anything. I lean over him, pulling the remote out from his crossed arms. I can see him rubbing his eyes in the darkness. He pulls his feet back under the blanket he’s wrapped himself in.

“Hey,” my hand on his shoulder. “I was coming to get you, to bring you back to bed.”

“I’m not coming back to bed. I’m sleeping out here.” He snuggles back down into his pillow. “Put the t.v. back on please or give me the remote.” Justin drowns his sorrows in late night t.v. like I drown mine in booze and illegal substances. I’ve seen him like this before.

“What’s wrong?” I sit on the adjacent sofa, no room for me on the one he’s on.

“Nothing. I’m drowning you out. Go back to bed.” I don’t say anything. Silence as we both just sit here in the darkness. “Well, if you’re just going to sit there, you can get me something to drink.” Fine with me. I’m thirsty too. I open the mini-fridge and grab a bottle of water for me and orange juice for him. I’m not giving him Coke in the middle of the night. I can’t believe I’m even having these thoughts, like he’s Gus or something. “By the way, I’m hungry too.” I grab him a candy bar. Whatever makes him happy.

“Here.”

“Orange juice and a ‘$100,000’ bar?” Truth in advertising. Everything in that mini-bar is probably costing me close to it. What does he care anyway? He’ll eat anything. Just like Mikey on that Life commercial. I start laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“You.”

“What?”

“My best friend is named ‘Mikey,’ and you’re just like that kid ‘Mikey’ in those old Life cereal commercials. ‘Give it to ‘Mikey,’ he’ll eat anything.’” He flips me off in the darkness. “What’s up your ass?” I wonder if there’s Midol in that mini-bar.

“You.” I swear he’s already finished that candy bar. I’m not giving him another one. “You kept telling me to ‘shut the fuck up’ and then you almost hit me. I got tired of it, decided to sleep out here.” Shit. “And then, once I came out here, you just kept right on talking Brian. That’s why I turned on the t.v., I was drowning you out.”

I’ve finished my water. “Well, wake me up next time.”

“I tried to wake you up Brian. That’s when you almost hit me. You’re fucking dangerous to sleep with, and not for the reason that people think.”

What the fuck does that mean? Whatever. “All right, come back to bed. If I start to talk, just hit me really hard or something. I don’t want you to sleep out here.”

“Oh that’s good, Brian. Let’s solve a violent problem with more violence. That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” Dumber than walking around in matching pink tank tops with pepper spray picking on straight people? Uh huh.

“Okay. Then you go back to bed, and I’ll sleep out here. You need to sleep. You’re the one going to the west coast, not me. You’ll be the grumpy little Assistant Art Director if you don’t get some shut-eye.” I hop up from the sofa, scoop him up and carry him back to the bedroom, depositing him into our bed. His naked, little, blanketed body much warmer than mine. I tuck him in, leaning down to kiss him goodnight, his face surprised by the sudden change of scenery. “Sleep tight, Sunshine.” He calls out to me as I’m walking away.

“Brian, here.” He hands me the blanket he had on the sofa, pulling it out from under the covers. I take it from him. “You’ll be cold.”

“Thanks.” I make my way to the sofa, flipping on the t.v., a new infomercial starting—the newest innovation in hair restoration. I turn it back off. I’ve got a while before I have to worry about that shit. This blanket smells like him. I’m keeping it.

*********************
If I couldn't sleep could you sleep
Could you paint me better off

2:31 am

“Can I come sit in your lap?” The scent of my cigarette must have awakened him.

“I thought you were asleep.” I came back in here to find my cigarettes and decided to stay, this chair by the window as comfortable as that sofa. The traffic lights are hypnotic after you stare at them for a while: green, yellow, red, green, yellow, red--the few in this city with correct timing, my mind a thousand miles away, make that a little under twenty five hundred.

“I’ve been awake for awhile.” He readjusts his pillow. “I’ve just been lying here….watching you.”

“You need to sleep. The time difference and everything.”

“I can’t.” He gets out of bed and walks over to me, finishing my cigarette. I offer him the blanket covering my legs. He wraps himself in it, sitting sideways in my lap, leaning against me, looking out the window. He warms me. “What were you writing? I saw you writing in my sketchpad.”

