I bolted awake gasping desperately for air, my heart pounding a fearful rhythm from the familiar years-old nightmare, to find my hands actively and instinctively reaching out for Justin to reassure myself that he was alive and well, only to find cold sheets and an empty space. My heart clenched in panic almost instantly and then I remembered.



Justin was gone.



Gone to New York.



Without me.



FUCK.

Every morning was the same when I woke up without him beside me. First reaction would always be the panic, followed by remembering where he was and why, then the cursing New York and sometimes even the Art profession in general would start - as irrationally insane as that was. I mean, I'm in advertising, for Christ's sake, art is my bread and butter. Before long the subconscious mantra would kick in and start it's loop in my head: 'It's not about you or what you want, Kinney, as long as Justin is happy … that's all that matters.'

Besides, hadn't he said to me before he left that night that we didn't need rings or vows to prove our love for each other? Wasn't he swearing it to me that last time we made love while I was deep inside him that I was the only man he loved and that he was coming back to me? We had agreed that it was only time after all, hadn't we? Later, I thought maybe I had just imagined that he'd said it, but even if I did imagine it, it didn't stop me from reminding myself of it again and again, all in the hopes that maybe one day it might actually prove to be true.



That last night, I made love to him like I never had before - utterly convinced in my heart that it would be the last time - slow and unhurried, taking my time to memorize every inch of him. I wanted to burn the image of him into my memory because I was convinced that night would be our last together. He made love to me as well, leaving an indelible mark on my soul as I poured everything I had into marking his before he got on a plane and moved hundreds of miles away from me. All with my blessing and support … even though it felt like I was ripping my own heart out to do so.

In the last few years – well, to be honest, since that first night so many years ago under that streetlight - whenever it had to do with Justin, there has never been a question of what was best for me. Even though at times, it may not have seemed that way to him or those around us, I was only ever trying to keep Justin from holding himself back by tethering himself so tightly to me and my life. I knew he deserved more and better so, if it made his life easier or spared him pain in the long-run, I did whatever I could to ensure his happiness. Prime example: the fucking fiddler. I knew I wouldn't give Justin what he thought he needed and he was convinced that the fiddle-fuck would so I gave him the push, that extra shove by fucking Rage in front of him during the party that night - his night, his party - and I was busy fucking some trick. It was just what he needed to be able to make the hard choice for himself. I knew if I kicked him out, he'd just come back, so I did what I had to do (like Mikey's 30th) and I made him finally want to let me go.

So, with the idea in my head that the only way to ensure Justin's future success (both personal and professional) was to take the Art World by storm making a big, fat, fucking success of himself, I urged him to go to New York.

And so he went … and took an enormous part of me with him.

We both detested public displays of lesbian histrionics, so we both agreed that he'd go to the airport alone and we mutually agreed to set no expectations on further contact. 'It's only time', after all. (Christ, I was a goddamn idiot! Why did I even say that? That was like telling him 'I don't give a shit if you ever come back'.) Thankfully, my Sunshine's pretty fucking smart - 1500 on his SAT's, remember - and he knew I'd be freaking out and wondering if he was alright as soon as he was gone. Though I'd never acknowledge or admit that fact to be true, he knew it was, so he sent me a text as soon as his plane touched down. It was short, sweet and to the point, nothing special when viewed by the casual observer - 'Whew, that was some ride! Turbulence sux, though. Plane here in one piece. So am I. Later.' - but the hidden context that was so inherent between us spoke volumes - I'm on to you, remember? I miss you already and I know you miss me, too. You can't get rid of me that easily. We will talk again soon, this is not goodbye.' - especially in that one last word - later. It has always been 'later' for us and never goodbye, yes, it was always 'later' - because goodbye was just way too final for either of us, it seems.



Night after sleepless night those first six months I'd lie awake, alone and drowning - drowning not only in my own misery but more often than not, drowning in at least an entire bottle of Beam (if not two) as well - in our empty bed. *snort* Now there's a thought that only five short years ago I would have vehemently denied ever even having crossed my mind, much less acknowledging it as the truth. *laugh* 'Our' bed –I have to smile at that though, because, if I'm totally honest with myself, that's what it is and has been for a long time now– 'our' bed.

My bed was never empty because I was in it. I never slept an entire night in my bed (or in any bed that I can recall) by choice with anyone other than Mikey - and even that was a rare drunken occurrence. When I slipped into Deb's in the middle of the night I always slept on the floor in Mikey's room or on the couch downstairs. I never felt the need to share my bed with any man after I had shot my last load of the night. The few who stayed had done so only because I had passed out before I threw them out. Then again, that was all before a certain little blonde ball of sunshine stalked his way into my life … and the bed. Fucking twat.

Now, because of him (the little shit) my bed no longer belongs solely to me and I can't even get a decent night's sleep in it unless he's here, wrapped tightly in my arms (note: in my arms sleeping - because everyone knows that Brian Kinney does not cuddle) with his blonde little head on my chest, snoring softly. I mentally chastise myself for the smile I can feel forming on my face at the thought of my boy in my arms.

Honestly, that first year, the sound of his snoring used to drive me bat-shit crazy every night wondering for what seemed like the thousandth time why I let him stay if he annoyed me so much - a question I quickly decided not to spend too long thinking about as I wasn't liking the answers I came up with. More than once I entertained thoughts of banishing his blonde little head to the far reaches of the couch in hopes of getting much needed sleep, but that was all before … well, that was just before.

Later, after IT happened, when I finally had him back in my bed again I would hold my breath every night just waiting to hear that sound beside me, that comforting (and most surprisingly) not-so-annoying-anymore proof that he was still there beside me, still breathing … and still very much alive. Now, I'm finding out that however much I may have detested the sound before, I miss it that much more now, struggling unsuccessfully night after night to fall asleep without that sound and failing profoundly … it's just way too fucking quiet.

Aside from the nights I'd have to drink myself into oblivion to sleep, the most unbearable nights to me were the seemingly endless nights where I stalked sleep as relentlessly as Justin had once stalked me. (Though in the end, I was not nearly as effective as he was in achieving my goal, it would seem.) On those nights, a single thought repeatedly and mercilessly taunted me, keeping my mind processing and far from sleep long after my body had passed the point of exhaustion. What was the thought, you ask? It was : 'Why (after the life I know he is experiencing in New York) do I continue to delude myself into thinking that he will ever choose to give all of that up? To what? Come back here? To the Pitts? Or more importantly … why would he come back to me?'

It would seem that my daylight hours were not to be spared the endless questions and doubts either, keeping me from concentrating on even the simplest tasks for more than an hour. My mind was a ceaseless and frenzied carousel of questions for which there seemed to be no real definitive answers. Questions like 'Would I have been happier if Justin had stayed here in Pittsburgh?' Answer - 'Absolutely, without a doubt.' Or 'Would we have been happier?' The answer for that is 'Yes, for a while, I'm sure we would have been.'

Then, I had to ask myself : What about Justin? Would he have been happier if he had stayed? In my heart, I answered yes, however if you asked my brain, it would have said 'No.' One of my biggest fears during his time away was that if he sacrificed this one chance at his dream career and he had stayed here or come back to soon just to be with me instead, that he would eventually wonder if he made the right choice and with that question nagging at him, he would eventually start to resent me. I would do anything to prevent that … even if that meant possibly giving up the chance of ever seeing him again. His happiness and success were more important than my own need to be with him.

<::::*BJ*::::>

The first phone call from him came twelve days, twenty-two hours and seventeen minutes after he had arrived in New York, but who was counting? Oh, right … I was.

Nearly forgetting to breathe, he excitedly told me he had found work a lot quicker than he thought he'd have been able to, even if it wasn't anything glamorous. Unfortunately, though, he told me all he could find were part-time jobs, so it meant him getting multiple jobs to earn enough to keep up with his bills. I offered again to help him out so that he'd have time to paint, but was quickly rebuffed (and had very narrowly avoided being hung up on) by a very indignant Justin who then tersely reminded me - for the hundredth time - that he was no longer a child and that he would (and could) do this all on his own. Stubborn little shit.

So once he'd calmed down from his mini queen-out, he laid out what his schedule would look like. Weekday mornings he said he would work at a small diner around the corner from his apartment that was eerily reminiscent of the Liberty diner, while his afternoons were to be spent teaching art to grade-schoolers at the local community center's after-school program. (He couldn't contain his excitement about this particular job, rambling about how he'd be 'shaping minds' or some shit like that, but he was always great with Gus and looked to be enjoying their time drawing and painting together as much as Gus did, so who knows? I sure as hell couldn't do it. I love Gus, but hangin' around with a room full of demon spawn and paint? No way.) On the weekends, he would be toiling away from open to close in a local mom-and-pop art supply store, and though he loathed the idea of selling supplies to pretentious snobs who think they're the next Picasso, he luckily he would get an employee discount, so in his mind, it was worth the meager pay and annoying customers.

Justin was as aggravatingly independent as always, actually, even more so while he was in New York really. I had to fight with him tooth-and-nail to accept anything I sent him, even though I made it a point never to send money, just gifts. There were one or two little things he'd given in about and allow me to pay for without much argument on his part like his cell phone bill (which was on my plan anyway) and his online movie and porn subscriptions. The bigger things though were a bit of a fight to get him to accept, which in the end, he'd still refuse … well, with the exception of one thing.

We had talked about setting up a video link system between us one night for, *ahem* 'keeping in touch' so to speak after a round of totally amazing, but yet somehow still mutually unsatisfying phone sex. I found a program that I thought would suit our needs perfectly, though ironically, Justin decided it was woefully inadequate compared to the high-dollar program he had discovered. The reason for the uncharacteristic urge to spend my money? What, you say, was my normally carefree and unashamedly exhibitionist lover's most paranoid concern about video chat sex? Shockingly (and also a little bit narcissistically on his part, might I add) it was that other people might, 'hi-jack the feed' and then images of him naked would be passed around (in his words) 'faster than Paris Hilton at a frat party'. Thinking back to all the very public sex we've had over the years, I found this idea to be a completely ridiculous one on his part and therefore I couldn't help but tease him relentlessly about it.

“I really don't see a problem here, that program will be fine for what we need, Sunshine. I'll be able to see your cock and you'll be able to see mine.”

“Brian! You know, I did some research the other day, and yes the other program is more expensive, but it is also 100 times more secure than the one you're talking about.”

“Sunshine-”

“Don't you 'Sunshine' me, Brian Kinney! As much as I would love to watch you jerk off with me every night - and trust me, that's all I've been able to think about since we first talked about this last week - those cheap video link-ups are never really that secure. I for one, don't want my ass - or your cock for that matter - plastered all over the internet” he huffed, then muttered, "though I doubt there are many fags out there who haven't seen it already.” Under his breath, but still loud enough to be heard.

I gasp in mock offense. “Are you calling me a whore, Sunshine?”

“Well if the backroom fits-” he taunts in that 'What? It's the truth' tone of his, followed by a snicker.

“What ever happened to those WASPy manners of yours, huh?” I taunted. “Won't such rudeness get your membership at the country club revoked?”

“I met you.” he deadpans. “And fuck the country club.”

“I don't see why you're so worried about it anyway, you twat. It's not like you've never been naked in public before. I mean, really, Sunshine. The Baths? The Backroom? Ringing any bells yet? Have you forgetten that time at Chuck E. Cheese™?”

“Oh, yeah … 'Naked in public - no big deal', I forgot I was talking to Mr. 'Answers-the-fucking-door-naked' … for my mother, no less. Not to mention, it's not like we're talking eighty to a hundred guys in the backroom or the baths, Brian. It's potentially millions of people who could see me naked! I thought you, of all people might have a problem with that.” he paused to gather up some steam, “and for the record, that time at Chuck E. Cheese™ -”

“Yes. I know, I know … was all big bad Kinney's fault for 'swipping wittle Justin' some E around the big fuzzy-”

“Brian, they banned me … for life. Every franchise has my picture in the security office! It's beyond embarrassing!”

