BRIAN'S POV

When are you gonna come down
When are you going to land

the middle of the night….

He’s asleep in my arms, facing me, his arms curled against my chest, the sheen from our shower and the sweat from our fuck long evaporated. The minutes after passed in slow motion for me as the orgasms he ripped out of me like a pull cord on a parachute faded away into reality, the harsh reality of our lives as the ground started rushing closer and closer and closer…


I felt his fingers straighten along my back as I held him, as he clung to me, as I let him relax without letting him go, his lips lodged in the crook of my neck, keeping busy, his voice sweet and soft.

”Tell me. Was I a good boy?”

“Such a good boy. I’m so proud of you.”

I closed my eyes, the grip of his snug little ass and his needful moans bringing my cock back to life.

“Mmm, Justin. Gonna fuck you again.”

His fingers trailed up and down my chest as I switched to a new condom, his vulnerable lust simmering quietly behind his eyes. I watched his expression go from impassioned to satisfied as he rode the warm fullness and the familiar pain that spread through him, the burning stretch in his thighs, and the weight of my body on top of him. His body was soon lazy underneath me, tired.

“You okay? Am I hurting you?”

“Yes.”

And then he kissed me. The rest of his answer. When I came, the louder I got, the tighter he held me. He knew I didn’t want it to be over. It couldn’t be.

When he came, I convinced myself that he was screaming just like I was, but he wasn’t. Not at all. He wasn’t plummeting toward the ground like me; he was floating, peacefully above the clouds. His voice was a hushed whisper.

”Just stay with me, Brian. Stay right here with me.”

“I am. I’m not going anywhere.”

**************************
getting down
so deep I could’ve drowned


And I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because he was floating and I was flooded with every emotion I’d ever let myself have for him for the last four years. I never knew you could fall toward the earth at a million miles an hour and drown at the bottom of the ocean at the same time.

You can.

I was underwater when it all came to me. That I fell in love with him in bits and pieces. That there wasn’t one moment when I knew. It was just like this, like drowning, a ridiculously slow, wrenching process. Painful, not because it had to be, but because for some reason, I needed it to be. You should find another tactic. Somehow I knew that if I made it to the other side, to the euphoric feeling that swarms you right before the darkness comes, and he was still with me that all of this pain would be worth it. Because I knew from the very first time I made love to him that something was different. I’m onto you. Because it wasn’t about him pleasing me, it was about me pleasing him. My hands wandered all over him when I fucked him, but my focus wouldn’t. For the first time, it stayed put. And then feeling him, hearing him, seeing him dissolve in my arms like he is right now, made every drug I’ve ever taken a colossal waste of time.

And when I surfaced from this underwater revelation, he was quiet, moaning softly when I brushed his damp hair off of his forehead, when I gently pulled out of him, when I sorted out the twisted sheets we were wound in and covered us, pulling him to me, his face warm against my chest. He was out within minutes, his occasional sigh a reminder of the intense pleasure making both of us drunk with sleep.


His hair is flying up and tickling my nose now every time I breathe. Ordinarily that would drive me crazy, but not tonight. Not when the way he smells—the shampoo I used on him, the scent of his body after we fuck, and the way these sheets soaked with our sweat and our come are making the best goddamn cocoon I’ve ever found for the next few hours. I know this cocoon. I’ve slept in it for four years and like any cocoon it’s spurred a metamorphosis.

I think. I hope.

I pray.

************************

Try to take a tiger from his daddy's side

The only real way to fight insomnia is to thumb your nose at it. To convince it that you’re above it, that you don’t need sleep anymore. Turn your back on the monster and it will walk away—defeated. That must be what happened tonight. That must be why I finally slept like a rock. Why for once I didn’t wake up to find him sleeping somewhere else. Tonight it went on and on and on. It was happening to me, and I was watching it happen to me, and then, finally, everything changed. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but somehow it did.

”So, Mr. Kinney, we’re going to use some of these images you see here to familiarize the customer with your product, to give them a sense of what it’s about.”

Mr. ShutTheFuckUp’s in rare form today. I can’t see his face, just like always, but he’s giving it everything he’s got. He came prepared today.