“Some stuff I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t have any other paper.” That’s not true, but it’s passable.

“Hand it to me.” I reach down beside the chair and hand him his sketchpad. He flips to the back page where I was writing. He was watching me. He reads what I wrote. “What does this mean? What is this?”

“It’s information, names and numbers.”

“For what?”

“For you.” I look down at the page for the first time since I wrote the information twenty or so minutes ago. I guess this is as good a time as any. “You need to keep this with you when you get there. When we got here today, the guy who parked the car for us, you remember him?”

“The guy by the curb?” He looks at me.

“Yeah. His name is John Westheim. He’s worked here for years. He’s a childhood friend of mine, grew up on the same street, knew him before I knew Mikey.” He smiles, cautiously. I point to the first set of numbers on the page. “This guy here, Matthew Westheim, is his brother.”

“This guy is that guy's brother?”

“Right. He lives in Burbank, close to the studio where you’ll be working. This is his home number, his work number, and his cell. There’s his address too. His wife’s name is Valerie or Vera, or something. I can’t remember. I was at their wedding, so was Lindsay. She knows them too. It was a long time ago, right after we got out of college. Matt works for a telecommunications company, I think, something high-tech. Anyway, he knows you’re coming out there, and you can use his name for an emergency contact, so you’ll have somebody out there, somebody close by that I trust, to look after you—if you need it. Not that you’ll need it, but if you do.” I stop for a minute to make sure he’s listening to me. “Once you get out there, after a week or so, give him a call. They offered to have you come over for dinner. It’s not a bad idea. He’s got three kids, a huge house. It’ll be good for you to know who they are, just in case.” He nods.

“Okay. I’ll do it, Brian.” He shifts in my lap. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“These other numbers…..one of them is one of my credit cards, it’s reversed, just in case you have an emergency before you get your own money coming in.”

“I have enough money, and Brett is going to help me get settled. I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be fine. I know you will, Justin, but I want you to listen to me.” I close the sketchpad, lay it on the windowsill, pulling him to me, my gaze mostly on the world outside our window right now--the world where he’ll be. “I want you to be careful out there. It’s going to be a lot different than what you’re used to. The stakes are going to be a lot higher. You’re adding money, fame, and influence into an already potent mix. You need to pay attention to what’s going on around you, who you’re with, what they’re doing. Keep your wits about you, keep your head clear so you can make good decisions, so you don’t get led around by the nose. You’re young, hot, and talented—easy prey for a lot of people who won’t give a shit about what happens to you.”

“I’m not going to let anybody take advantage of me. I’ve been around you for four years. I’ve picked up a few things.”

“I know you have, and if you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be so confident that you’re going to be fine out there—more than fine. You’re smart as hell Justin, and I’m proud of you. You deserve this.” I hope I look happy. I want to be.

“I deserve you.” He plays with my hand lying on his leg.

“Nobody deserves me.” Seriously.

“I’m not going to let anybody fuck me Brian, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t, not even here.” I shake my head. That’s the least of my worries.

“You don’t need to promise me that. It’s not realistic. We can talk about it when you get back.”

“But you said—“

“I know what I said, and I meant it. I want you all to myself, but we should do that when we can set boundaries we’re both comfortable with and can live by. But for what it’s worth, no, I don’t want anyone else touching you, not while I’m watching anyway. I don’t want to parade your naked ass around in the backroom of Babylon anymore. If those boys want to see your beautiful naked body, then they can put you through school, buy you three squares a day, watch annoying television shows with you, clothe the mother fucking shit out of you, eat your chicken casserole surprise, and listen to all of your endless stories. They can work for it like I do. I’m not showing them my most prized possession for free anymore.”

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me Brian.” He smiles at me, bats his eyelashes. I pinch his bottom.

“Well then write it down.” I hand him back his sketchpad. He knocks it out of my hand and kisses me instead. I hope he’s not gonna ask me to remember what I said because I can’t remember anything when he kisses me like that. “You’re making me hard.”

“You can fuck me if you want.” The thought had crossed my mind.

“I’m afraid to. If I fuck you anymore tonight, you’re going to come down with a killer case of ‘Bottom Boy Burnout’. I don’t know how to cure that.”

“Six to eight months in Hollywood.” Out of the mouths of babes.

