Friday, June 10, 2005

**Justin's POV** 

I sat my graphite pencil on my desk and rotated my cramped wrist. Looking down at the nearly-finished drawing, I smiled at the face of the beautiful man smiling back at me.

After falling asleep around eleven, I woke up around three and was unable to fall back asleep, my thoughts of Brian keeping me awake. It also didn't help that my dick was hard enough to beat someone to death with. I used the pool of pre-cum on my belly as lube and came hard and fast a few moments later as I pictured the way he often licked his lips enticingly from across the group therapy room while his intense hazel eyes stared into mine. I cleaned myself up with a handful of tissues from the box on my nightstand and closed my eyes, but the orgasm wasn't enough to knock me back out.

I told Brian the day before that when I felt the need to express my thoughts on paper, I draw or paint. Now sitting at my desk as the sun was rising outside my bedroom window, I had gone through several sheets of paper sketching Brian in different variations. The way he looked at me during our sessions after I asked him a difficult question. The almost-bashful expression on his face after I told him that I was proud of him for telling Cynthia the truth about where he was. One of him looking pissed a couple days before with his bare arms crossed over his chest... he looks so delicious when he's angry, while a bit terrifying at the same time. Another of how sexy he looked while smoking a cigarette on the roof of the treatment center, like James Dean. One sketch of just his eyes with some wispy bangs falling into them. Because I was such a whore for his feet, I had to draw them, too. I'd need to hide that one from Daphne, so she wouldn't nag me over my foot fetish.

When I was in high school and exploring my sexuality as a young gay boy, I used to sketch the naked bodies of the boys I had the pleasure to see in the showers after gym class. I would mostly sketch Chris Hobbs- before the fallout of my jerking him off that day and him turning into a complete douche, that is. Although Hobbs had a nice body and a decent-sized cock, I would often take artistic liberties in adding more muscle definition and a couple more inches in length and girth. It was when she found these sketches after snooping in my bedroom that my mom discovered that I was gay.

All of the sketches that I had done of Brian by that point had been of him fully clothed, as I hadn't had the opportunity to see him in all his glory... and probably never would. As good of an artist as I was, I would most likely not do him justice if I had tried to sketch how I imagined him naked. It was safe to assume that his body was flawless. His toned arms and shoulders were probably accompanied by impeccably toned pecs and abs. A fag couldn't establish the reputation of being the go-to top in town (as he had claimed he was) without owning a tremendous dick. I had seen many big, beautiful dicks in my time, both in person and in porn, but I imagined that Brian's dick was magnificent enough to make a man weep at its perfection. A dick so beautiful you would fear that you'd die if it wasn't in your mouth or up your ass right then and there. The scar from his surgery most likely just left him looking more manly- a battle scar from his successful cancer fight.

My own dick was once again painfully hard and tenting my sweatpants. I reached in and began to stroke it slowly as I thought about what it would be like to have the opportunity to personally get to know Brian's cock. I had spent the last five years perfecting my cock sucking skills, learning how to suppress my gag reflex to deep throat like a pro. I imagined Brian moaning in pleasure as I swallowed every inch of him and buried my nose into his pubes. I would probably get high off his natural scent. After he would cum down my throat screaming my name, I would crawl up his gorgeous body and give him a taste of himself on my tongue before riding him like a wild stallion.

My alarm clock blared moments after I came, announcing it was time for me to start my day. 

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

"You look like shit," Vanessa said when I walked into the employee break room.

This was true. I had raccoon eyes after only getting a few hours of sleep, my hair would not cooperate that morning, and I had a scowl left over from a cab driver riding my ass all the way up Park Avenue (not the way I prefer to be ridden). Plus, I had not had a cigarette since before I went to bed the previous night, in an attempt to quit again. In no mood to make morning chit chat, I grunted as I poured my third cup of coffee of the day. At least caffeine doesn't cause cancer... coffee is even supposed to be good for you.

"So you're still coming tonight, right?" Vanessa asked.

I searched my memory for what she could be referring to. "For what?"

"My birthday dinner," she said. "You told me two weeks ago that you would be there... I hope that means you didn't forget to buy me a present."

"I didn't forget your present," I assured her, remembering that I had accepted her invitation to join her, her husband, and a few of their friends at a restaurant in Chinatown. I had actually spent the previous week working on a painting for her of a Chinese dragon. "I'll be there."

She turned to leave the room, but stopped as she remembered something. "Oh, I invited Chris. I asked him before I knew that you guys didn't get along..."

Of course she did. "It's your birthday," I said, plastering on a fake smile. "You can invite whoever you want."

"Are you sure?" she asked, worry on her face. "I don't want it to be awkward."

"No... it'll be fine."

Shit.

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

"She promised that she wouldn't tell anyone, especially Michael, but I doubt she'll be able to keep it a secret for long," Brian said.

"Well, whether she repeats it to anyone or not, that was a big, important step you made, telling Debbie the truth," I let him know, barely able to keep from beaming with pride.

He looked down at his lap, that rare look of shyness poorly veiled. "Would you say that you were proud of me?" he asked in a near-whisper.

Without even thinking, I reached over and raised his chin to look at me. "Yes, I'm very proud of you, Brian."