I look at my watch. Justin’s late again. But then, no, he walks in the door—smiling, beautiful, and tan. He’s not even beside me yet, and I can smell him. Suntan lotion, California. Wearing the suit I gave him and my necktie. Mr. ShutTheFuckUp is smiling.

He’s proud of him.

“Mr. Taylor.”

“Gentlemen. I apologize. My plane was delayed.”

“Not a problem, sir.”

He sits down beside me, puts his briefcase next to him on the floor. It’s exactly like mine. Exactly. Wait, it is mine. Has my initials on it. He takes my hand and squeezes it and then starts whispering to me. His hands are so hot, like sand on a beach in July at two o’clock in the afternoon.

I almost pull away. But I don’t. He starts talking to me.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You look nice.” I haven’t seen him since he left me tomorrow. That makes no sense.

“I wanted to look pretty for you.” Why's he wearing his sunglasses?

“Take those off. We’re inside.” He just smiles, tries to placate me.

“This meeting’s almost over, Brian.” It is?

Justin’s right. Mr. ShutTheFuckUp’s handing me papers and a pen.

“Just sign here, Mr. Kinney, and we have a deal.”

We do? What deal? Everyone’s smiling at me.

What the fuck? Justin’s staring off into space. Can’t get his attention. I sign the papers. As soon as I do, Justin looks at me again. Like it brought him back to earth or something. He’s standing up, sitting a frosty bottle of champagne on the conference table with a loud thud.

Where the fuck did that come from?

“Gentlemen, I think this calls for a celebration!”

Is this how they do things in L.A.? Justin doesn’t know how to pop a cork like that. He sucks the overflow into his mouth like it’s my come. Jesus.

“Justin? What the fuck?”

Then I notice. Then I see. He’s morphed again. He’s not wearing anything but his white dress shirt, partially unbuttoned, and his necktie, inside his collar, just like last night in the hotel room. That’s it. And his sunglasses. Nice touch. I’m mortified. He’s not. And his voice has changed. He’s coming on to me.

“Come here, Brian.” Pulling my jacket. Trying to wedge himself between me and the table. “You smell good.” He’s not tan anymore.

“Justin, we can’t do this right now.” He doesn’t smell like California anymore. He smells like he always does—right after we fuck.

“Sure, we can.” He’s trying to loosen my tie. Have to pry his fingers off of it.

“No. We’re in a meeting. See? All these people? You need to put some pants on.” He turns around and glances at them, gives them a quick smile.

“No pants in your kingdom, remember?” He winks at me. “Besides, they don’t mind. And I know you don’t.” Hops up on the conference table and pulls me between his legs, lowers his lashes, runs his fingers up and down my shirt. I try to reason with him.

“No, I don’t, but not like this. Get down and get dressed.” I feel like I’m talking to a child. I don’t like it.

“I don’t want to get down and get dressed. I want you.” He lies back on the table, bending one knee up, my necktie firmly in his grasp. I fall on top of him. No choice. “Now. Fuck me, Brian.” Grabs the back of my head and kisses me hard, pushing his tongue into my mouth.

And I do want him, god, I want him, but I know better. Thank god, I know better. I hope that no one can hear because I know I don’t sound very nice.

I’m so fucking angry.

“Get the fuck off of this table, Justin. Go find your fucking clothes and put them on. You’re pissing me off.”

I make him sit up and get off the table. He won’t look at me until his hand is on the doorknob. Then he turns around. Sunglasses gone. Tears in his blue eyes. Hurt. Heartbroken. Always. Because of me.

“I’ll see you in your dreams, Brian. And this—this is a really old movie.”

Huh?

He opens the door right then and that cold blast of air hits me like it always does.

No.

I panic and try to stop him, but he’s gone by the time I get to the door. Everything’s gone—him, the doorknob, the door, everything, but me. I’m still here.

Me and Mr. ShutTheFuckUp, who apparently, can’t.

“Was he a good boy for you, too?”

“What?”

I’m running my eyes and my hands over and over the walls. The door has to be here somewhere. Doors just don’t disappear. But this one did. It’s gone—for good.