“No shit.”

*********************
Wise men say
Only fools rush in

“I want you to do something for me. Something that’s almost as erotic to me as fucking you.” Almost but not quite. “And it’ll save your ass for at least a little while longer.” He starts to get off my lap. “I’m not asking you to blow me.” He cracks me up sometimes.

“What?”

“I want you to draw something for me.” I hand him his sketchpad, flipping to a blank page, and a pencil. The one I was writing with, the one that was laying on the window sill.

“What do you want me to draw?”

“That.” I point out the window. “Just draw what you see out the window.”

He laughs. “You want me to draw the parking deck. That’s really difficult Brian, not to mention aesthetically pleasing.” He turns his sketchpad horizontally in his lap.

“You know how you always tell me that when I’m in the backroom, it’s not who I’m fucking, it’s that I’m fucking?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, sometimes I think it’s the same for you. Sometimes I think you just need to draw. Doesn’t matter what you’re drawing. Just draw. Sometimes I just like to watch you.”

“Okay. But just for the record, I think you’re being really weird. You’ve never wanted to watch me draw something instead of fucking me.”

“You don’t get sore from drawing.”

“Actually, I do. Just in a different place.” I laugh. He relaxes in the chair, leaning back against me again, and I watch him looking out the window at the Fairmont’s hideous monstrosity of a parking structure outside our bedroom window. He starts to sketch, and I feel myself relax with him, the only sounds I hear are our breathing and the brush of his pencil against the paper. Every once in a while his right hand shakes, and he stops, smiling at me the first couple of times. I smile back. I’m used to watching him struggle with that. My right hand covers his the third time when the shaking gets too much. I assume that he’s just going to stop drawing, but he doesn’t. He switches hands. Our right hands stay wrapped together, holding the sketchpad.

“How long have you been able to switch like that, so easily?”

“Couple of months now. I had to. I used to just use my left hand to hold my right hand still.”

“Right. I remember. At the computer. I’ve seen you do that.”

“Well, I did that so much that my left hand was able to hold the stylus really well after a while. I mean, one day, I was like, this is stupid. I just switched the stylus to my other hand and gave it a shot. It took me almost a week to gain decent control, but then I could switch pretty well. Think about it, I had to re-learn my fine-motor skills in my right hand anyway. It wasn’t that hard.”

“Not for someone as stubborn and determined as you.” He switches again, when he’s trying to do something with minute detail. It’s pretty cool to watch actually. The picture is taking shape. I hold the pad for him now. We have a side view of the parking deck from our window, just below the top level. Justin’s picture is a perspective view, inside the last covered layer, a few cars, a few empty parking spaces, columns, shadows. I think he’s almost finished. He’s shading the letters “Level Five.”

“So, do you want this picture, Brian? A souvenir from the Fairmont?” He’s filling in the elevator inside the deck. I hadn’t even noticed that. And the stairwell now. He notices everything.

“I want to ask you something about it.” His rendition of the winding path the cars take through the deck is almost spooky. The arrows feel like they are pointing to a place you don’t want to go.

“Ask me what?” He shades an “EXIT” sign, my hand lying on the picture.

It’s a risk, but it’s just a picture. “I want you to tell me what’s so scary about this.”

“About what?” He moves my hand. The picture looks done to me; he continues to work on it. I take the pencil from him, a hundred percent sure I’ll regret this.

“About this picture. Tell me what scares you about this.” He looks at me, studies my face for a minute.

“Can I have the pencil back?” I hand it back it to him. The next several minutes pass between us like a scene in a David Lynch movie. One of those scenes where the characters are pretending that everything is fine, but the audience knows otherwise. The picture morphs, slowly, right in front of my face. I don’t say a word as the columns holding the upper floor fill with cracks and the exits are erased. “You didn’t have to do all this for me Brian, you know. I don’t need all this.” His voice is deeper now.

The elevators and arrows go nowhere, the few cars littering the level are destroyed by his pencil and eraser, one by one. “I wanted to do it.” I want to do more. I need to do more.

The roof is caving in.

