Time and Time Again by Tagsit

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Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming. When we last saw our time/space challenged Brian, he had just lived through an episode where Craig rammed into the Jeep while not only Brian was in it, but also Justin. That caused him to come up with the brilliant idea that in his next go round, he should kill Craig right from the start so that Daddy Dearest can't f**k things up. Here's what happens when he takes that course of action . . . Enjoy! TAG


Chapter 9 - Murder, Anyone?


"Cynthia, find out who does the advertising for a company by the name of Taylor Electronics," I order over the intercom. "Then set up a meeting with the owner, Craig Taylor, as soon as possible. Preferably today."


Cynthia, always efficient, is back to me within twenty minutes. "I got you an appointment with Taylor this afternoon at 3:30. Be prepared though, he thinks the meeting's about launching a new line of electronic PDA's. Sorry, but it was all I could think of on the spot. Oh, and their advertising is currently done by Sterling - which, by the way, sucks."


"Fabulous work, as always, Cynthia," I affirm. "Now, could you please run out and get me a large bottle of extra-strength Tylenol? Thanks. Oh, and one more thing - find out what kind of coffee Taylor likes."


Later that afternoon, I'm sitting in the office of Taylor Electronics, across the desk from an unsuspecting Craig Taylor, watching as he sips at the tall black Cafe Americano I'd brought him.


"So, let me get this straight, Mr. Kinney. You aren't here about a new line of PDA's?" Taylor asks, his smarmy salesman voice causing my skin to crawl.


"Nope. I'm here to see if you're interested in changing your advertising firm, Mr. Taylor," I start in on my standard Ryder spiel, not really giving it my usual Kinney flair since I'm not really interested in representing this cretin or his tacky little company.


What I'm really interested in, is whether or not Craig is enjoying his coffee. I'm hoping that the handful of Tylenol I added to his cup hasn't changed the taste too much - at least not enough to cause him to stop drinking. Since he's still sipping, though, I'm hopeful that he hasn't noticed.


"I'm sorry, Mr. Kinney. I'm pretty happy with Sterling," Craig starts to say. "They've been doing my ads for years and, um, *cough, cough*, they always do a, *cough* decent job."


"Everything okay, Mr. Taylor?" I ask as I watch him loosening the collar of his shirt, his face getting redder and his coughing getting more pronounced.


"I'm having trouble *cough, cough, cough*, is all he succeeds in getting out before another, stronger coughing fit hits him.


By this point, he's scrambling in his desk drawer for something, not bothering to waste what little breath he has on trying to explain. I sit and wait casually to see how bad a reaction he's really going to have. I don't want to tip him off too soon that I already know what's happening. But, when he bangs his hand against the desk to get my attention, I finally get up and come around his desk to see what it is he's trying to tell me.


Craig has found a pencil and managed to write 'EPI' on a pad of sticky notes.


"Epi? As in Epi-pen?" I ask him, watching as he nods and points frantically towards his office door with one hand while the other is gripping at his throat. "Are you trying to tell me someone out there has an Epi-pen and you want me to go get it? Now, why the hell would I do that, Craig? After all the trouble I went to getting you to swallow half a bottle of Tylenol, getting that Epi-pen for you would really defeat the purpose, now wouldn't it?"


Craig is looking at me with true confusion on his face, mixed in with a whole lotta panic and pain. But I've learned one thing from reading all those comics with Mikey over the years - don't waste time soliloquizing. That's usually where the bad guys slip up. They sit there gloating while their victim slowly dies and they give away their whole evil plan in the process. I'm not going to make that mistake. If by some awful twist of fate this waste of space should survive, I don't need to be confessing and give him any evidence he can use against me in the future. I'm content to just sit quietly and wait a bit.


Besides, in this timeline, Craig doesn't even know me yet. What am I going to tell him? Hello, I'm the guy who deflowered your son and in several of my past lives you either attacked me or Justin as a result, so I'm killing you now as a profilactic measure before you hurt either of us again in this lifetime. Yeah, right. I already tried crazy and it didn't work for me. I think I'll skip the confession this time.


I don't have all that long to wait, though. Craig's skin tone changes pretty rapidly from angry redneck to cold blue corpse. When he slumps out of his desk chair into a pile on the floor, I saunter over and carefully check for a pulse. When I'm sure there isn't one any longer, I sit back down in the guest chair and patiently wait another five minutes - I don't want to act hastily and risk some zealous EMT bringing him back. Then, when I'm sure it's been enough time, I rise, plaster a look of fear on my face and run to the office door.


"Help! Call 911! Mr. Taylor just collapsed in here, I think maybe he just had a heart attack or something," I yell at the receptionist and then stand back and watch the fun.