“You heard me. Was he a good boy for you, too?”

Mr. ShutTheFuckUp reveals himself finally. Justin was right all along. It was his father.

The deal I just made was with Craig Taylor. I think I’m going to throw up.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Because he was always a good boy for me, until he met you, that is. Until you took that away from me.” He’s coming toward me—with a bat. A bloody bat. I can’t back up any farther. I’m flat against the wall.

“He is a good boy—a good man. Get away from me.” Get the fuck away from me. I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to find Justin.

“Well, I wouldn’t know. Would I? I don’t know my own son. Sit the fuck down.” Threatens me back into my chair. “Seems to me like Hobbes hit the wrong guy. Don’t you think?”

I’ve always thought the same thing. Might as well admit it.

“Yes.”

“Speak up. I can’t hear you, you goddamn cocksucker.” His eyes look like they're on fire. He’s going to kill me. I can’t let him kill me.

Justin’s out there all by himself.

In the freezing cold.

Because of me.

“I said, ‘yes.’”

The room’s getting darker. I can see the other people who’re in here. Bible beaters. Party Bitch. Waitress. My mother. Passing out bibles. Telling everyone to pray.

Oh god. This is it. This is the end. It’s over. I start to shake. The grain in the wood of the bat is stained with Justin’s blood. So close to my face. Craig’s knuckles are almost white. He smells like Old Spice. He smells like my father. Feel the acid from my stomach burning the back of my throat.

“You’re going to listen to me you son of a bitch.”

“I am listening.”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear another goddamn word come out of your cock sucking mouth ever again.”

I’m afraid.

that Justin is all alone out there—that I won’t get to him in time—again

that I’m going to cry. I don’t want my father to see me cry.

My father.

Craig smokes. I can see the tar in his teeth. I can smell it on his clothes, on his breath.

Liquor.

“All I ever wanted was to come home from work some night and sit down with my son, have a beer, watch the game. Wanted to give him advice when it was time to apply for his first real job or get married to a pretty girl. I didn’t want this—my son—my goddamn Sonny Boy to be a goddamn Sissy Boy.”

Spitting on me he’s so mad.

“Don’t think for one minute that you’re not gonna pay for destroying my entire family.”

Destroyed my entire family.

I don’t want to touch that bloody bat. It’s dripping now. So help me god I don’t want to touch it. Don’t want Justin’s blood on my hands. Feel the tears starting to run down my face. I can’t see my body. Can’t look down. But I know I’m small.

“Don’t hit him, Jack!”

My mother.

“Please don’t hit him, Daddy.”

A little girl in the corner, watching. Claire?

Please don’t hit me in front of the little girl. Please don’t hit me in front of anybody else.

Craig has my father’s voice.

“Won’t matter if I hit you, will it? Won’t knock any sense into you. You’re just like your mother. Fucking useless.”

Make the little girl leave. Like you always do.

Joanie, get her the fuck out of here. This is between me and my Sonny boy.

I pretend she’s gone. Just like old times.

“Isn’t it, Sonny Boy? Between me and you? Man to man?”

“Yes, sir.”

The more you respect him, the harder he hits.

The harder he hits, the quicker it’s over.

Blood, and bat, and bright, bright light.

I flinch at the loud cracking sound. Warm feeling, my own blood flooding over my skin making me relax for some reason. Because it’s over?

Open my eyes.

Not bloody.

Not dead.

Confused.

I can move. It’s not over.

Go, Brian, save yourself! Go! My mother’s voice.

If I leave, they all suffer. I didn’t protect them. I left them. Alone.

The door reappears. Open it and step-

Right into the prom.

Daphne. Her pretty peach dress. A boy. A white scarf. A tuxedo. The dance floor goes on forever.

Not a high school boy. A little boy—in her arms. His back to me. He turns around. I see his face.

Gus— a four year old body, a teenage face with acne in Daphne’s arms, feeling her up. Going through my pockets, pawing me.

I slap him. Hard.

Now, I fight back? Now?