He speaks, “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything, but all of this is kind of overwhelming, doing everything for me like this, all at once. I kind of wanted to be at the loft tonight. I wanted my last few times with you to be there, so I could remember them there.” He stops talking for a second, concentrates on the picture. “It just feels weird to be here, that’s all.” He cracks the light fixtures suspended from the concrete ceiling. Each and every one.

“I guess I just need all this.” I hope he can understand this. “There’s a part of me, Justin, that just needs to give you everything that I feel like I stole from you.” I steal a look at his eyes to see if he is getting this. He’s a complete poker face. “I guess I’m just trying to give you instant memories or something.” That’s sounds so fucking idiotic when I say it out loud.

Something evil has broken through the floor of Level Five. No one is getting out of there alive. “Memories don’t work like that Brian. Trust me. I know.” His pencil stops punishing the paper. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Listen to me, Justin,” I take his pencil away, my hand firm around his. “That’s not going to happen to you. You’re not going to be trapped like that. No one is ever going to hurt you like that again. I promise.” He looks at me, his eyes dilated, still.

“You can’t promise me that. If I’d told you that I was worried about someone hitting me in the head with a bat, you’d have told me that would’ve never happened either.” He’s right. I would have. “Besides, I know that, logically. It still doesn’t make a difference.”

“That’s why you need to get some help. It’s post-traum--.”

“I know what the fuck it is Brian. I’m not stupid.” He looks down at the picture again.

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you were the victim of a viscous, homophobic asshole and my selfishness. I fucked up Justin. I made a mistake. I don’t want you to make one too. I want you to get some help for this once you get settled out there. I don’t want this to get any harder for you to handle or to interfere with your life any longer. Don’t worry your mother or me sick over this, please.”

“My mother?”

“Yeah. Your mother. She’s worried about you, too. She knows you skip your appointments at the hospital. She just doesn’t know why. I do. Daphne told me, by accident. Don’t go off on her.” He gets quiet. Too quiet. He looks awful, like he’s going to be sick. “Are you okay?”

“Why did you say you made a mistake? What do you mean?” I hurt his feelings, or he’s trying to change the subject. I can’t tell.

“What I mean is that I should have never come to your prom that night, Justin.” He’s looking at me like I just broke his heart or maybe he’s going to throw up on me. “Hear me out before you get upset, please. Okay?” He nods. He’s trying. “I probably came for the wrong reason. Because I was feeling sorry for myself—feeling old, like I had something to prove. Looking back on it now, it was fucking stupid.” He doesn’t trust me. “But when I got there, and I saw you, I felt completely different. Because then, it was just me and you. It wasn’t about feeling old or proving anything to anybody, it was just about being with you. And you looked so beautiful, and I didn’t think about anything else after that but you. Until, it happened.”

“But you’re sorry now. Sorry that you went.” I’ve really hurt him. Shit. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know how to think, apparently.

“Listen to me. Are you listening?” He is. That was a dumb question. “If the situation were reversed, if this wasn’t you we were talking about, but Gus, and some guy made a spectacle out of him like that, and he walked out with that guy and was bashed right afterwards……..think about it. I’d fucking kill him Justin. I just see both sides of it now. It doesn’t mean that every single second that I was there with you wasn’t incredible because it was. It just means that I should have been more of a man then and had that moment with you somewhere else, somewhere where you would have been safe.”

“You mean like where we had it tonight, in a dark, empty ballroom dancing to a band that wasn’t even playing for us?” Shit head.

“Okay, that wasn’t planned okay. That was spur of the moment. The rest of your evening was pretty damn spectacular.” He cracks a smile.

“Yeah, it was. You were right. You suck at romance. You should stick to seduction.” My sentiments exactly. He’s a lot more bothered by this than I thought he would be. He’s looking out the window, a blank stare on his face.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings Justin.” It’s just one of my many talents.

“You didn’t.” Bullshit. I shouldn’t have ever wandered into this water. It’s too deep for me. But it’s where he is, and I can’t leave him out here alone.

“I did something wrong. I can tell.” No response. “Okay, look, you’re tired. Why don’t you go back to bed?” I reach up and close the curtain. I don’t want him looking out there anymore. He pushes off my lap, going into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. I’m relieved when I hear him flush, hear his hand on the door knob. He climbs back into bed, right next to where I’m sitting now, waiting for him. I cover him up.