“You, you, you. Tsk-tsk-tsk. So selfish, Taylor. And what about poor Chuckles, Sunshine? That rat was terrified! I mean, y-you p-practically mol-moles-” I couldn't finish even if Justin hadn't cut me off, I was laughing way too hard.

“It's not funny, Brian.” I could practically hear the pout. “Your prank almost got me arrested!” I mentally mock him out of the boredom of hearing this yet again. 'Oooh, look out! Here comes the righteous indignation. Now Sunshine's really mad!'

“At least they believed it was an allergic-” He cut me off before I could get it out. Man, will I ever get to finish a sentence?

“Yeah, lucky me, Brian. You know I ran into one of the moms that was there that day at the park a few weeks later with Gus and she grabbed her kid and dragged him away from Gus, Brian! She practically ran.” I swear it sounded like he was gonna cry. Twat.

“I know. I know. I'm evil … a horrible influence … not fit to be around others - so you've said. The munchers, too … every chance they get.” Does no one know the meaning of the word 'fun' anymore?

“Well, what did you expect them to say, Brian? It was Gus'-” Really? He's still going to go on about this? It happened ages ago.

“Uh, Sunshine? As much as I'm loving this trip down memory lane - and just for clarification, that was sarcasm, because I'm not - can we get back on topic please? I don't have all day, you know.”

“Huh? What were we talking about, again?” Then his voice takes on that mischievous tone, like when he's about to cleverly prove his point and turn the tide of the argument by going right for the jugular.

“Oh, right … a plethora of horny fags … staring at me … naked. You know … now that I think about it, Bri … thousands, maybe even millions of hot guys jerking off looking at me naked doesn't sound too bad. In fact … unnh … that's kinda fucking ho-”

Yep, there it was … the jugular. Such a clever little devil to play it that way, knowing that now my 'concerned' (but in no way jealous, cos' jealousy is for munchers) mind would be filled with deliciously sexy images of Sunshine, complete with his sex-tousled hair and his pink, sweat-doused skin, his thick cock high, hard and weeping … fuck me. All images - that if intercepted as Justin fears - could be effortlessly emailed around from queer to queer, uploaded and downloaded for later 'use'. Images of my naked, horny Justin to be collected and gathered, stored away in the spank banks of innumerable horny fags and desperate trolls the world over? Oh hell no, fuck that.

“I'll make a few calls.”

“Bri-an?” he sing-songs with a voice full of childish mischief.

“Yes, Justin?” I counter with amusement.

“… love you, too.” He giggled and I couldn't help but laugh too cos' the little shit just played me so perfectly.

“Twat.”

Still, no matter how large (or most of the time how small) the gesture was, when it concerned money that I'd spent on him, it turned into a fight. One of our worst money-related fights was over the new laptop I had bought for him online and had shipped to him when I found out (thanks to Mother Taylor) that his old one had died. A fact which, of course, knowing that I would not let him be without one, he had neglected to mention to me himself.

I started my pitch by convincing him that the special software establishing a completely secure video link between us would only work with this new laptop and it was the only way he can be sure that his ass (delectable though it may be) would not be the latest video being uploaded to YouPorn™. I argued relentlessly and then after at least forty-five more minutes of arguing, I had managed to succeed in getting him to accept it by telling him (in my sexiest voice) that if he wanted to be able to watch me fuck myself on his favourite dildo while moaning his name, he'd better just accept the fucking laptop. He plugged it in and booted it up immediately.

“Bri-an, hurry up and turn your laptop on! I wanna see you. Fuck, I'm so hard.”

“Christ, Sunshine, a little eager are we? I thought you didn't want the laptop?”

“Shut up, fucker. If it helps me see your-” I logged in as he was talking and the first thing Justin saw on screen was my cock, rock-hard and dripping. “ahh god … cock.” he panted.

“See somethin' you like, Sunshine?” I teased as I stroked my stiff cock, smearing pre-cum along it's length while I backed away from the camera slightly and brought my hand to my mouth, making a show of slowly licking my fingers clean.

“Jesus, Brian! You're gonna make me cum right now if you keep doing that! You know it makes me so fucking hot.” He sat on his bed, arching his hips up minutely as he slowly fisted his thickening erection, coaxing a generous glistening drop from the tip. He brought his own hand up to his mouth and moaned obscenely as he sucked it from his finger.

“That's fucking hot. But don't cum just yet, Princess. Got big plans for you tonight.” I was damn sure going to make good use of this new program and watch as I used every trick in my arsenal to have Justin writhing in ecstasy.

“What kind of plans?” He was extremely suspicious of my motives due to the wicked smirk he could see on my face.

“The best kind, Sunshine. Tonight, you're gonna fuck me.” I rolled my lips into my mouth to bite back the grin as he got that adorable (yeah, I said adorable, shut up) confused look on his face.

“I know I'm pretty big, Bri, but-”

“You know what I mean, twat. Now go and look in the bottom drawer of your nightstand.”

Justin rolled over and got on his knees as he rummaged in the bottom drawer on the other side of the bed, giving me an unobstructed view of both his beautiful ass and better yet, his perfect pink twitching pucker. While he was looking (and not-so-subtly shaking his ass at me), it gave me the opportunity to lube the deep blue dildo that Justin loved to fuck me with and set it on the towel next to me as I slowly prepared myself. I stroked my cock absently while I opened myself up, my mouth watering as I stared at his twitching hole, dying to slip my tongue inside. I got lost in my fantasy all the while slowly stroking my cock until he squeaked and I saw him sit up and produce the silicone mass in the air triumphantly.

“How did you-?” His words died in his throat and his eyes darkened as he turned back to the screen, licking his lips and palming his cock when he caught sight of me slipping slick fingers in and out of my ass. “Fuck, Brian. ”

“Ah-ah-ah. A magician never reveals his secrets, Sunshine. Now get the lube, you're gonna need it, that stroker's a tight fit.” I see a look of surprised amusement flash across his face as he licks his lips again, his breath quickening in anticipation.

He swallowed thickly, then when he started to speak, his voice was laden with desire. “Well, well, well. Trying out my toys first, Mr. Kinney?”

“Don't need to, I've got one of my own. Although it's not quite as tight as you, but it still does the trick.” I really wasn't lying to him, it was almost as tight around my cock as Justin and it got me off, but nothing, no matter how hot and tight, feels like Justin.

“You used it and pretended you were fucking my tight little ass, didn't you?” He husked out as he panted and fondled himself, his voice was thick and rough and it sent a shiver down my spine.

“Yeah, I did. Fuck, Sunshine, I imagined it was your hot, tight ass my cock was slipping in and out of.” I added a third finger to my ass as I pretended it was Justin's cock." It felt so good, but not as good as you.” I mentally slap myself for the things that come out of my mouth when having (or simulating) sex with Justin.

“Bri-an … you got that dildo lubed up yet? I so wanna fuck you … now.” I watched as his back arched up off the bed as he rolled his balls between his fingers while thrusting up into his fist.

“Yeah, get the stroker ready. I wanna do this at the same time, Sunshine.”

“You want to feel like I'm really there? Slipping my cock inside you?” I watched as he positioned the tip of his cock at the opening of the stroker while watching me on the screen, watching him.

“Fuck, yeah.” Justin sighed as he watched me push the tip of the dildo against my hole, but hesitate to push it inside.

“I wanna fuck you, Bri. Are you ready for my cock?”

“Oh yeah, I'm ready for it. Fuck me, Justin. Now”

At the same moment that I saw Justin moan and arch his back as he pushed his cock inside the stroker clutched in his hand, I pushed the dildo past that first tight ring, while my breath hitched, my eyes closed and I rode out that initial burning stretch. On pure instinct, we fell into our natural sexual rhythm. For every thrust of Justin's cock into the stroker, there was a mirrored thrust of the dildo. Through years of experience, the rhythm never faltered. Every few strokes managed to brush against my prostate. We both kept our eyes locked on each other, not blinking or looking away, both of us reveling in the look of ecstasy on each other's face.

“Can you f-feel my cock Brian?” he panted and licked his lips. “F-feel it pounding into you?” He sped up his thrusts into his fist as I fucked myself harder in time with him, moaning as my muscles began reflexively grabbing onto the dildo, my hand's movements over my own cock mirroring his.

“Oh, yeah. Can you … feel me … gripping you? Sq-squeezing you?”

“Fucking hell … s'fucking … tight, Brian.” Justin arched up off the bed sharply as he started fingering his own hole. “Gon- co- soo-”

“Unh … so good … Sunshine. … M'c-close too.”

Every thrust of the dildo was slamming into my prostate now and I could feel the mother of all orgasms building as Justin and I watched each other. Justin was snapping his hips up, burying his cock deep into the the silicone stroker, and I know from my own experience that the interior ridges and valleys feel so real (and similar enough to being inside me) that he was racing to the brink as well. One final brush against my abused prostate and I was unashamedly screaming Justin's name while I rode the dildo through my orgasm, as stream upon stream of hot jizz coated my chest and stomach. My orgasmic cry turned out being the catalyst for Justin's own explosive orgasm, as he quickly pulled out of the stroker and shot jet after jet of come over his chest and neck just for me to see. Justin was the first to speak when we had both come down from the orgasmic high.

“Christ, Brian … I mean, it's definitely not you, you know? It still feels fucking fantastic, though.”

“I know. I was watching you when you came all over yourself.” His face flushed bright crimson and I really hope he never stops doing that, it's fucking hot. “This webcam link is fucking amazing, isn't it? Bet it looks nice and crisp on that new laptop of yours, too.”

“Oh yeah … definitely money well spent.”

“The link or the laptop? How does my dick look in HD, by the way, cos' yours looks amazing.”

“Thank you for the laptop Brian, I appreciate it. I'm glad you bought it, even though you shouldn't have.” He paused and leered at me, doing that slow blink of his “And your dick looks larger than life and good enough to eat as always.” I watched in amusement as Justin wrinkled his nose and absently scratched at his stomach. “Ugh, I need a shower and a nap now.”

“Yeah, me too.” I grimaced as I ran my hand across my own torso. “Later, Sunshine.”

“Later.”

<::::*BJ*::::>

The months went on and he worked hard in New York which I've really gotta give him credit for, because it was far harder than I've ever known him to work - although when living with me, he never really had to work, he simply chose to. He was successfully holding down all three part-time jobs and somehow still finding the time to paint. One good thing was, once he was earning his own money, he was less inclined to gripe about me buying him a thing or two here and there. Especially when it came in the form of a dildo that was an exact clone of my cock along with the means to clone his own for me. (Apparently, when it comes to receiving new sex toys, his pride over money gets quickly tossed aside.) What can I say, I taught the boy well and by glorious accident, unleashed a sexual monster.

There are still times where he is such an infuriatingly independent and prideful little fucker though - nine times out of ten to his own detriment - that I just wanna strangle him. Like when he refuses to accept any financial help from anyone at all - even when he is in desperate need of it. The least bit of help on my part, or on the part of poor Mother Taylor for that matter - even when only done with his best interests at heart - is met with disdain and serves as the tiniest of sparks needed to ignite him into fully engulfed 5-alarm drama-princess blaze.

Perfect example is the time he reamed my ass thoroughly - and definitely not in a positive, life-affirming way and very loudly I might add - via webcam for going behind his back and paying his two months of overdue rent, even when he knew he was faced with possible eviction if it hadn't been paid by the deadline. I had found out about it innocently enough and completely by accident, so it's not like I was snooping and his mommy didn't tattle on him - this time. Fortunately for him, (or not-so-fortunately, as far as Justin was concerned) I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.

<::::*BJ*::::>

He had only been there about a five or six months and we were having a slightly earlier than usual nightly 'chat' session one Tuesday when there was a loud knock on the door. Justin had been sitting on his couch naked and quickly recovered his discarded jeans from the floor at his feet and attempted to wrangle his half-hard cock into a comfortable position in them as he went to answer the door. Off-screen, I could hear the landlord loudly cursing about the rent being nearly two months overdue. I guessed that Justin had stepped into the hall, pulling the door partly shut behind him to act as a buffer, because after the initial cursing began I could barely hear Justin pleading with him for more time, promising him without fail that he'd have the money by the week's end.