“Stop it. Stop touching me. No gum. Where’s Justin? Where is he?”

“Need weed, Dad. You always have weed. He’s long gone. Said it was the best night of his life.” He lights a cigarette.

“Don’t smoke in here, you rebel.” Daphne, flirting with him, with my son. “Better go find him, Brian. This is all your fault.”

“Yeah, Dad, this is all your fault.”

I’ll find him. I’ll find him. I will. They’re playing our song as I run off the dance floor and back into the garage.

Only it’s not the garage.

It’s the hospital.

I look down. The scarf is in my hand.

I can smell everything. Hospital smell. Burnt coffee. Antiseptic. Dying. Don’t know where he is, just know I need an elevator to get to him. Just have to. Elevators everywhere. All alone in the one I take. Everything so empty. Barely moving. Why won’t it move? All the buttons lit because I don’t know the answer.

You didn’t protect him before. You can’t protect him now.

“You couldn’t even protect yourself, could you, Sonny Boy?”

Why can’t anyone hear me when I scream? When I bang my black and blue fists on the doors? Bruises everywhere because I’ve been beaten.

Again.

An eternity of up and down when the doors open, when I’m crouched in the corner, when people I don’t know, people who don’t see me, can’t hear me, wheel his body in on a gurney.

Why don’t they see me?

Because they’re gone.

Because it’s just me and him. This is between me and you. Right, Sonny Boy?

His tuxedoed body underneath me on the gurney. And then me on top of him, holding him, kissing him, squeezing him, trying to love him.

And then I can hear it.

And then I can feel it. Suite 2821, Mr. Kinney. Enjoy your stay. The drop in the pit of my stomach.

We’re falling and I don’t know how to save him. Dropping from twenty-eight. I can’t.

Twenty-seven

falling

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Justin.”

Twenty-six

Go slow, okay?

Twenty-five

falling….I want you safe. Oh god.

Twenty-four

falling

Return my son to me.

Twenty-three

falling

Twenty-two

Will I see you again?

Twenty-one

faster

Twenty

“I can’t stop hurting you. I’m so, so sorry.”

Nineteen

faster

What is this? A missile launch?

Eighteen

And my tears make the blood run down his face and all over his pillow.

Eighteen

“How old are you really?”

Eighteen

a spin around a dance floor

Seventeen

“Justin, this is my fault. I did this to you.”

a walk down a crowded sidewalk

I brace him for the crash that will end this for both of us. I try. So hard.

I guess ‘Gus’ is okay.

“Oh god, Justin. I love you.”

Sixteen

Clutching his bloody body in my arms, covering him, my ears deaf to my own screaming.

I’m not screaming. I can’t breathe.

I can only hear.

Him.

Fifteen

“It stops here, Brian.”

It stops?

Feel only him.

I’m being held just as tightly…

Fourteen

A jolt. Slamming into the wall. Me and metal and me still holding him.

A thud louder than frosty champagne on a conference table. Celebrate?

It stops.

A look on his face. A hand on my face. Hands in my hair.

A promise. “It’s over.”

Everything still and quiet and clear.

And heavy. My body so heavy on him.

“It’s okay now, Brian. It was love to me.”

*******************************
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

3:54 a.m.

I woke up thinking that I was clutching the white scarf next to my face, forgetting that there were white sheets, white pillowcases on our bed.

I woke up thinking that he was too quiet, too still, not breathing, forgetting that he was sound asleep in my arms, curled against me because he wanted to be, not because he was suffering.

I woke up praying that it was finally over. That I had refused to fight this anymore, and that, finally, I had won.

*******************
stand by your man

He woke up because I sneezed.

“Jesus, Brian.”

Whoops.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Your hair was in my nose.” He stretches out like a cat, pressing his very warm body against me, making me kind of glad I sneezed on him after all.

Until he looks at my face.

“Are you okay? Are you crying?”

“Allergies.” He snorts at that.

“You don’t have allergies, Brian.”

“Apparently, I do. To you.” He moves up on the bed a little so he’s not buried under the covers like the mole that he is and lays his head on my pillow beside mine.

“Your pillowcase is damp.”