*********************
I think I’ve already lost you
I think you’re already gone

“If you need me, I’ll be on the sofa.” I doubt I’ll be able to sleep. I walk back over to the chair, retrieving the blanket.

“No.” I turn back in time to see him turn away from me, to face the direction he always faces when we go to sleep. I’m not going to argue with him. I’m just going to shut up. I get back into bed beside him, grateful for the warmth. He reaches behind him for my hand. He presses it flat on the mattress in front of him, tracing it with his index finger. “Do I know how to tie a bow tie?”

“Huh?” I can barely hear him.

“A bow tie. Do I know how to tie a bow tie? Did I know how before--?” No, he can’t, couldn’t. I haven’t thought about that since that night.

“No. You don’t. Why are you asking me that?”

“I’m not sure why. I feel like I remembered something today, but it’s all mixed up. I can’t figure it out. It doesn’t make any sense. Maybe I’m making it up.”

“You can tell me if you want. I’ll try to help you.” If it’s not horrible. If it’s worth remembering.

“That’s what I don’t understand. It’s not about you. It’s about Emmett, sort of, and then part of it feels like it’s about you.”

“Just tell me whatever you want. What about Emmett?” Emmett. He swallows. “Do you want me to get you some water?”

“No. Today when Emmett came in here with me to help me with my new suit, I felt like I’d done it before. Like he and I had done this before.”

“Okay.”

“And then he was tying my tie, you know before we decided that I didn’t need a tie with this shirt—“

“Right.”

“And he’s done that before. Tied my tie. Hasn’t he?” Emmett. At Debbie’s.

“Um, I think he was the one who helped you get ready for the prom. He probably did. We can call him if you want. We can ask him.” I’ll wake his ass up right now.

“I think I got ready at Debbie’s, that a lot of people saw me in my tux before I picked Daphne up, my black tux and my burgundy bow tie.” His tie wasn’t burgundy. Mine was.

“Right. Okay.”

“Were you there?”

“No, I wasn’t there.”

“But you said you knew I didn’t know how to tie a bow tie. Why do I remember you if you weren’t there?” He turns around in my arms, looking at me.

“I think we should talk about this tomorrow. You know, after we talk to Emmett.” In the daylight. In closer proximity to doctors or drugs or mothers or something.

“Whatever it is Brian, it’s coming out now. I’d rather talk about it, like this, with you, than have it hit me when you’re not around. Please.” That shrink, that guy I knew from the baths, the one that helped me that time. I wonder if I still have his number somewhere. Christ.

“All right, but when we’re done, don’t zone out on me. This isn’t easy for me either. I haven’t thought about this since that night Justin.”

“Okay.”

“I mean you just freaked me the fuck out with that picture.”

“Okay. Just tell me Brian.” This is a bad idea.

“I’m not sure, but I think I’m probably in that memory because when we were entering the parking garage, you realized that your tie was undone. Mine was too. I didn’t care because I wasn’t going back in. I teased you about not being able to tie it yourself, offered to do it for you, and you decided to leave it the way it was. I told you it looked hot that way or something. It bothered me because I thought that people would notice that about you the minute you walked back in—that you had my scarf around your neck, that your tie was undone. I no sooner thought that, and then I saw him--.” Fuck. “Seems like a pretty stupid thing to have worried about in retrospect. You probably have it mixed up in your head because Em and I were both trying to fix your tie that night, just at different times in the timeline. Does that make sense?” Please let that make sense.

“Yeah. It fits a little better. It’s weird, though. When I think about Em tying my tie, I feel sad. I feel how I felt when you told me you wouldn’t go with me. I don’t have a lot of other emotions tied to those memories. Most of what I can feel is just the sadness of thinking I wasn’t going with you. That’s why I get so weirded out about it sometimes Brian. It’s like the emotions don’t always fit the picture in my head.” I know that feeling. I call that experience: childhood. Later in life, I called it: fucking. “I’m all right right now, though. I just want to go to sleep. Just stay with me okay? I mean, what’s the worst thing you’re gonna do to me? Smack me upside the head with a bat?”

“Jesus, Justin. That’s not even funny.” His sense of humor is sicker than mine sometimes.