Justin came back, slowly stripping off his jeans along the way, laying the seduction on thick, palming his quickly re-hardening dick and moaning my name, trying to direct us back to our more 'pleasurable' pursuits all the while acting like nothing happened. Oh, he was horny as fuck and hot for it alright, but while his little seduction act was primarily done to gear me up it also had the secondary purpose of cleverly distracting me from asking him who was at the door. And of course, me being the sexually Justin-starved individual that I was, I let him gloss over it without a fight for once.

I was never very good at being able to stop myself from trying to help Justin out of a jam, though, even if he didn't want the help. (Or like most times, he insisted that he didn't need it.) Following that impulse, I found the contact information for his landlord the next day courtesy of Cynthia - note to self: give that woman a raise - then I wired the landlord the money Justin owed him, and prepared myself for the inevitable fallout when Justin found out about it. Just like I thought, I didn't have to wait very long at all. Surprisingly, it was quicker than I thought it would be.

To say that when he found out about it that he wasn't pleased was the understatement of the millennium. He sent me an urgent, two-word text message around lunchtime that very same day - 'chat … NOW'. Luckily for me, it was a slow day at Kinnetic and everyone else was currently out to lunch, so I was able to oblige him and I opened the chat window, glad the prying eyes and ears of my gossiping employees would not be privy to what I knew would quickly escalate into an Oscar-worthy performance on his part. My suspicions were immediately confirmed as soon as his beautiful, albeit very angry face appeared on the screen, his irritation with me was more than evident.

“What the fuck, Brian? You paid my goddamn rent? How many times have I told you I didn't need your fucking money? I can do this myself!”

“Obviously not, when he's banging on your door at 10 o'clock at night, asking for his money-”

“Fuck you, Brian! It was none of your fucking business! Christ! You always do this! I am so sick and tired of you thinking you have to step in and take care of 'poor little Justin'! I didn't ask for your help-”

“I know you didn't, that's the problem! Jesus fuck, Justin! This is like the Sap all over again! Didn't you learn your lesson with that shit? No, of course not! You would have just let yourself get evicted without ever asking for help! Because of what? Your stupid pride?”

“You asshole … that was a cheap shot and you know it! This isn't about me, or my pride! This is about you, you fucker, and your complete inability to let me do this on my own, or even to treat me like the goddamned adult that I am! Wake up! I'm not a fucking 17 year old kid that you have to take care of anymore, Brian!”

“An adult, Sunshine? Really? You coulda fooled me, cos' you're doing a damn good impression of one of your teenage twink tantrums right now! If you've got it so under control, like you say, then answer me this: If you get evicted, where would you go, Justin? What's your back-up plan, huh? It's not like you can go to Deb's or Daphne's like you used to when you needed somewhere to stay!”

“FUCK you, Brian! It's none of your goddamn business! You just can't stop trying to run my life, can you? You always have to be in charge, on top, make all the decisions, fix all the problems.” He sops his pacing mid-stride and balls his fists in his hair then shouts, “Fuck! I don't even know why I bother trying anymore! This obviously isn't going to work. You're never going to change, goddammit!”

He stalked over to the computer and turned off the chat, he basically just hung up on me! Little fucker. Wait a minute. Shit. What did he mean by, 'he doesn't know why he even bothers trying anymore'? or 'This obviously isn't gonna work', does that mean what I think that it means?

“No-no-no-no … Justin! Shitfuckgoddammit!” Oh, this is so not good. This is definitely not what I expected to happen when I opened the chat. I expected him to be pissed, maybe furious, but this?

“Fuckfuckfuck!” His total lack of concern for himself just fucking set me off, dammit.

It was knowing that he would have let himself be evicted without ever sucking up his damn pride and asking for help. He's all alone up there in NY, nowhere else to go if he loses his apartment, no one to help him and his safety is paramount, and I will always do everything I can to ensure it, even at the risk of causing an argument between us over it - but I never wanted this.

I knew that he would be angry and try to pull me into an argument - it's what he does when he feels he's in the right. I should have kept my cool, I knew better, but still I let it get to me - the image of him kicked out of his apartment with nowhere to live but on the streets, him being hurt or worse and us never knowing - all because he wouldn't just admit that he needs help. I knew the dig about Sap was a cheap shot and that it would hit deep, but it was true nonetheless and was out of my mouth before I had the chance to think twice, even though I instantly regretted it. Yes, I said regret.

I called him immediately after the screen went dark and it predictably rolled right to voice mail. My stomach churned as his recorded message droned on, an unpleasant and sadly familiar feeling settling over me, just like when he left me for the fiddle-fuck and again before the bombing, though I couldn't recognise it then for what it was … heartbreak. 'You've reached Justin Taylor, leave your message after the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.' I knew that with all the distance between us, it would be easy for him to just move on and, call me selfish, call me a lovesick fairy. Either way, I couldn't let him go without a fight.

“Justin … please … call me back and we can talk about this. Hell, if you want, you can even yell at me some more. Look, I know you're fucking pissed at me, I get it. I do. I didn't do it out of some need for control over your life. Concern for your safety, absolutely. I … I just want you safe, that's all.” Thoughts of him bleeding in my arms while I sat there cradling him helplessly on that parking garage floor flooded my mind and I heard my voice break. “If something … h-happened to you again … I couldn't- I just- Justin … I'm-I'm sorry.”

Finally, fifty-seven hours, nine minutes and twenty-eight agonizing seconds of total communications blackout later, a text message appeared. 'You were right. I'm sorry too. Chat?'

<::::*BJ*::::>

The years of perpetuating the image of myself as an uncaring asshole quickly proved to be a distinct advantage … do it long enough and eventually people believed the lie - even my closest friends. Inside, I was miserable, though you'd never know it to look at me. Well, not unless you had the misfortune to work for me, that is, according to Theodore. The gang had all just assumed that since he had gone to the Big Apple, we had gone our separate ways and who was I to dispel that little myth and bring the looks of pity that would definitely be aimed my way. Poor pathetic Kinney, pining for his lover. Fuck that, I decided. It's none of their business anyway. I could wait for Sunshine to come back, (as he assured me often enough that he would) as long as it was without an audience. I mean I did tell him it was 'only time', didn't I?

The time Justin spent in New York, while spectacularly productive and successful for him, was without a doubt some of the worst of my life. Even though I had secretly wanted him to stay in the Pitts more than I was ready to admit, I wanted him to succeed (sometimes more than Justin wanted it for himself, I think) in the New York Art World more. I knew what he was capable of and what he could accomplish if given the opportunity, smart little fucker that he is. Justin's artistic success was never in question. In my mind it was an inevitability.

And fucking successful he was, accomplishing all that he went there to do and so much more. Justin took New York by storm, my tiny blonde tornado of talent.

<::::*BJ*::::>

As they say, if it weren't for bad luck, some people would have no luck at all. If Justin and I have learned nothing else over the years, it's that we have some of the worst luck, because bad shit just seems to follow us. They also say timing is everything, and Justin's timing (as far as his art was concerned) was impeccable. Bad luck can be a good thing too, sometimes, especially when it's combined with Justin's timing to create a 'perfect storm' of circumstance, as it were. And New York was where it happened.


From what he told me later that night, it all started when he had been walking back to his apartment from the subway that morning after yet another gallery had refused to even look at his work. While walking down the semi-crowded street, his portfolio - which I had offered to replace more than once (the damn thing had both feet in the grave, it was just waiting for the dirt to be tossed on top of it) - decided to finally give up its tenuous hold on life and committed suicide on the sidewalk, thoughtlessly offering up its contents to the considerable wind that was blowing that day. The shift in weight as it broke, combined with Justin's desperate attempt to keep hold of it, caused him to collide with a female passerby making the woman drop her coffee on the sidewalk as well. As he frantically tried to recover the contents from the sidewalk before they could be scattered to the winds or damaged by the advancing coffee, the woman he had bumped into was thoughtfully perusing the few she had scooped up before handing them back with a smile.

“Thank you so much! I don't know what I would have done if they had gotten blown away or damaged by the coffee. Oh shit! Your coffee … ”

“No problem, I wasn't exactly watching where I was going. The collision was as much my fault as yours and you seem to have gotten the worse end of it.”

“I still feel badly that I made you drop your coffee. Can I at least buy you another?”

“Yes, I'd like that, thank you.”

He said they had walked in companionable silence down the block to a nearby coffee shop with outdoor tables, taking seats across from one another at a secluded table. The waitress took their orders and as she left, the woman then gestured questioningly to Justin's portfolio leaning against the table beside him.

“May I?” She opened the portfolio on one of the empty chairs. “Are all these yours?” She had asked in her thickly accented voice as she studied each one intently.

“Yes, they are.”

“They're … intense. Such emotion, I love them!”

“Thank you for the compliment.” Then he'd muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he placed the recovered artwork back in the mangled portfolio. “At least someone in New York likes them.”

Justin said she chuckled lightly at that, “Moved to New York to make a name for yourself, eh?”

He'd replied with a rueful smile, “That obvious, huh? I moved here from Pittsburgh a few months ago.”

The waitress arrived fairly quickly with their coffees and muffins and Justin smiled brightly as she approached, thanked her, then paid for their order while handing her a five-dollar tip.

“So I know you get it, don't want it to blow away,” he'd said as he pressed it into her palm. She thanked him with an equally bright smile and returned inside.

His coffee companion nodded towards the exiting waitress with a grin, “It shows. Far too polite to be a native.”

“Not exactly a native yourself with that lovely accent.” He had smiled brightly then continued, “So … you're saying, what? If I act like a complete asshole, people won't take one look at me and say 'No' before I even open my mouth and I might actually get what I want?” his disbelief clearly showing on his face, he said.

“Sometimes, yes. Let me guess? Coming back from a gallery that wouldn't even look at your work, yes?”

He'd huffed a disappointed laugh, “Yeah, like the twentieth one. It seems all of the galleries in New York are run by pretentious assholes who wouldn't recognize great art even if it was hanging in the Louvre or the Guggenheim with a note pointing to it saying 'Look, this is great art'.” The woman laughed again and Justin bowed his head sheepishly. “Not that I consider my stuff 'great', but …” He chuckled, and looked up as he'd added confidently, “alright, I do. It's fucking amazing.”

The woman laughed out loud and then pulled a card from her bag. “Yes, it is. And with an attitude like that, I see good things coming for you, taică. Such spirit in you. What is your name?”

“Justin. Justin Taylor. Pleasure to meet you. Ms.-?” He held out his hand, which the woman shook firmly.

“Those beautiful manners again! Definitely not a New Yorker.” She grinned. “Sasha Patrescu …” she said as she slid a business card across the tabletop to him with her fingertip and finished introducing herself while he read it. “ … not-so-pretentious asshole, at your service.”

Justin said he felt his face flush hotly, then he closed his eyes and swore under his breath, 'Shit.' He'd opened his eyes and stammered to Sasha, “God, I am so sorry! I had a for-shit day so far and here I am lumping every New York gallery owner in the same-”

Sasha had laughed deeply and then placed her hand on Justin's arm reassuringly as she spoke. “Don't ever apologize for your opinion, taică. It is obvious you are right, most gallery owners are not as smart as me, especially since not one has recognised such a brilliantly talented artist as you!”

Justin had laughed heartily and smiled at her, “God, Brian would love you! Thank you, Ms. Patrescu.”

“Sasha, please. And who is this Brian?”

(Justin told me he couldn't help but to laugh out loud again when she'd phrased it like that, remembering how Mother Taylor used to refer to me that way in the beginning.)

He told me he smiled a mega-watt Sunshine smile and then blushed again slightly, getting lost in the thoughts my name brought to mind. While he was lost in his fantasies, Sasha reached across the table to gently finger the ring on the chain that had fallen from it's place inside Justin's shirt as he had bent down to retrieve his work from the sidewalk earlier.

“Ah, a gift from your drăguţ - eh, your beloved one, perhaps?”

“Once upon a time … ” Just then, Justin's cell phone rang and he'd flashed his mega-watt smile at her again as he fished it out of his pocket.