“You can leave it at that, if you don’t mind.” He smiles at me as he leans in to kiss me, then rolls onto his back.

“Come here.” He reaches out for me, and I lay my head on his chest. I can feel him twisting my hair in his fingers. “Let me guess, okay?”

“Let you guess what?”

“What’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Okay. Whatever you say, but I’m gonna guess anyway.”

“Fine. But there’s nothing’s bothering me, so no matter what you guess, you’ll be wrong.” What the fuck logic is that anyway? “But guess away.”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “You were really loud when you came the first time, you almost busted my eardrum, which means that you were probably thinking about that parachute thing because you always think about the parachute thing when you come that hard. I mean that was really, really, intense—“

He’s totally molesting me under the covers right now, like I don’t even notice. Unbelievable.

“—and if you thought about the parachute thing, then you thought about yourself plummeting to the earth at a million miles an hour. Now, the second time you came you were louder than usual. You’re not usually very loud the second time. Actually, that was really your third time, remember because I blew you earlier—“

“I don’t ever forget when you suck me off. Trust me.”

God, he’s hard.

Why are we having this conversation again? I’m completely lost.

“Which means that when you fell asleep you had a dream about falling—“

How the fuck does he know that?

“—which you do a lot after you fuck yourself into oblivion, by the way. Might be something you want to think about.” Fuck myself into oblivion. Uh huh.

“How do you know that’s what I was dreaming about?” Psychic little fucker.

“Well, it’s pretty simple really. When you have these nightmares, you either get kind of violent and kick me and yell and shit so I go sleep on the couch or you do just the opposite, you get really clingy. That’s what you did tonight. You kind of smother me. It wakes me up.”

Shit.

“It woke you up?”

“Yeah. If I’m anywhere near you in bed when it happens, you try to smother me. And don’t ask me why I don’t try to wake you up. I’ve tried. You just smother me worse. I gave up on that shit a long time ago.”

“I did this to you tonight?”

“Yep. You were squeezing me tighter than Debbie hugs Michael.” Oh god, that’s bad.

“I don’t need that image in my head.” He laughs.

“Sorry.” He puts his hand on my chin and lifts my face up a little. “But you were really upset tonight, too. I finally just put my hand on your face and started talking to you, trying to get you to calm down. You were mumbling a bunch of shit I couldn’t understand. I was terrified that you were gonna wake up and smack me or something. But you didn’t.”

For once.

“What did you say to me?” I’m almost afraid to ask him for some reason.

“Don’t make fun of me if I tell you.”

“I won’t.” I run my hand behind his head.

“I’m serious. Don’t” He gives me a warning look. “I just told you that it was just a dream, like a scary movie, that it would be over soon, you were okay, that I loved you. Stuff like that.” He puts his hands on his face. “Now, I’m embarrassed.”

I move his hands off of his face and kiss him. A lot. Until he’s not embarrassed anymore.

“What was that for?”

“For being a brave little fucker.” I guess you have to be to sleep in this bed.

“Thanks.” He’s been running his foot in between my legs this entire time. “So, was I close about that parachute thing?”

“Hell, no.” I’ve got to find a new metaphor. And I’ve got to quit telling him shit. When did I tell him?

“You’re such a liar. But that’s okay because you know what?”

“What?”

“When I get back from L.A., I’m gonna teach you how to float.” I look up at him, my eyebrows raised.

“You are?” Interesting. This coming from a man who has a plug in his ass right now.

“Yep.”

“How do you think you’re gonna do that?” Not that he doesn’t have a PhD in floating because he does. He kisses me on the forehead.

“Easy. I’m gonna go all dom on your ass, take you right to the edge, and then teach you how to come down very, very slowly. Just like you taught me.” He trails his finger through the air like a feather falling to the ground. For some reason, that just made me really, really hard.

“You think so, huh?” He better save up his coupons.

“I know so. I can’t wait.” I’m starting to get a pretty clear picture of all of this all of a sudden. He really is a chameleon. Or a leopard, a rare one, that really can change it’s…..stripes?

“You know what, Sunshine, you’re a fucking switch.” That really makes him laugh.