“If you start hitting or kicking me in your sleep again, I’m just gonna stick my dick up your ass.” See what I mean? I’m gonna sleep so well tonight. “I’m just teasing you, Brian. I’m trying out shock therapy on you. If I have to get professional help, you are too.” Like father, like son.

“Who’s paying for it?”

“Who do you think?” He’s already pushing his little ass against me, and he’s not even asleep yet.

“If you try to top me while I’m sleeping, I’ll spank the shit out of you.”

“You wish.”

At this point, I’ll take what I can get.

*********************
JUSTIN’S POV

You never let me cross to the other side now
I'm tied to the hope that you will somehow

Brian Kinney is a classic insomniac and an insensitive jerk with no ability to empathize with other people’s feelings. Hiding your head completely under your pillow and the covers at the same time is the universal symbol for “shut the bathroom light off you prick; I’m trying to sleep.” He’s oblivious as usual. He’s been scrunching and rummaging around in the bathroom for at least two minutes.

Darkness. Finally.

Thank you.

“Phftfft. Don’t just stick something in my mouth Brian without even telling me what it is! God.” Blech. Oh, it’s a Xanax. Now he hands me a glass of water.

“You never complain if I stick something up your ass without warning.” He climbs on top of me after he sits the glass of water on the nightstand. I shake my head at him.

“You didn’t even try to go to sleep. We were laying here for what? Six minutes?”

“Eight.”

“Wow, eight whole minutes. What did you take?”

“Same as you.” Which means same as me plus more. Which means we have about seventeen minutes before he’s pretty fucked up. He would die if he knew that he’s really that predictable. “You weren’t trying to sleep either, Sunshine. You were coming on to me.”

“That is complete bullshit.” I don’t know where he gets this shit. Oh, now he’s got his nose right below my ear.

“Push. Push. Push.”

“Stop it.”

“Push. Push. Push.” Honestly.

“Cut it out.”

“You want me.”

“I’m tired.”

“You know you do.” Yeah, I do.

“I thought you were afraid to fuck me.”

“I’m terrified. Hold me.” Smart ass.

“I can’t resist you when you get like this, Brian.” I can’t ever resist him period.

“You can never resist me.” See? Told you. “You wanna know what I can’t resist about you?”

“Sure.” I reach underneath my head, into my pillowcase, snagging the condom for the occasion. There’s a method to my madness, and there’s no such thing as a fucking Topping Fairy. If I didn’t keep these things close by, he’d be in my ass before I could get to one when he’s like this.

“Don’t do that now.”

“Now is better. Later, you’ll be grouchy.” I rip it open and start rolling it down his cock as he mutters under his breath at me.

“Goddamn mother fucking condoms.” He doesn’t know how many times I’ve stopped him from fucking me raw by accident when he’s fucked up, tired, drunk or all of the above. That is not the Brian Kinney you want to bump into in the middle of the night. It’s just one of those things we don’t talk about. There are so many times I almost went ahead and let him, but he would have gone ballistic on me the next day, so I didn’t. “I fucking hate these fucking things.” Yeah, he took more than Xanax. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you raw.” He’s on me again, running his nose through my hair.

“More than you will ever know, Mr. Kinney. More than you will ever know.”

“I do too. I think about it all the time.” This is why an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. “Every day.”

“Tell me.”

I close my eyes as he slides inside me. He’s so heavy on me. He moans slowly and deeply as he makes love to me, and I'm mostly quiet. I try to keep my breathing calm so I can listen to him. The sound of his voice is soothing, the pitch so low. He’s getting tired.

“Tell you what?” He lost his train of thought. He won’t make it through this fuck if I don’t keep him talking.

“Hmm, tell me what you can’t resist about me.” That was what we were talking about, right? I can’t remember.

He lifts his head up and looks at me. I fix his hair. It’s all over the place. “If I tell you, you have to tell me that I’m not a sick pervert.”

“But you are a sick pervert.” He is, isn’t he?

“Okay, forget it then.” His head falls back on my pillow. He’s doing something really weird to my neck. Feels good. I lean over and whisper in his ear.

“You’re not a sick pervert.” My feet are crossed behind his ass. It doesn’t count.

“I didn’t even tell you yet.” A smart ass mumble into my shoulder.