“Speak of the devil, and he calls eh, taică? His ears must be burning, no?”

Justin furrowed his brows in confusion that Sasha had known it was me who was calling. She smiled softly at him and waved her index finger in an upward arc in front of her mouth, miming a smile. “Your smile, taică, the bright one when you talk about him,” she whispered as he answered his cell, then she excused herself from the table to give Justin some privacy.

“Brian, hi!” I was shocked by the hyper, upbeat tone when he answered, which was the polar opposite of the previous night's 'I suck as an artist and no one will ever buy my art, so what's the point of me even being here' attitude.

“You're awful chipper this morning, Sunshine.” A cheerful Justin is much better than the depressed Justin I'd been dealing with of late, so since he was in a better mood, I teased him as he would expect me to, though my heart wasn't in it. “Was he that good?” I cringed and held my breath, hoping that really wasn't the reason for his good mood. (Though we hadn't talked about either of us fucking other people while he was away, I had this insane hope that he wouldn't want to.)

“Ha, ha, Brian. Not funny.” He lowered his voice, apparently in polite deference to the possibly delicate sensibilities of the people around him, before purring through the phone, “My amazing moods don't revolve around sex … unless it's sex with you. Watching you pretending to fuck me last night was totally incredible, by the way.”

“It was, but just wait till you see what I have in store for tonight. See, I bought this new dildo-” I know my seductive tone went straight to his groin, cos, hell it went straight to mine.

“Bri-an … dammit, now I've got a hard-on!” He hissed into the phone as I laughed. “It's not funny, Bri. You better hope it goes away before Sasha gets back to the table.”

“Just think of Saint Joan … I seem to remember you saying once that she could make anyone lose their hard-on.”

There was a moment or two of silence then he giggled, “Yep. Still does.”

Argh! Did the fucking twat just giggle … I mean, really, he actually giggled?! Who the fuck still does that at his age? An involuntary and utterly delicious shiver runs down my body in response to it) I have to admit, though there's something about that sound – unnh - that turns me on for reasons I can't begin to explain and he knows it.

“So if it not that, then what's got you full of Sunshine-y smiles this morning? Wait, who the fuck's Sasha?”

“Well, if you hadn't interrupted me … like I was saying, I was on my way back from a gallery-”

“-And they love your stuff and offered you billions to make more, so now you can be my sugar daddy?”

“No, asshole. And really, again with the interrupting? Listen. I was on my way back and I bumped into this woman and my portfolio - I said shut up and listen, I know you've been trying to get me to let you buy me a new one - my portfolio falls and busts open, spewing my art everywhere - and it's windy as fuck today, by the way - so anyhow, the woman helps me pick it up and I offered to buy her a coffee as thanks-”

“Is there and end to this story, Sunshine?” I have to stop his rambling sometimes, or else he'll go on forever. Plus there's the added bonus of possibly getting him riled up, cos lemme tell you, an angry Justin is fucking sexy as hell.

“Yes, fucker, if you let me get there. So anyhow, we're having coffee and talking and she asks to look at my other stuff - and she fucking loves it!”

“I always told you that you were an amazing artist, and I know it makes you happy when people like your work, but what does that have to do with why you're so happy?”

“If you'd let me finish-”

“Alright, Sunshine, continue, but sometime today, though. I do have meetings to attend and employees yet to frighten, you know.”

Justin huffed a laugh at that. “Say hi to Ted for me. Anyway, we finally introduced ourselves over coffee and she gave me her business card-” My little princess paused apparently for added dramatic effect, tipping me off that he thought what he was about to say was big news.

“And? What does she own some high-end escort service or something? She offering to make you big bucks peddling that bubble butt?” I decided to tease him, but that's what he gets for drawing this out.

“Nooo. For your information, she's owns a gallery … asshole. You know, like her own fucking art gallery and she loves my stuff! I mean, this could totally be it Bri!”

I could hear the overwhelming joy in Justin's voice and I couldn't hide the pride in mine, nor did I want to.“That 's because your work is amazing, Justin. I told you sooner or later people would wake up and realise what a genius you are.”I swallowed the lump in my throat before adding quietly, “I'm proud of you no matter what, Sunshine.”

I could tell by the soft and breathy quality to his voice that he wasn't expecting me to say that.“Bri-an … thank you.” I thought I heard a slight sniffle from him (*grin* damn those allergies of his) and then an excited gasp. “Oh! She's coming back, I gotta go. See you tonight. I love you, Bri.”

“Love you too, Sunshine. See you tonight. Be ready for me.”



As he paced around his living room during our chat that night - before we moved on to the 'celebrating', of course - Justin gleefully recounted the rest of his day for me, launching into an enthusiastic play-by-play. His arms gestured wildly and, with a mega-watt grin plastered on his face, he filled me in on the rest of his breakfast with Sasha and how she cleared her schedule so that she could go with Justin to his studio and see all his work in person. He was so excited, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face, that gorgeous trademark smile that you can't help but return. It turns out Sasha Patrescu's gallery, 'Fereastra la soul' - 'Window to the soul' - was pretty well-known in the upper echelon of New York society-types as the go-to for the avant-garde. She presented him a contract, gave him time to have it looked over, and offered him a spot in an upcoming showcase and, based on the success of sales of his work, possibly his own solo showing within the year.

For the showcase, Sasha had only requested fifteen paintings, a number Justin had easily on hand, his only difficulty in preparation for the show had been to sort through his completed paintings and pick the 'right' ones. The showcase had been a massive boost to his confidence in both himself and his work as every single piece of his had sold and a few patrons had even pulled him aside and inquired about some possible commission work. A few interested parties had even gone so far as to come by his studio and buy a painting or two outright.

The contract that Sasha had drawn up was standard and mutually beneficial to both her and Justin, a partnership in which Justin retained all creative control over what, when and how he painted.

Sasha quickly became his mentor, friend and quasi-agent, genuinely falling under the 'Sunshine spell' and taking him under her protective and knowledgeable wing. Endless hours were spent imparting the do's and don'ts of the art world, the best lesson of all being how to promote himself and get his work out there to the masses without it feeling like artistic prostitution - something Justin completely abhorred. Her own infatuation with his artwork helped him enormously, since she had three of Justin's largest and most breath-taking paintings on permanent (and very prominent) display, clearly visible through the front windows of the gallery to the New York passers-by. Sasha also shamelessly doted on Justin, taking him to an outrageous number of New York high-society parties and charity functions - all under the pretense of getting him seen by all the right people, mind you - though in actuality, they simply enjoyed spending the time together. New York society word of mouth spreads quickly, and soon it was one name on art aficionado's lips: Justin Taylor.



Three years he lived in New York. Thirty-six excruciatingly long months filled with the rare trip to New York for me for Kinnetik or back to the Pitts for holidays for him. The only constant was the nightly video chats - that always ended in surprisingly satisfying and intense sessions of web-cam sex - to sustain us … and sustain us it did. God, how I love technology! While phone sex is adequate, having actually been able to see Justin's pale, sweat covered body writhing on his bed in ecstasy as I watch him stroke his cock while he pretended it was my hand wrapped around his swollen shaft, pumping himself closer and closer towards orgasm was as close to sexual perfection as I could get with him hundreds of miles away from me.

We quickly decided video chats were much more gratifying than phone sex, so much so it seemed that both of us often ended up falling right to sleep afterward instead of me going out to Babylon or Woody's. More often than not, the video link would still be open in the morning, so we'd get the chance to 'wake up' together as well - all in all, life was good. And much to my amazement, I found myself becoming more content to spend my nights 'at home' with Justin, in fact, as the eight-month mark hit, I found myself staying home more and more and going out less and less. With Mikey now living in *gag* wedded bliss in Stepford heaven with Zen Ben, the incessant whining phone calls about going out stopped almost completely, so I never really had a reason to do anything else every night other than talk to Justin unless I wanted to - which I didn't. One odd night I decided to meet the boys at Babylon, Mikey joked as he watched me turn down two tricks in a row, “What? Did you finally nail every fuckable fag in Pittsburgh?”and while I laughed, it occurred to me that my number of tricks had gone from about twenty or thirty a week down to about fifteen or less a month. That information kind of threw me for a loop and I was shocked again when by the eighteen-month mark, it was maybe one or two every few weeks.



One night while going over the books at Babylon with Theodore - somewhere around the second year mark, I think – when I felt Theodore staring at me for a good ten minutes, as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure how or if he should even say it, though trying unsuccessfully to be discreet and my curiosity finally got the better of me.

“Something on your mind, Theodore?”

“Uh … It's just … nothing.”

“Spit it out, Theodore.”

“Um … well, that is … um … Are you okay?”

“I'm brilliant, dazzling. What's the reason for all this sudden concern, Theodore?”

“It's just that … well, we've been working pretty closely for a while, and …”

“Those drugs must have really done a number on you Schmidt. You're not my type, plus I'm not Sap, no 'getting head or giving head to get ahead' here.”

“God, no. Not that! Jeez, Brian … I'm with Blake now, or did you forget?”

“How is the wifey these days?”

“Asshole. Fine, he's fine. Not that you really care, but thanks anyway for asking.”

“This is becoming rather tedious, Theodore, and I have places to be, so spit it out.”

“Well, um, you haven't exactly been acting like yourself lately and I thought maybe the-”

“What do you mean I haven't been 'acting like myself'?”

“Um … w-well, I … i-it's probably nothing, b-but you hardly ever g-go out after work anymore. J-just because Justin is gone, doesn't mean you need to lock yourself in your loft every night. That's just really not like you.”

“Is that how you see it, Teddy? Poor Kinney, locked in the loft, crying into his pillow at night, pining after the little twat like some lovesick fairy?”

“N-no, I m-mean, I just- … I haven't seen you at Woody's for weeks now and you're only ever here to go over the books, and well- shit! I don't know how to … I'm just gonna say it. Ihaven'tseenyouwithatrickinmonths. There, I said it.”

“And now you can repeat it in English.”

“I said that I haven't seen you trick in months. In all the years I've known you, you've always been out every night, fucking and sucking and well, with Justin gone, it should be more not less. You gotta move on.”

“Not that it's any of your business, Theodore, but Justin and I still … talk … pretty much every night, we're doing just fine. I just don't advertise it.”

“Really? Wow. Really? I'm glad to hear that. So things are going well for him in New York then? Wait, so if it's not because you're missing Justin ….”

“Theodore-”

“Well, it's just the last time you stopped tricking was when you had … oh, god, Bri, it's not b-back, is it? Y-you can tell me, you know … if it is. You know i-if you need anything … .”

“What? The cancer? No. I'm fine, Theodore, no need to plan my funeral just yet.”

“I-I was-wasn't implying... It's just, you know, you've been a great - dare I say it - friend to me and I was … concerned.”

“Your concern has been acknowledged and will now be ignored. Now, go home. It's getting late, so run along to the 'wittle woman' and get some sleep, we wouldn't want you coming in late tomorrow and pissing off the boss - who knows, he may even fire you.”

“Of course not, Brian.”

“Hey, Ted? … Thanks.”

“ Goodnight, boss.”

I nodded and he quickly scurried out of the room as if being chased, leaving me wondering when did Teddy, of all people, become a person that I confide in? The conversation also left me with a nagging desire to check my liquor cart and my stash, because poor Theodore must have surely slipped off the sobriety wagon. It was absolutely unfathomable to me that my sex life had reduced itself to only my nightly video sessions with Justin and the occasional weekend visit. That was impossible. Right? Was it even possible that I hadn't stuck my dick in a trick in months? Could it be true that the only orgasms I'd experienced in the last few months had really either been induced by Justin (via web-cam) or while jerking off thinking about Justin? That got me thinking back to last night's 'chat' session with Justin:

“Aww, you started without me, Sunshine.”

“I didn't mean to, really. It's just that I was naked and … mmm … waiting for you, then I started thinking about you … aahh … touching me and couldn't help myself.”

“You were thinking about me touching you, Sunshine? Well, what exactly was I doing to you?”

“Mmm-hmm, I was. You want me to tell you? Tell you how you were touching me?”