“Screw all these labels, Brian. I prefer to think that I’m just really in touch with your needs because I am.” He’s definitely in touch with something. He tucks my hair behind my ear and pulls me up a little so he can really kiss me. It’s nice. Feels good. “Now, roll over for me, please.”

That feels good, too. I don’t know if I can wait ‘til he gets back to float like a feather.

California here I come.

********************************
JUSTIN’S POV

He’s got a ticket to ride
And he don’t care

5:24 am Monday morning, the loft bathroom

This is what I’m going to miss the most, until I think of the next thing I’m going to miss. I would have let him dress me up a long time ago if I’d known he was going to fuss over me this much.

“You don’t need a tie with this shirt. Just pack it.”

“You don’t think I should wear a tie?”

“No. You’ll look too stuffy.” He unbuttons the first two buttons on my navy silk shirt and starts fiddling with my gray pants. Well, he’s not fiddling really, he’s fondling.

“Brian.”

“Face the mirror. I’ve got to tuck your shirt in.” Right. “God almighty, you look hotter than fuck in navy blue. I’m going to come in my pants.”

“Thanks.”

“Jesus, I’ve got good taste.”

“I think you mean, Em has good taste.”

“Be quiet, please. I’m trying to concentrate.”

Right. I watch him in the mirror for as long as I can as his long fingers slide inside my pants, outside my underwear, and start slowly teasing my dick. I can feel the back of his index finger trailing up and down, up and down. I can feel all the blood in my body rushing to his hand like it’s been summoned there by a court order or something.

“I like to feel you like this, Justin, all cotton and cock.”

“Hmmmm.”

He makes me moan. He makes me get wet—in my brand new underwear and my brand new pants. He’s evil. I want to turn around to face him, but he won’t let me. He’s running his lips up and down my neck. I reach back and try to pull him down and keep him there.

“Watch the mirror, Sunshine, watch the mirror.”

Like I want to keep my eyes open. I want to close them. Close them and just focus on how amazing it feels to have him touching me like this, like it’s something we shouldn’t be doing. If I close them, I can picture his hand sliding down to my balls and holding them while he kisses me, while he holds me, while he runs the tip of his finger underneath the edge of my underwear, back and forth, drawing a line on my thigh, his other hand spread firmly against my chest. I want to move his hand, show him what I want, but he knows. He’ll give it to me, when he’s ready. I reach behind me and unzip his pants. He pulls me hard against him, trapping my hand between us. I hold my breath. He licks my ear as he watches me in the mirror through his eyelashes.

He startles me when his finger slides inside the opening in my underwear. I gasp. He breathes in my ear as he feels how wet I am, his finger skimming back and forth over the head of my dick.

“Is all of this for me, Justin?” His voice is so low, so amorous. I feel that hot, thick feeling again.

“Yes.”

My mouth is dry. The only part of me that is. I tilt my head back and slide my tongue in his mouth. He takes over immediately, pushing his tongue past mine, deftly teasing every part of my mouth, drawing me up on my toes with want.

I feel like there are strings attached to me, and he just pulls them whenever he wants.

He can feel my hand desperately trying to get inside his pants. He grabs it and plants it on the bathroom counter. My other one follows suit. He’s got both of his hands inside my underwear now as he rests on top of me, his head hanging over my shoulder.

“I’m afraid I have to fuck you now. Got you all dressed and everything. Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, sorry’s bullshit.” He bites my earlobe. “Ow!”

“Don’t take your pretty blue eyes off that mirror, Justin. Look at your face.”

“I am.”

“Not at me. At you. Look how fucking beautiful you are.”

I want to watch him. Watch him as he’s lowering my pants and my underwear, as he’s undoing his belt behind me, as he’s freeing his cock, all with one hand, all while whispering x-rated things in my ear…

”I know you like this, Justin. Being taken like this. When I make you remember that you belong underneath me with your pants down exposing your pretty bottom and your tiny asshole crying for my cock.”

“Mmmm, I don’t want to look at myself. I want to look at you. Please, Brian.”