“I’m giving you immunity for……the rest of this fuck. Say anything you want. You’re free and clear.” He’s so handsome when he smiles.

“Okay. Let me think…………’What I can’t resist about you……..the perverted version.’” There are two versions? He’s clearing his throat. Oh my god. “Promise me you won’t think I’m a pervert.”

“My god, Brian, just tell me.”

“Come a little closer.” He thinks he’s so funny.

“You come a little closer. I’m on the bottom.” He makes this big production out of leaning down in my ear. His breath's so hot. I’m afraid my ear's going to melt off my head.

“The first thing I can’t resist about you is that you’re so tiny, I can just pick you up and take you anywhere I want.” Oh, how flattering, I’m portable. He’s tickling the whole side of my face, and he knows it. “The second thing is that you have this perfect little body that molds into mine. That you’re warm…..and snuggly…that when I lay you on your back to fuck you, you squirm like a little bug because you can’t go anywhere. You’re stuck right where I want you.”

“I love you.” God, I love him.

“You’re like a little love bug.” He’s laughing at himself. No wait, he’s laughing at me.

“It bugs me when you laugh at me.” Now we’re both laughing really hard. I love drugs.

“You’re messing me up. You’re making me forget.”

“That’s not me. That’s drugs.”

“Those are my too favorite things: bugs and drugs.” He kisses me, sort of. It’s sloppy and wonderful. “Stop squirming little bug. I’m trying to kiss you.” I’m not even moving. I roll my eyes.

“Please continue.”

“Right. Ahem. Where was I?” More kissing. His hand is running down my back. “That you have this precious little bottom that I can fuck anytime I want, as much as I want, wherever I want, however I want.” His other hand's running up the back of my head, grabbing my hair, pulling my head back. I swallow. “That you have this beautiful cock that's always hard and wet for me, just like now.” Oh my god. His thumb slicks over the head. That feels so good. I pull his face to mine, shoving my tongue inside his mouth. He tastes like tonight. “I’m not done yet.”

“Hurry up.” Oh my god, hurry up.

“That you have this gorgeous mouth that sucks my cock so masterfully that I forget my name. Mmmm, that you have these full, swollen, pink lips that kiss me until I’m incapacitated.” That he’s kissing, tugging on, sucking on, bruising. “That you’re always tight, and pretty, and moody, and hungry, and blond, and very fucking smart. Are you listening to me?”

“Uh huh. I hear well too.” He grins at me, lowering his grip on my cock, gentle but firm, pumping me slowly in his hand. “But this is not perverted.”

“And that you’re way too young for me.” He tongues my ear. “That when I look at you, and kiss you, and fuck you sometimes, you look just like a little boy to me. Your straight little hips, your smooth little chest, your porcelain skin, sometimes you look just like a china doll.” He’s trailing his fingers up my arm now, my dick abandoned. He’s giving me goose bumps.

“Brian.” His hand's on my face.

“Your deep blue eyes. Your small, seashell ears. Your perfect little chin. You’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. It makes me want to fuck you and read you a story at the same time.” His fingers are on my lips. His eyes look like two dark pennies.

“Is it a dirty story?”

“Unbelievably.”

“If it’s anything like that one you just told me, I’ll take two million copies right now. And you better sign every last one of them.”

“Man, I better get busy. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“You can start by finishing this fuck. You need to put your beautiful boy to bed.”

“I do, don’t I? It’s way past your bedtime.” He cups his hand behind my head, tucking it against his chest as we near the end of tonight’s tale. It’s not a furious fuck, just deliberate--the way we often make love in the middle of the night, when one or both of us has had a long day or just needs to unwind. We come within seconds of each other, and it’s incredible, but not nearly as incredible as just being like this, for me or for him, and we both know it. It’s just another one of the things we don’t talk about. He pulls out quickly, getting rid of the condom and collapses back on top of me. He’s wiped out. Good. I hope he can sleep soundly for a few hours. He needs to. I run my fingers through his hair as he nuzzles my neck.

I whisper in his ear that those things he just said to me meant more to me than anything in my entire life. He reaches up in his hair, stopping my hand, wrapping his fingers around mine.

“I meant every word of it.”

I uncross my feet as I feel him yield to exhaustion on top of me. This is what love feels like.

He’s asleep.