“Yeah, tell me Justin, tell me how I was touching you. Did my hands feel good? Did I get you hard?”

“Uh-huh, they did. Yeah, you made me so fucking hard, Bri. You were on top of me … and you were kissing that spot on my neck.”

“The one behind your ear?”

“Yeah, then you moved down to the other one.”

“Between your neck and your shoulder? That one? Did I suck on it or bite it?”

“That's the one. You started off soft … sigh … and then kept doing it harder, then you bit down.”

“It made you moan didn't it? Or did you whimper?”

“B-both, made me do both cuz you were rubbing your cock against my hip too.”

“Oh I was? Was I kissing your lips, too? Hmm? Maybe I slid my tongue in your mouth?”

“Uh-huh … then y-you licked down and circled my nipple-”

“-with my tongue? Did I blow cool air across it?”

“Uh-huh … m-my nipple got h-hard and you t-twis-”

“-ted the other one before I switched? … Aahh … then what?”

“Well, that's as far as it got … you interrupted me, Bri.”

“So tell me what I will do to you next, while I watch you touch yourself.”

“Wanna watch you, too.”

“I know you do … you look so hot, hand around your cock like that. Tell me more.”

“Then you'll … unnh, … lick down my chest.”

“Justin … mmm … then what will I do? Will I lick up the-”

“-inside of my thighs? Uh-huh, it … mmm … feels so-”

“-hot … your thighs are on fire … ummm … I drag the tip of my tongue … up the-”

“-underside of my cock? … mmm-hmm … t-tongue feels so good. Then you-”

“-dip the tip of my tongue into your slit and … aahh … lick up-”

“-all my pre-come … yeah … s'so wet and then you ta-”

“-take your cock in my … unnh … mouth and let you-”

“-fuck it … god … I love it when you let me-”

“-fuck it hard and … aahh … fast?”

“Y-yeah … mouth is so warm and-”

“-wet? Your cock tastes so … fucking … good. Will I slide my-”

“-finger i-inside me … ummm … yeah, you do, then you-”

“-start to f-fuck you … shit … fuck you with it?”

“Oh, fuck yeah, Brian … mmmm, yeah … fuck my-”

“-tight little ass? How … god … how many fingers-”

“-do you have … aahh … in me? T-three and you keep-”

“-fucking you with them? Do I d-drag them across your-”

“-p-prostate? … oh, fuck yeah … m-my b-body's-”

“-on fire? Y-you gonna … unnh … come for me soon?”

“S-so close Brian … uuhh … got-gotta go-”

“-faster? Yes, fuck … mmm … faster Justin, faster! Go deep-”

“-deeper, Brian? You want me to … god … shove my cock down your-”

“-throat … yesss … love it when you come-”

“-down your throat … uunnhh … so you can-”

“-taste you … fuck … Justin I want you to-”

“-come Brian? … aahh … You want me to-”

“-come for me? … fuck yeah … y'sound so-”

“-close? I am … god … s-so c-close-”

*groans*“Oh, fuck!”

*shouts*“God, Bri-an!”

“I haven't … unnh … come that hard-”

“-in forever, I know … hunh … yea, me neither.”

“Whew, that was-”

“-fucking hot?”

*growl*“Justin. You can stop-”

*grin* “-finishing your sentences now?”

*growl*

*snort* “Alright … but you gotta admit … it was fucking hot.”

*chuckle*“Yeah, it was, just don't get used to it, we're not-”

*giggle*“-a couple of fucking dykes?”

*growl* “Justin …”

*yawn, sings*“Goodniiiight, Brian … I looove you.”

*yawn, chuckle*“Me too, Sunshine. G'night.”

With fucking hot webcam sex like that and the powerful near coma-inducing orgasms that come with it, it's no wonder I haven't felt the need for Babylon or Woody's - I'm too fucking exhausted.

And when I really thought about it, remembering the after-effects of that 'chat' session and many more like it, I concluded in utter disbelief that Theodore was probably right, I hadn't had a trick in … well … fuck, I honestly can't even remember the last time I tricked! Wonder of all wonders, Brian Kinney has become … monogamous? No, there's no way I would ever be considered monogamous - let alone admit to it - in my life. So we'll call it 'only fucking Justin'. Shit! But isn't that still admitting to being monogamous?

Well, fuck me, when the fuck did that happen? I guess that just proves how fucking amazing and talented my not-so-little ball of Sunshine is, not that there was ever a doubt about that in my book, but with almost no physical contact between us in two and a half years - aside from a few short weekend visits to him in New York for his art shows and holidays in the Pitts - and it has still been satisfying enough to eliminate the need for me to trick. Sunshine may have the face of an angel, but his body, *groan* Jesus fuck, the things that man does with that body … oh yeah, no doubt about it, that body was most definitely made to sin and when we're achieving such powerful daily orgasms together like we have been, who could blame me for not needing to go anywhere else? No one else can even compare.



So, after Justin's sixth show in a mere eighteen months, this one a solo show of thirty paintings - all of which sold opening night and not a single one for under fifteen thousand - he called and told me he had decided he was coming home. No excuses, no apologies, no regrets. Justin felt that he had more than accomplished what he had gone to New York to do. His name was now on the lips of influential society-types at all the right events, everyone was talking about Justin Taylor. In fact, they were now coming to him in droves. Gone were the days of begging galleries to look at his portfolio, he was now turning them away and he had several commissions that would keep him working well into the next year. He said that he missed me so much that his paintings were beginning to reflect it and since he had achieved enough notoriety in New York to be able to paint from anywhere he wanted, and Sunshine wanted the Pitts … and me.



Fuck, Justin is finally here … home … for good. The feeling of having him home is indescribable. Ridiculous, right? I mean, even though I can generate award-winning slogans at the drop of a hat, I still have not been able to find even one word – much less several - that encompasses the feeling. I have to pinch myself almost daily because I still have trouble believing that he's really here – that it's not just a beautiful dream. Even after six months of him being home now it still amazes and confounds me that he came back … for me … because he loves me. That fact is utterly unfathomable to me and I think, it's also why I find myself almost compulsively unable to stop touching him as often as possible, whether it be a hand on his thigh under the table, an arm across his shoulder, a hand across the small of his back as I pass by him, or repeated kisses to the temple as we sit in the diner or Woody's … I'm afraid I'll blink and he'll be gone. All small touches in the grand scheme of things, but each one serves in reassuring me bit by bit that I am not merely imagining his presence, he is really here, that he really came home. When given the option of a brand-new world of experiences and - though I am loathe to admit it – the unlimited choice of men in New York, incredibly, he still chose to return to Pittsburgh … and me.

As always when we're at Babylon, we draw the attention of all the envious fags around us while we kiss and grope each other openly on the dance floor. We get lost in each other, forget where we are and are totally oblivious to everyone and everything but each other. So, I'm not surprised when - as I'm drawn back to the present by Justin's enticing arms wrapping around my neck, his soft lips nuzzling my throat, kissing all the right spots as the warm puffs of his panted breath tingle across my skin - I realise we are, once again, the center of attention. I just flash my best 'eat-your-hearts-out-bitches' smirk and continue dancing. It's no wonder they stare, though, we're fucking hot and it's erotic to watch us - I have Babylon security footage to prove it - both of us ooze so much raw sexual energy while dancing that I'm sure has more than once induced an orgasm or two among our fellow dancers, merely from the sight of us doing what we do together so naturally.

Radiating heat in my palms calls my attention to my hands, splayed out across Justin's exposed lower back – he's wearing that fucking hot red midriff shirt of his - and anchoring our bodies together, my hands suddenly craving to touch one of my favorite parts of his body. Moving slowly and with every intent to tease, I work my hands inside his tight jeans and caress the swell of his luscious little ass, making him moan as my fingertips biting into the heated flesh, pulling him as close as I can while we move to the beat. I let myself drown in the sensation as Justin's hands ghost over my bare skin, inching their way up under my shirt and lightly tracing my abs then moving up to my chest. His long artistic fingers gracefully glide over the skin he can reach, traveling with expert knowledge over every sensitive spot I have, rolling my sensitive nipples between his fingers and making me groan, his touch leaving tiny tremors of electricity buzzing in their wake just beneath my skin.

Justin's rutting his hardened cock against my thigh shamelessly – he's flying, I can tell, because he'd be halted by the obvious wetness if he wasn't - his hot tongue blazing a trail of fire up my throat, sucking and biting at my Adam's apple. Oh, fuck. The little twat knows how hard it makes me when he does that and this alpha-like aggressiveness in public only proves he's too high to care and frankly, so am I … the sexual aggressiveness in him is such a fucking turn-on. My nose buried in his neck, I inhale the sweet smell of Sunshine, turpentine and linseed oil mixed with cigarettes and tequila cocooned in the all-too-familiar intoxicating musk of his arousal, the scent causing me to groan in appreciation as my cock turns to granite-like hardness against his hip. My whole body tingles from his breaths against my neck as it flows soft and hotly across my sweat-dampened skin before rapidly cooling. All the years we've been together and it still surprises me how quickly my body responds to him (and only him, really), that his body still feels this good grinding against mine … especially when we're not even naked. From that first night, I noticed with a degree of wonder at just how Justin's body has fit against mine so completely, so perfectly, almost as if it was moulded from mine. That deliciously decadent body which has - on more than one occasion, I shamefully admit - made me come in my jeans like some fucking inexperienced teenager from simply dancing against it on the floor at Babylon … something it seems I may be in danger of doing now if I don't stop him soon.

To anyone else, it would appear as if tonight is no different than any other night we have shared at Babylon, dancing to the beat, practically fucking while still fully clothed and vertical. I find myself wondering how many times have we danced in this exact spot over the years? Far too many to count, definitely. No matter how many times it's been, though, tonight definitely does feel different to me.

Losing myself once more in a blissful drug-and-Justin-enhanced trance on the dance floor with my arms full of Sunshine, erotic images of my blonde bombard my mind, lightning quick but breathtakingly potent flashes. Brilliant and familiar images of a sweat-slick Justin. Images which are followed by the utterly foreign - though no less deliciously cock-hardening - visions of him buried balls deep inside me fucking me hard and fast in our bed. His arousal-flushed face is the picture of supreme bliss hovering above me, his beautiful sapphire eyes gone dark navy with need boring into mine, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist while his fingers clutch them hard enough to bruise, Beads of sweat blaze tiny trails down his beautiful chest as he's pounding his rock-hard cock into me over and over with wild abandon, making me writhe and scream in ecstasy. All while his thick and lust-filled voice rings in my ears goading me, 'You love my cock inside you … don't you, Brian?' Then he moans obscenely 'Fuck! … So tight.' He taunts me further, 'You fucking … love my cock … say it, Brian. I wanna … unnh … hear you.'' The images continue as he thrusts into me in a punishing rhythm that punctuates his words, 'Gonna … fuck … you … so … hard … gonna … scream … my … name.' I groan obscenely in his ear as my cock makes appreciation of that particular scenario quite obvious to me and I find myself grinding involuntarily against Justin in response. 'Fuck, that was hot! Where the fuck did that thought come from? He's never … well, not like that, anyway!'

“Unnh god, Brian … you're so hard … so fucking hard.”he grins as he rubs himself against me harder.

I'm startled by Justin's lust-thickened voice which mirrors the one from my thoughts and my cock gets painfully harder,“Is this because of me?”he raises an eyebrow, grinning seductively as leans in and whispers the familiar - though sadly for him, hardly ever very successful - provocation, “You dreaming about my cock up your ass again?”His breath tickles the shell of my ear and I visibly shiver, even more because he is unaware of the amount of actual truth behind his taunt tonight. His question is further proof of how high he is right now, because if he was sober, or even buzzed, he would never even hint about it in public, much less come right out and say it. The little twat practically purrs and bites at my nipple through my shirt, palming and squeezing my now aching (and slightly weeping) dick, successfully coaxing another lust-filled groan from my hyper-aroused body. There is no way for him to truly know that his perfect cock up my ass was exactly what I was thinking about in that moment, it was merely wishful thinking on his part as always, but just hearing the seductive roll of those words from his lips makes my cock throb painfully in his grasp, my eyes closing as my breath hitches and my head drops to his shoulder, trying desperately not to blow my load then and there.