He’s tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth. I can feel him behind me, getting ready. The anticipation rushes through me.

“I know you do,” his hands press my hips down and back and my eyes open wide as he sinks his cool, slick cock inside me, “but I want you to see what I see—“

…runs his finger over my lips, starts kissing my neck, his eyes, dark and magnetic in the mirror….I look away….

“--how your mouth begs to be kissed—“

…his tongue flicking behind my ear, teasing me…

“--the look in your eyes right before you come.”

His hand slides under my shirt again as he fucks me, sealing me against him.

“I want you to watch the sounds pour out of you as you soak this counter.”

I stare at the mirror. It’s impossible not to look in his eyes.

“At you, Justin. Not me.”

“God, Brian. This is torture.”

“Now you know how I feel, being forced to fuck this little wanton creature all day every day.” I feel so sorry for him. I try to turn my head to kiss him, to stop this, but he holds my chin, so I lick his fingers. He laughs at me.

“That’s not going to work.” I start to moan as he fucks me a little faster, as I open up, his hands on top of mine on the counter now. “No matter how many times I’m inside your tight…..little…..ass, it’s never enough for you, is it?”

I shake my head. It’s never enough. It never will be. My eyes are as dark as my shirt now. He tucks his head against my shoulder blades, panting, pushing, pulling it up, handing it to me.

“Hold it, Justin. Hold on.” I watch his fingers start touching my cock again, reaching down and cupping my balls gently for a second before he moves them upward to wrap around my dick. His thumb spreading my pre-come everywhere. “Wet boy.”

I catch my breath as I bring my eyes back to my own face in the mirror, clutching the blue silk of my shirt as he pulls out and thrusts back into me, deep as he can go, pushing me down hard on the counter.

“’Ah, fuck, uh, Brian.”

I watch myself. See my lips part. See myself unable to put them back together. See my breath fog up the mirror as it times itself with his.

“Uh, uh, uh, Justin.”

If he keeps this up…..oh god…..so deep….

See myself start calling to him. Needing to hear his name. Needing to say it.

“Brian.” Needing to tell him what I want. What I’ve got to have. What he’s got to give me. “More, Brian. Harder, please, harder.”

See me want it.

“More, Justin? You want more?”

See my body quiver with anticipation--

“Please, Brian. Everything. Yes.”

See him give it to me. See me get it.

“Fuck the absolute shit out of you.”

Slamming my hips against the counter, pinching my skin, bruising me. Fucking hurts. His hands rough on my hips, underneath my bottom, pulling my skin, spreading, opening, wide, fingers slicking, stretching tight, wider---

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Keeps saying my name, some of my name, part of my name, and he lov--

Weight, heavy between my shoulder blades, pressing me hard, fast to the counter, flat, willing, expected—

“You’re gonna come for me, Justin.”

My body pushing back. Reflex. A fist in my hair.

Reflex.

My eyes raised and locked to the mirror.

“Right. Now.”

See it overtake me, explode.

“Ah, oh, god, oh shit, fuck, oh god.”

See it wash over me like a waterfall, forget how to breathe, squeezing, my eyes closing, then opening when I feel him tensing on top of me, when I feel the second roaring waterfall soaking me—only this time it’s his.

“Oh Brian, Jesus.”

Holding on tight.

“Goddamn, Justin. Do not move. Do not move. Holy fuck, do not move.”

I don’t know how to move.

I can’t blink.

He’s moving me.

That was amazing. Torture.

Amazing torture.

He caught every drop I shot in a hand towel and saved my shirt. He’s unbelievable. I don’t know how he did that. I didn’t even notice.

He’s tucking my shirt in. Fixing my hair. It’s a good thing. I can’t remember how.

“You look very pretty. Here, use my cologne. Yours is packed.”

He comes back thirty seconds later and gives me one of his are you a moron? looks because I’m still standing here staring at the bottle. You squirt this stuff, right? He grabs it out of my hand.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, I’ll do it. Go sit on the bed, if you can remember how to do that. I’ll come put your shoes on in a second.”

Um, okay, sounds good to me…

“The bedroom’s that way, Justin.”