He placed his hand around my wrist, his thumb resting over my pulse point, and gave me a light squeeze. "Thanks."

In fear of my arm catching on fire from the contact, I forced myself to pull away. "Um..." I said as I willed my heart rate to slow, "I wanted to give you something."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked, his voice husky.

I pulled out the piece of sketching paper from the bottom of my clip board. "You'll probably think it's silly, but I sketched you something."

"Oh." He almost looked disappointed. I could only imagine what he had hoped I wanted to give him... and it was probably something like I had fantasized about giving him while abusing myself earlier that morning.

Nonetheless, I handed the paper to him. "Remember how I told you that I draw or paint when I want to put my feelings down on paper?"

He smiled a bit as he looked at the sketch of himself, the one of him smoking at the picnic table. "Uh-huh."

I squeezed my eyes closed for a second... shit. I just admitted to him that I had been thinking about him. Good going, Taylor. How much bigger of a fucking idiot could I be? "I... uh, I-"

"I look a little like James Dean here," he remarked, chuckling in amusement. He then looked at me and smiled. "He's one of my favorite actors."

Okay... I feel a little less stupid. "I hope you like it."

"I like it... a lot," he said as he looked back down at the sketch. "You're really talented."

I smiled so wide I thought my face would split. "Uh... did you start writing in your journal yet?"

Still staring down at the sketch in his hands, he nodded. "Yeah, I wrote a couple of pages last night."

I waited a few moments to see if he was going to comment about what he wrote. "Good," I finally said, not wanting to force him to disclose his private thoughts if he didn't want to. "I'm curious about something."

"What's that?"

"Do you think you'll be able to handle owning a club, once you get back home?" I asked. "From what you've told me, that place is like your playground, your kingdom."

He sighed as he sat the sketch on the floor. "Yeah... I've been thinking about selling it, actually. There's a rich fag that owns a couple of the other clubs in the neighborhood, and he gave me a sizable offer the night that we reopened after the bombing." He looked at me and added with a wolfish grin, "And he said he'd like to buy the club, too."

We both chuckled at that. "So, did you take the first offer and turn down the second?"

"I turned them both down, because I don't bottom for anyone."

I bit my lip as I dared to ask, "When was the last time you did?"

He gave me that difficult question look that I had sketched that morning. "It's been a long time," he admitted. "I might have even still had a one in front of my age."

Wow... I'd bet his hole was as tight as a clam shell. Christ, there goes my dick again, wanting to come out and play. Later little fella, later... okay, maybe not little...

He continued, "Many have dared to ask me over the years, but none have been successful. Still, I've been able to nail many popular tops over the years."

I decided to try my luck in how much he'd reveal, to satisfy my own sex-deprived curiosity. "Do you give blow jobs?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Do you?"

"Yes," I answered proudly.

I heard him make a noise almost like a growl. He then took a deep breath and said, "I do, but not very often... and never in public."

I crinkled my nose. "I've never understood why it's such a thrill to fool around or fuck in public. I topped a guy in the back room of a club in Brooklyn a few years ago, and I felt so self-conscious I could barely keep it up. I felt like I had a thousand eyes on me, but it was probably only a dozen."

The wolf smiled at me again. "I would have paid to watch you fuck that guy... I bet you looked hot."

Holy... shit. After picking my jaw up off the floor, I said, "Okay... we obviously need to change the subject." And I needed to change my underwear.

Brian laced his fingers and put them behind his head. "Oh, I think the current subject is fascinating."

I dared to glance down at Brian's crotch. I could almost hear his zipper crying from the strain. Guh...

"Um..." I looked at my clip board for another question.

**Brian's POV** 

I couldn't help but laugh at how flustered the boy was, his cheeks red and his forehead damp with sweat. He looked like he was about to have panic attack... or an orgasm.

"Admit it," I said.

"Ad... admit what?" he stammered.

"I'm not just ‘another patient' to you."

He looked over at me, his eyes pleading. "Brian..."

"Say it," I demanded.

He opened his mouth to speak, but only little squeaks came out.

"Come on," I urged as I placed my hands in my lap. To make it more difficult for him, I put my right hand over my cock and began to rub it through my jeans. "Tell me you don't want me... that you don't want me tear your clothes off and fuck you right here on the floor."

He huffed out a few surprised breaths as he looked down to watch the show I was putting on for him. "I..." he began to say, his eyes glued on my hand.

"Don't..." I tried to coerce him to say.

He forced himself to tear his eyes away before jumping out of his chair and bolting for the door. 

**Justin's POV**

Oh my God... Oh my God... Oh my God. I didn't know where my feet were taking me until I reached the men's rest room at the end of the hall. I burst through the door, forced it closed, flipped the lock, and plopped myself down on the floor. I took several deep breaths as my body shook from head to toe. Tears were streaming down my face, but I made no move to dry them.

Tell me you don't want me... that you don't want me tear your clothes off and fuck you right here on the floor.

We both knew that I couldn't say that. Stevie Wonder could see how badly I wanted Brian, how he affected me.

"Shit," I said out loud as I squeezed my eyes closed. "What the fuck am I gonna do?"

The words were barely out of my mouth when I heard a toilet flush. I opened my eyes and saw a pair of legs under the last stall.