“Jus-tin …”I sigh and mentally berate myself when I hear the raw wantonness dripping off that single word. I jerk myself out of his grasp and turn towards the door.

“Get your coat, we're fucking leaving.” I grit out in a harsh tone that I was sure brokered no argument, however, he obviously didn't get the memo.

He merely looks at me, his face a mask full of confusion and concern - both of which apparently brought on by the abrupt change in both my tone and behavior, and - making no visible attempt to move - instead, he is seemingly rooted to the spot. I look away and quickly take in the line of people waiting to pick up their coats and though it is only six or seven people, there is no way am I waiting one second longer than I have to.

“Fuck it. Forget it, we'll get it later. Hell, I can just buy you another one.”

He looks at me as if I have lost my mind and fuck if I don't wonder if maybe I have, because I have never felt this level of raw, desperate need before, like if I don't have him inside me soon I might explode. I tug on his arm insistently and practically drag him on leaden legs behind me through the exit, his blatant confusion and apprehension now rolling off him in waves.

“ Let's go, Justin … NOW!”



Justin says nothing when we get in the car, he just looks at me, almost as if I'm some puzzle he just can't find the last piece to, his eyes are narrowed in concentration. A sharp intake of breath and a muttered curse break the almost oppressive silence. When he looks at me again, his eyes filled with remorse and regret, before he lowers them to stare at his lap.

“Brian, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have said … it's just cos' I'm really high-”his voice trails off and I can see him worrying his lower lip nervously between his teeth.

“What do you mean?”I ask, even though I already know and his nervousness is all my doing. He thinks I'm mad at him for suggesting I wanted him to top me and sadly I have yelled at him for it before, so his fear is more than justified.

“It's just, back there, you know … what I said … I was only joking … I know I shouldn't have … and now you seem a little … um, agitated?”I glanced over at him and he spluttered, “Which is totally understandable-”

“Justin?”I ground out impatiently, trying to get a word in edge-wise and also in a self-preserving attempt to stop the verbal diarrhea he was currently bombarding me with. “Justin!”

“Yeah, Brian?”He eked out in a tiny tremulous whisper like a scolded toddler.

“Shut the fuck up, would you? You're giving me a fucking headache.”

I took my eyes from the road to glare at him pretty damn convincingly - and yes, I really am a bastard like that sometimes – just to fuck with him, mind you … until I saw the start of tears. 'Shit … I really am a bastard sometimes.'

“Justin … don't. I was only joking, I'm not mad, really.”

He sat there stiffly for the next few seconds and I'm sure I heard at least one sniffle, until he finally looked over and I grinned at him. His face instantly relaxed and he blew out a huge breath I didn't even notice he was holding in and, in all honesty, I don't think he had noticed it either.

“So, you're really not mad at me?”he asked timidly.

“Really, twat.”He still looked unconvinced, so I flashed him a genuine grin and reached over to gently squeeze his thigh.

“Whew. You scared me, Bri. What's the rush, then?”

I shrugged offhandedly then added with a leer, “Just in a hurry to fuck without an audience tonight, that's all.”Christ, just because I was ready to think about him topping me, to admit that maybe I wanted it more often and in more ways than I allowed myself to indulge, it certainly didn't mean that I was ready to have some fucking lezzie discussion about it, especially when trapped in a vehicle.

“But, Brian, you just passed the-”he said as he turned in his seat pointing behind us in confusion.

I shrugged then simply said,“We're not going to the loft.”

“Well then where are-”his brow furrows in confusion and I berate myself for thinking the word 'cute'.

“Home Sunshine.”I left it at that, let him figure it out.

“You mean it's-”he paused mid-thought.

“-finished?”I added helpfully.

“And you got your-”I can't help the smile that's plastered on my face or the arch of my brow and it's the only answer he needs. His beautiful eyes darken a shade and a slow lascivious grin forms … he figured it out.

My mind wanders again, to the letter in my pocket from the clinic, identical to the one Justin received last week and I can't help the stupid grin I know is plastered on my face as well … and I really don't care … tonight is definitely going to be different.

“Unnh god, Brian …”

He licks his lips and shifts in the passenger seat, leaning into the center and staring at me and I know that look, he's smiling at me like he wants to eat me … well … cos' he does. I shift uncomfortably in the driver's seat under the heated stare, hoping to make at least a little room in my already constrictive jeans for my relentlessly throbbing cock, a situation which Justin seems more than ready to remedy as next thing I know, he's pulling it out and his hot, wet heat engulfs me before I even realise what's happening. 'When the fuck did he even unfasten them?' All rational thoughts are pushed away while he feverishly attacks my cock, expertly milking my pre-come from the slit, driving my cock deeper and deeper down his talented throat each time. I keep my eyes on the road ahead as best I can, luckily for me at one in the morning, the roads are damn-near deserted. With practiced precision, he has me shooting stream after stream down his eager throat in less than five minutes, consuming it greedily like a man dying of thirst. I feel him trembling as he licks my spent cock clean, undoubtedly because he has shot his own load in his pants just from sucking me off … something he has done more times than I can count.

“Fuck. You came in your pants, didn't you?”

I can't stifle the moan that bubbles up at the thought that just having my cock in his mouth and sucking me off alone is enough to make him come. It's a massive boost to my already healthy ego every single time he does it, not to mention it's hot as fuck and makes me hard all over again.

“ Mmm-hmm …”he sighs in satisfaction as he closes his eyes and leans back against the headrest.

“Such a dirty little cock-whore you are, Sunshine.”I playfully tease him, knowing it turns him on when I call him that.

“Only for yours, Brian.”he whispers seductively as he does that sexy slow blink he's perfected and sadly one I haven't yet managed to make myself immune to.

My cock fully twitches back to life instantly and my mouth goes dry as I'm filled with an undeniable need to taste him, so I reach over and - without unbuttoning his pants - snake my hand inside his briefs, wrapping my hand around his come-covered cock, coating my hand. As Justin moans pitifully, I bring my hand up to my mouth and make a show of slowly licking the come from my palm and each finger, careful not to miss a single drop.

“Brii-aan.”He whines at me and I swear to god, he's channeling Mikey. (Note to self : As of tomorrow, I am severely limiting (if not ending) his time around Mikey, because - for Christ's sake - one person in my life whining like that is more than enough!)

I shrug a shoulder and raise a questioning brow,“What? You got a snack, I wanted one too.”

“You're gonna get me hard again. You know how hot it gets me watching you do that.”

I can't help the wicked grin,“I know. That's why I do it, that and …”One last dramatic lick and I let my finger go with a wet 'pop' followed by a guttural groan. “… GOD , I love the way you taste.”

“Fu-hu-hu-hu-ck. Brian!”he whines again, managing to elongate the word 'fuck' annoyingly by four unnecessary syllables then, while pointing at his crotch, he snaps at me in frustration. (Yep, definitely limiting his time with Mikey.)

“Look what you did. Now I'm hard again!”, he huffs in obvious annoyance.

At that irritated tone, my cock gets harder, because an angry Justin does it to me every time, I don't know why. It just makes me so fucking hard when he gets all … dominant, I guess would be a good word. In fact, he's so hot when he's angry that I piss him off sometimes just for the mind-blowing fuck that follows.

“You're not the only one ….”I mutter as I try to shift into a more comfortable position, to no avail.

“Serves you right, asshole.”From the corner of my eye I see him stick his tongue out at me, then cross his arms in a petulant pout.

“You're such a brat.”He looks so young when he pouts like that, for all his talk of 'being an adult', that I can't not tease him about it. His only response is a playful - rather than angry - slap to my bicep with the back of his hand.

“So … how much longer?”He asks anxiously, his body practically vibrating on the seat next to me.

“Um …” I quickly guestimate mileage to Britin, then shrug,“… ten minutes or so. Why?”

“Oh good, then that's plenty of time.” I hear his wicked little giggle, the one which always means he's up to no good and sometimes, spells nothing but trouble for me.

“Time for what, Sunsh-?” I ask somewhat cautiously, wary of what things his pretty little blonde brain might have cooked up.

Before I can finish talking, his warm hand wraps hot and firm around my throbbing cock and as I look over at him, his own stone-hard cock, beautifully pink and dripping, is encased in his other hand as he begins pumping us both to oblivion. It took all my remaining effort to concentrate on driving without wrapping us around one of the many trees peppering the West Virginian roadside, all the while indulging myself in my favourite things … Justin and sex.



In my book, the definition of sex had always been simple: it's a release, it's fucking, two bodies seeking temporary and hopefully mutual pleasure, it's - you know … just a fuck. A bit crude, I know, but let's face it people - fuzzy, squishy feelings are not exactly my forte. You know … cos of the fact that I've got a dick … and that I'm not some fucking muncher. That definition, however, changed forever and eventually ceased to exist after one chance meeting under a lamppost, whether I outwardly - or inwardly - admitted it or not.

I never have - nor would I ever - consider sex with Justin just a fuck, no matter what lies I continually spouted to everyone else. Even from that first night, I felt something. Somethingwhich I knew had nothing to do with Anita's Tijuana bathtub E. Something I had never felt with anyone else before. Sex with Justin always has been, and I hope always will be … well … something more. When I told him the next night outside the loft that it was just a fuck, that he was just a fuck and then delivered my hateful 'I don't believe in love, I believe in fucking' diatribe, visibly crushing him and sending him away crying … it was the biggest fucking lie and I knew it and I had never felt like such a disgusting piece of shit in my life. I wanna say for the record, that the sight of Justin's beautiful face streaked with tears that night - tears that I know I was solely responsible for - had even this cold-hearted bastard torn between letting him go to find someone better and wanting to wrap him in my arms and never let him go to make sure he was never made to cry again. Luckily for me, when I ignored what I felt and pushed him away, he saw the truth and was persistent enough for the both of us. God knows, he deserves much better than me, but he feels differently and obviously sees something in me that I don't.



How to describe Sunshine? He's my tiny blonde tornado, a larger-than-life personality in a compact package. (No, I'm definitely not talking that package, cos' trust me, that one is anything but small - as my ass can easily attest to.) There's no denying it anymore, if the last five years have taught me nothing else it's that he's a perfect match for me, my equal in every way - shot for shot, hit for hit, wit for wit, insult for insult, and most importantly, thrust for thrust (hey, I know my priorities, people!). He keeps me on my toes, never lets me do anything half-way, he calls me on my bullshit and patiently waits with me in the dark when I try to hide. That is until he can pull me out.



Truth be told, I was not a virgin before Justin, but I have only ever bottomed for one other man besides him. And that was over … well, we'll just say it was a long fucking time ago, okay? Don't misunderstand me, I'm not saying I haven't had anything up my ass in all that time, I mean really, even the great god Kinney needs a stiff prick (or something resembling one) every once in a while, but when it's attached to a living, breathing person, it kind of changes the rules.

The guy was nothing special, just some random upperclassman whose name I can't recall that I picked up one night at a club during college. I don't remember anything about him and probably wouldn't recognise the bastard if I ever saw him again, (not that I need or want to) but I have to wonder if that's due to a conscious effort on my part to forget it or if it was just because the fucker was that unmemorable. It was a less than stellar experience as first times go to say the least and in all honesty, I know I could have easily given myself more pleasure with five minutes and a dildo. The end result wound up being far more physically painful and unsatisfying than it could have (or should have) been.

That single sexual experience, however unsatisfying it was for me, did ultimately serve a higher and more lasting purpose, after all. (I'd often wondered after that first time whether my first bottoming was bad because the guy simply lacked the skill required to do it properly, or if it was that he just didn't care enough to make the sex enjoyable for anyone but himself.) The painful memory of it, however, was the driving force behind my uncharacteristically gentle introduction of one Justin Taylor to the world of gay sex. The first time I had placed my trust in someone, it had been used, abused and neglected, making me wary to ever be so nonchalant about it in the future. So, as soon as he had admitted that he was a virgin (not like I didn't already know it anyway) I decided that there was no way that Justin would suffer the same fate as I did, not if I had any say in the matter. There was no denying that Justin's first bottoming experience was at the opposite end of the galaxy from my own … I made damn sure of it. Like I said, from that first night - lesbianism be damned - from that first nanosecond under that lamp post, he had gotten to me, the need to shield him from any and all harm was instinctive.

To make a long story short, my disappointingly less than mediocre first time bottoming in college, though only the one experience, was the catalyst responsible for making me the dedicated top I am today and for making me decide to never bottom for anyone ever again … or so I had thought.

… And then he came along …



What can I say? Getting fucked by Sunshine is … well, fuck. How to describe the indescribable? Well, in my opinion, it's better than any drug (or combination of drugs) or any sex (or even better than any combination of sex and drugs) that I have ever tried. And believe me, with sex and drugs, I've got plenty of experience. I have yet - in my extensive years of 'research' - to find any man that could make sex - whether as top or bottom (using my one experience as basis for comparison, for which there really is none) - as extraordinarily sublime as Justin does … I'd stake my remaining ball on it. The sensations Justin can elicit in me with little to no effort on his part easily rival my own learned skills. My visibly body trembles - from just the memory alone - of the nirvana-approaching, sensory overloads Justin can induce with a single well-executed thrust. There really are no words that do it justice. People would pay anything for the kind of high it produces … trust me, I know of what I speak. I really never had a clue what delicious ecstasy I was depriving myself of until the day I let him top me for the first time. I was more than a little apprehensive to be honest, and if circumstances were even slightly different, I may have denied him flat-out when he tried. Now, I'm fucking kicking myself for not doing it sooner, because … Jesus fuck, that boy has an inherent skill for fucking! Hell, it's almost like he was born with that sole purpose in mind and if I had known just how amazing it could feel …. Suffice it to say, if that first guy had been Justin, who knows, maybe I would have been a bigger bottom than Emmett! *laugh* Yeah, you're right, no way.



Justin is not so many years past losing his own virginity yet that he can't still remember the vulnerability you feel when you let someone possess your body like that, so he has never taken advantage, has never taken more from me than I am willing to give him at the time. I'm pretty sure Justin knows me better than anyone, he definitely knows my body, well … 'top' to 'bottom', he knows how to set the pace, even when to go slow for me if I need him to and then instinctively knowing when I need it to go hard and fast - all without me ever having to say a word. Which for an emotionally-stunted bastard like me, is a fucking blessing.

The first few times I allowed him to top me, he never said a word and neither did I, the semi-constant pants, groans and moaning were the only sounds heard. We were both content to let our bodies guide the action. The only exceptions to the silence ever were his nearly inaudible, almost reverent whisperings of my name, which I of course pretended not to hear, not wanting to acknowledge the emotions evoked in me by his tone. I just assumed that he didn't even realise he was saying it out loud, which if true, spoke volumes of his feelings when I allowed him to fuck me if he wasn't doing it for my benefit.

When I think back about the silence - well, on his part anyway - I think it was mostly out of the fear that if he were to say something, that I would make him stop. Like if he spoke, it would somehow break the delicate tendrils of whatever influence or spell he must have thought I had to have been under in order to let him top me. My silence, however, was borne of the totally unfamiliar feelings evoked in me during any kind of sex with Justin, much less when it was in the unfamiliar roles of reversed submission.

Sexual intimacy was a feeling which I had absolutely no acquaintance with whatsoever … before Justin, that is. The level of intimacy that Justin infused into every act of sex we participated in was unsettling for me, to say the least, as it was something I never felt when alone with a trick and it became especially difficult to handle when we would 'play' with others. More and more as the years went on, I found myself becoming more possessive of Justin to the point that I couldn't even think about him having sex with someone else, much less be there to witness it.

All that aside, with my years of experience, one thing I'm sure of is that little Sunshine is in a class all his own. I also know without a doubt that he is the only man I will ever want to bottom for and unfortunately - because of my insecurities - Justin unknowingly and undeservedly paid for someone else's mistake. It took me a long time to admit to myself that I trusted Justin enough to allow him this power over me … ultimately, the very real power to hurt me and I don't just mean physically, but emotionally as well. I am sort of glad that I didn't bottom again before Justin … makes it mean a little more now … especially to him. 'Christ, what the hell was in that shit Anita gave me tonight? I could almost swear my dick just fell off and I grew a twat.'



After crashing into each other as soon as we got out of the car, we stumbled awkwardly to the front door, all the while our lips were locked together in a fiery kiss as I tried to put the key into the lock. We burst through the front door and I'm instantly crushing his hips against the small table in the foyer while I try to kick the front door shut with my foot. I - very unhappily, I might add - have to take my eyes from Justin and turn my attention to the alarm keypad so I can quickly dis-arm it. 'Don't really need the cops bursting through the house in search of intruders with guns drawn … although, the extra handcuffs might end up being useful ….' I growl in frustration when I realise the keypad is just beyond my reach and I will have to stop my attack on Justin's mouth.Kissing Justin is one of my guiltiest pleasures and it is never a happy occasion when I have to take a break from an assault on his delicious and willing mouth. Alarm successfully dis-armed, I plunge my tongue deep inside his hot, sweet mouth again, getting drunk on the taste that is so uniquely Justin.

His response is to grind his hard-on against my thigh faster, rutting himself into a pre-orgasmic frenzy while simultaneously attempting to kick off his shoes. I grab both of his ass cheeks roughly and lift him up off the floor, aligning our erections for maximum contact as I crush his hips tightly against mine. As soon as his feet leave the floor, I can feel his legs wrapping around my waist, locking his ankles together while he tightens his arms around my neck to help support his weight.

He moans quiet obscenities into my mouth as my hands slide inside his jeans and I knead his bare ass. He writhes against me and I push his back into the wall at the foot of the stairs, then down onto the stairs themselves while I begin my assault on his exposed neck. His needy mewls of pleasure have my cock in overdrive, my slit steadily leaking as I strip Justin's shirt off of him and toss it to the floor.

He lunges up at me, blind lust clearly displayed in his eyes as he tears my black Armani button-down wide open roughly, as the fabric is ripped from my body and tossed to the floor carelessly - all before the buttons have even stopped their tiny pirouettes on the hardwood floor. I growl halfheartedly in a weak protest at the treatment of my clothes, to which my little blonde demon merely deadpans, “What? It was so last season.”

“Twat.” I deliver a substantial swat to his delicious little bubble-butt, eliciting a deep moan of approval as his eyes roll back and his lids close.

“Unnh fuck, Brian, do it again! Spank me!”

Another loud, hard smack to his delectable ass and he wails, “Oh, god. Brian, fuck me!”Next thing I know, my little blonde devil's pushing me into the wall, pushing my pants open and grabbing my cock firmly in his greedy little hand while growling against my lips, “Upstairs … now.”Little fucker knows exactly how hot I get and how hard he makes me when he goes all butch and commanding on me like that. He pumps my dick a few times, rubbing his own cock against my thigh once more, then the impertinent little shit swats me on the ass and pushes me up the stairs to our bedroom, his hand never leaving my ass.

When we reach our bedroom doors, we burst through them in much the same way as we did through the front door a few minutes ago, only this time, we fall back against them once they are closed. We're both naked from the waist up and our chests are pressed tightly together and his soft, full lips are almost fused to mine, our tongues twisting together wildly as we start frantically stripping off from the waist down. Never ceasing our oral battle for dominance, we both clumsily grabbed at the other one's pants. Struggling our way across to the room in the direction of the bed, both of us are desperate to feel nothing but naked skin between us from head to toe, working buttons and zippers, dropping pants to the floor in triumphant puddles of fabric as we fell onto the mattress in a tangle of arms and legs and clutching hands.

“God, Bri … want you so bad.”he mutters against my lips, his hands diving inside my tight boxer briefs and cupping my ass, pining me on top of him as he pushes his erection against mine.

“Oh, fuck. Naked. Now!”I push myself off him then settle on the bed next to him, pushing my briefs down over my knees as I watch him lift his ass and pull his down, laughing as he just kicks them off the end of his foot somewhere as he launches on top of me.

“M'naked, now fuck me.” he mumbles into my chest as the tip of his talented tongue circles my nipple while rolling the other between his fingers.

Justin swallows me to the root with no warning, sucking my aching cock with gusto, while laying there I try to simply remember how to put letters together into words. Over and over again, he swallows my cock, the sight of his blonde head bobbing up and down between my thighs, combined with the feel of my cock sliding in and out of that warm, wet mouth was driving me to oblivion in record time. That's not what I want tonight. I want this night to last forever for Justin … want him - no - need him to savor it, commit it to memory, not barrel through it blindly, so no matter how hard this will be, (pun very much intended) I had to slow this thing down.

“Jus-Jus'n … wait.”I try desperately to get him to stop, even though my body is screaming 'Go.'

There's no indication that he even heard me, if anything, he doubles his efforts. 'What was I doing?' Right, stopping him. My fingers are already tangled in his hair and I gently tug his head back as I repeat myself a little louder, more firmly.

“Justin! Stop.”He lifts his head and lets my cock slide from his mouth.

“What's the problem? Kinda busy here.”He shifts his eyes to my cock and grins.

“Come up here.”

It comes out of my mouth different than it sounded in my head, all soft and seductive, a tone which Justin has never been able to resist.

“What?”

He suddenly reminds me of his seventeen year old self again for a second as he crawls his way nervously and almost shyly up my body.

“You need to slow down, don't want you popping your cork just yet, now do we?”

I see the confusion in his eyes and open my mouth to speak, but as usual - smart little fucker that he is - he seems to read my mind and further explanations are rendered useless.

“Oh, yeah, you're right.” He grins sheepishly and it slowly morphs into something seductive as he practically purrs, “I definitely don't want to rush this.”

Then, he giggles - fucking giggles - all giddy and full of child-like amusement and I can't help but smile at him. Please, if there is a God, never let Justin stop doing that, it is one of the most incredible sounds I've ever heard.

“Sorry, you just make me so fucking horny, Brian. I can't help it.”

As if to prove his point, his hands never stop moving, eagerly grasping/groping/gripping everywhere he can reach.

In all but the first time Justin has topped me, I was always the one who initiated it, letting him know I wanted to have him inside me most times by simply turning onto my stomach in silent offering while carefully hiding my face from view - in a vain attempt at shielding myself, I guess - as I relinquished control to Justin and gave in to the need to feel him inside me, to let him love me.

Tonight there seems to be only one exception to that set of unspoken rules, tonight I feel the need to look him in the eye and say the words, tell him that I need to feel him inside me and for him to see the truth of it in my eyes. I pull back from the kiss and push him away from me gently, waiting for Justin to open his eyes and look at me. I blink and when I open them, Justin is looking at me, his head slightly tilted to the side in confusion.

“Why'd you stop me again?”he whines adorably as he strains forward against my hands, trying to resume our kissing and groping.

“Because I want you inside me.”I whisper, my eyes locked on his as he blinks slowly, almost unbelieving of the possibility that he'd heard me correctly and frowning at me as if I were suddenly speaking in tongues.

He tilts his head again,“Don't tease me like that, Brian.” Lowering his eyes, his frown deepens. “It's not funny.”

“Good. It wasn't meant to be.”I kiss his forehead gently while I mentally kick myself for causing this insecurity in him. “Listen to me. Are you listening?” I tilt his face back up with my fingertips so I know he's looking at me, so I can make him understand. “I. Want. You. Inside. Me.”I emphasise each word, staring directly into his eyes, willing him to see the sincerity in mine.

“Brian … ?”He chokes up, his eyes are suddenly glassy and I nod in confirmation. My arms are immediately filled with a horny and very enthusiastic blonde as he growls at me - yes, I said fucking growls - which by the way, is something he's never done before … well at least not like that.

And fuck if it isn't hot as hell and, Jesus, it makes me harder than I think I've ever been in my life - that's including our Viagra experience from a few years back - as he crushes his lips to mine, his tongue driving between my lips before thoroughly mapping every spot inside my mouth. He shifts his hips and pushes his cock down along my ass, his cock swelling and pulsing as he ruts against the crack of my ass while he devours my mouth like a starving man at an all you can eat buffet.

The anticipation of his bare cock in my ass is overwhelming and I mumble near-incoherently against his lips.

“Justin … please.”

Suddenly deciding I don't care anymore how needy and pathetically desperate I sound, I pull away and turn over underneath him and I am pushing my ass back against his cock roughly, totally overridden by lust, before I realise what I am doing and am shocked when I hear my voice loud and clear.

“God, Justin … fuck me!”

Never in my wildest dreams would I believe that I, Brian Kinney, the Stud of Liberty Avenue would ever be begging for a cock up my ass. Score another win for Justin.

We have done this many times before, a fact that most people on Liberty would stake their life savings on never having happened even once, much less into the double digits as it is now - which sadly, as many years as we've been together, it should be more - but this time suddenly feels different from the other times somehow for me as I look over my shoulder at my Sunshine. His face is a picture of sheer bliss with his head dropped back and his eyes half-closed as he lubes his cock – anticipating the pleasure he gets from being inside me, loving me. His long, thick cock always fills me so completely, as if it were crafted solely to fit me and only me - for my pleasure and my pleasure alone.

Words simply don't exist that are accurate enough describe the feel of his thick cock in my ass, the burning stretch of entry thatdeftly maneuvers the hair-thin tightrope of pleasure/pain as he breaches his naked, swollen tip past that first tight ring.“Oh fuck … s'amzing.”he murmurs to himself as he slides further inside me. There's a mutual gasp of pleasure as we drown in the sensation of his pulsing cock filling my tight, hot ass, again both of us moaning as his balls come to rest against mine. As he pulls out, he angles his hips to slowly drag the tip across my prostate, sending white-hot shocks of electricity racing through my body.

I can't believe that I have Justin's cock buried in my ass … completely bare. God he feels So. Fucking. Amazing. It feels so familiar, yet completely new in equal measure. His dick is on fire as he slides inside once more, every ridge and vein leaving rippling waves of sensation in their wake. If I had known just how amazing this would be, I would have done this years ago. Justin's mewls and moans have me hard and leaking, each inward stroke propelling my cock against the mattress below me. On the edge of my awareness I can hear deeper moans and sighs and it takes a moment to realise they are coming from me.

'Jus'n … fuuuck!'

I hear myself moan as my back arches and my head snaps back from the jolt. My voice sounding thick and wanton, I inwardly curse myself for the utter lack of control, for being so easily betrayed by my own body the instant Justin's beautiful cock is inside me. His beautifully raw cock. But then I think, 'Who could blame me?'

His pace quickens as I realise I haven't stopped the various moans, pants, grunts and groans that are escaping me, just the opposite - I am only getting louder. My whole body is on fire now as his whisperings at my ear become loud enough for me to finally distinguish the words.

“Unh … Brian … so good. ' his panting whisper falls hot against my ear, his chest is warm and slick draped over my back as I clench my walls around him, pulling him in further and locking him inside me, as he literally purrs my name in a way that's uniquely Justin, an action which draws a lusty groan from me.

“Bri-an … s-so good … mine.”

His reverent, almost inaudible - and fuck - possessive whisper goes straight to my already painfully hard cock. I have always been grateful previously that Justin doesn't say much when he tops me, it helps me just enjoy the way he feels, the way he touches me, but now, just hearing his voice, that rough and desirous tone … I want to hear more. I want to know what he feels when he's fucking me.

“… t-tell me more … please.”

“f-fuck … Brian … you f-feel so hot and … So. Fuckin'. Tight.”

“more, Jus'n … ”

“could stay … inside you … forever.”

“unnh … fuck … deeper, Jus'n.”

“never wanna pull out. S'so warm.”

“Your cock feels so good, Sunshine. Don't stop.”

“Shit, gonna come soon-”

“Don't.”

Though I know he would never ask for it, I know that Justin has always secretly wanted to see my face as he makes love to me, fucks me. He has wanted to see the pleasure he gives me as he brings me over the brink just as much as I have wanted to be able to let him see. That has always been one of the bigger regrets (yes, I said regrets) in my relationship with Justin, that I have been unable to be that free with him and give him the gift of seeing just exactly how fully he completes me, how much a part of me he has become.

I want to see his face as he takes me, so I reach back and grasp his thigh lightly, something I rarely do when he tops, his chest slides slickly against my skin as he immediately stops mid-thrust, sensing something in my touch, but not quite able to figure out what that might be.

“Are you okay...?” I merely nod as he slows his pace almost to stopping, while every ridge and vein of his gorgeous cock strokes my insides with every gentle thrust.

Suddenly I am unsure of my decision as the old fears of giving over that trust and making myself vulnerable resurface. Am I willing to finally show him all the love for him I have held behind the walls all these years? Yes. Do I trust him so implicitly that I can finally give that last piece of myself to him, be that completely open and exposed? Again, a resounding YES.

I had willingly given love to people before, only to have it trampled and twisted into something ugly and painful. That was Jack and Joan's mode of operation, I remind myself. It has never been Justin's. Justin is different, he has proved that exponentially … he loves me … me, Brian Kinney, the boy who was told daily that he was worthless and unlovable, should never have been born. I need to do this for him. No wait, it's not just for him, but for us. Yes, I want to do this, for us, now that he has come back to me, proving that there is and always was in fact, an 'us' to come back to. He deserves nothing less than all I have to give … he has earned it.

Reaching behind me, I wrap my arm around his waist, rolling us over onto our sides with Justin still hard and throbbing inside me. I turn my head to look him in the eye, seeing his confusion slowly giving way to understanding … little twat. He has always said he was on to me. As his eyes darken with lust, he slowly blinks back the tears that have begun to form while a soft groan escapes his throat. He maintains his gaze as his tongue slowly sweeps across his perfect lips, pulling in the plump lower lip to trap it between his teeth. I groan deeply, my dick twitching in response to the sights and sounds of a hyper-aroused and excited Justin.

I turn and grab my boy by the back of the neck, pulling his mouth to mine roughly, needing to feel in control again for a moment to reassure myself. While I kiss him fiercely, he effortlessly relinquishes control back to me, having long ago memorized the steps to this dance of ours. I can give him control, but need to be able to re-claim it when the vulnerability becomes too much for me to remain comfortable. He melts into the kiss before he slowly pulls out of me, both of us groaning at the momentary loss of contact, as we gracefully changed position.

I can feel the heat of Justin's arousal radiating off his body in waves, his unsheathed dick high and hard as he lowers himself between my own heated thighs once more. His eyes search for signs of hesitation in mine, finding none, he slowly slides his arms under my knees so that they rest in the crook of his elbows as he lifts my hips in place on his thighs, then he leans over to lick my lips, tasting me, his tongue and cock taking simultaneous possession. I can't help the groan that escapes my throat at the delicious pleasure/pain as Justin's dick pushes deep inside me again, claiming me, owning me.

Justin withdraws languidly, pausing as grins cockily at me before he pushes back inside, inch by agonizing inch, my moans of pleasure serving to bolster his confidence. His grin never wavers as he pushes forward and withdraws again and again, rolling his hips to tag my prostate on every other stroke.

“Faster Justin.”

“Uh-uh-uh.” he teases as he leans down to capture my lips in a rough kiss. “I'm gonna take my time and enjoy this.”

“Some might call that ridiculously romantic.”

“Yeah.”he sighs heavily into my ear as he bottoms out, his cockhead pressing against my prostate.

“Then, I'm gonna fuck you and you're gonna come from just my cock alone.”

“That's fucking hot.”

“In fact, I'm not even gonna touch yours.” He nips at my ear, “I'm gonna watch it drip and throb as I fuck you and you won't touch it either.”

“Oh, I won't?”I raise an eyebrow in challenge.

“No, because if you try to … ”he rolls his hips, jarring my prostate. “ … then I'll have to tie you up.”

“Fuck.”I twist my fingers in his hair and tug. “You're an evil little twat, you know that?”

“I learned from the master.”his tongue sweeps across my lower lip as he whispers against my lips “And this evil little twat is gonna cum inside your tight little hole and make you scream my name.”he growled into my ear, his voice husky and thick with need.

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

He latches onto my nipple and I arch into his mouth, causing him to slip in deeper as I groan in ecstasy. Justin speeds his thrusts as his arousal increases, and as good as the slow and deep ones felt, the new fast and hard pace stops my breath. Every nerve is on fire as I teasingly clamp down on him and he squeaks in response.

“Do it again Brian! Squeeze me harder.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

“F-fuck you, asshole.”

“You already are … now fuck me harder!”

“Gladly.”

He starts pounding into me viciously, just like I saw in my head earlier and it feels even better than I imagined it would. I know he's always held back before, but right now he's giving me everything he's got and I'm loving it. His fingers dig into the top of my sweat-slick thighs, trying desperately to hold on without losing the rhythm.

“F- … fuck, Brian … I'm gonna come. Gonna come inside your tight ass.”

His strokes get more and more erratic as does his breathing, to the point he's almost gasping for air. My fingertips are digging into his forearms so I don't touch my aching cock. The last thing I want right now is to not be able to touch him, not that I think that threat of tying me up is anywhere on his mind right now. Right now, his mind is only thinking about three things: his cock; my ass; and cumming.

“Do it, Justin. I wanna feel you come. Do it now. Fuckin' come!”

He's moaning almost constantly now, sweat dripping down his chest as he leans back to drill into me as deeply as possible. I love it when Justin gets rough, he looks so fucking hot right now. Sadly, I haven't given him enough chances to do this over the years. (Just proof that I really am an idiot sometimes.)

“Oh, f- unnnh!”

“ Justin!”

He arches back violently, almost bending completely backwards, driving his spewing cock inside me to the root, slowly pumping out his release. I feel the hot rush and it feels so foreign, but yet so right that it triggers my own orgasm as he falls forward onto my chest in a boneless heap. My whole body tenses as my cock explodes between us, hot thick come coating both our heaving torsos. My lungs freeze up and I can't draw in air as my muscles are clamping down on Justin, the rhythmic contractions milking him dry. I know without a doubt that Justin is unconscious on my chest and that I soon will be. As soon as that thought occurs to me, my world goes dark.

I open my eyes to find that twenty minutes have passed and I have a semi-conscious Justin literally stuck to my chest. I carefully roll us first to our sides, then him onto his back, thankful yet again neither one of us was burdened with a hairy chest.

I get up to go get a towel to clean us up and climb back onto the bed, carefully wiping his alabaster skin clean. I allow myself a few 'muncher moments' and simply stare at him silently as he sleeps, drinking in the sight. I have no idea how much time goes by before I see the first signs that he is awake and realise that I have been caught admiring him like a lovesick twink. His eyes open, slowly focus on me and then he smiles that namesake smile of his that never ceases to make my breath hitch.

I kiss his lips softly at first and feel his body melt underneath me as the kiss deepens. I wrap him tighter in my arms, settling down on him as I come to rest between his thighs. I watch his face as I slowly slide myself into that all-too-familiar yet totally new and beautiful place bare, wondering if he can feel how hard my heart is thundering in my chest, as I begin whispering softly in his ear - lesbianic sentimentality be damned - the very same words that I said to him that first night, their meaning only slightly changed by time.

“I want you to always remember this.”

When I say those familiar words again, I feel something in me shift, almost like tumblers of a lock falling into place. As I look into his eyes I realise that for him, there never really was a 'No matter who you're with' and there never will be again, for either of us … this is for keeps. I can't believe it took me this long to realise what Justin has known all along … we're it for each other, it's as simple as that.

Later, as I settle under the duvet sated with Justin in my arms, I can only hope that by giving him this tonight it showed him in actions what I have such a hard time saying to him in words, showed him just how special he is to me, how much I love him, that I trust him enough to give myself to him completely and without reservation. I'm glad that I was finally able to get over myself and the past and gave him what I feel was always meant to be his anyway. 'Fuck me. Let me just check something … wait, yep … cock is definitely still there and no twat. I'm good … fuckin' Anita.'