The EMTs arrive promptly but, despite their best efforts, they are unable to revive poor Craig. I wait around briefly while they're trying, just to make sure, you know. Craig's buxom blond secretary is hanging on me like a leech the entire time, sobbing into the shoulder of my suit until it's a nasty, snotty mess, bound for the dry cleaners as soon as I can get out of here. I do wonder why, exactly, the secretary is this upset - Craig never struck me as the type to endear himself to his employees. But then again, most of his employees were geek squad rejects, rather than voluptuous blondes. She certainly seems like Craig's type, but who knows.


As soon as I can escape the unwelcome clutches of the weepy blonde, I'm outta there. I'm glad to have that unpleasant little job out of the way and I'm a little amazed that it was that easy. Craig Taylor is gone. One of the least pleasant people to ever inhabit this planet is gone and it happened in the blink of an eye. I feel kinda weird that I was the one responsible, but it's even weirder that I don’t feel all that bad about what I've done.


I just intentionally killed a man. Shouldn't that freak me out? Of course, that man was Craig Taylor, who, as recently as yesterday, in my mind, intentionally ran me off the road knowing that his own son was in the car with me. He wasn't the kind of man whose passing engenders much mourning. At least not as far as I'm concerned. Still?


I'm not going to over think this, though. I did what I had to do. Now, I get to move on to my reward. I get Justin, without all the potential hassle that Craig would have brought us.


I decide to head straight from Craig's store to Justin's house. I can't wait another minute to be with him. I know that he should be home from school already. I don't know if the bimbo receptionist will have called Jennifer with the news yet or not. I guess I have some silly idea about being there to comfort Justin when he hears about his dad. Yeah, I'm way beyond caring about any ridiculous romantic drivel I might let myself indulge in these days. If it gets me to Justin, I no longer give a crap how lesbionic I'm being.


"Hello, Sunshine," I say as soon as he answers the door.


"Brian?" Luckily it's Justin who answers the door, since I hadn't really come up with anything intelligent to say to Jenn if she'd been the one who greeted me. "What the . . . ?"


"Oh my God! What happened? How? Oh, God. No!" Jennifer's screams from the kitchen interrupt the impending third degree that Justin was about to administer.


I follow him as he runs to his mother to find out what's the matter. Jennifer is standing in the center of the oversized suburban kitchen, staring at the phone clutched in her hand. She's not crying or yelling. She's in shock.


"Mom? Are you okay?" Justin asks as he cautiously approaches her. "Mom? Mom! What's wrong?"


"Justin. It's your father. He . . . he collapsed at work. That was Vickie from his office. Your father. . . your father, he's d-d-dead," Jennifer stammers out an explanation but all in all she's eerily calm.


Justin is likewise strangely calm, looking more confused than sad or upset. "He's dead?"


"That's what Vickie said. She said the coroner took the body and I . . . I guess I need to . . . I need to . . . What do I need to do?" Jenn's calm begins to falter a bit. "Molly. Where's Molly? I need to tell Molly. And Craig's mother, too. And, I guess I need to call the attorney. I can do that."


"Mom? Um, we need to go see dad first. We need to make arrangements," Justin says, holding his mother in a tight embrace.


And I watch, dumbfounded, as Justin and Jennifer sit together on the couch and calmly plan out a strategy as to how they're going to take care of this little 'issue'. There's no crying or yelling or loving protestations. Nothing I had expected. It's just eerie and quietly sad.


Plus, my whole, 'Be There to Comfort Justin' strategy is a complete wash. Justin hasn't looked at me once since he got the news. It's like I'm invisible. He and his mother are so absorbed in their own strange griefless mourning plan that no one else exists for them. This is not going the way I thought it would.


After several minutes, I clear my throat to get Justin's attention and he looks up as if amazed that I'm still there. I'm not even sure he remembers my name at that instant. Again, not the reaction I'd planned for.


"I'm so sorry, Justin," I say, falling back on conventionality. "Can I help with anything?"


"No, thank you, Brian. My mother and I can handle things. Um, can I call you later, maybe? We've got a lot to do and . . . "


I can't believe it - he's kicking me out. Justin gets up from the couch and lays a hand to my shoulder, gently guiding me towards the front door. There isn't even time for me to say goodbye to Jennifer - not that I got to introduce myself to her, either - but I'd planned on at least offering her my condolences. At the door, I start to put my arms around Justin, both to offer comfort and just because I love to feel him in my arms. But, he shakes his head at me and steps further away, grabbing the doorknob at the same time.


"I don't . . . Not now, Brian," he says brusquely. "I need to get back and help my mother. I'll talk to you later, okay?"


Before I can protest or even say goodbye, he's shoved me the rest of the way out the door and slammed it behind me.


Fuck! I'm getting a really bad feeling about this, already. This isn't right. I should have Justin in my arms right now. I could comfort him and hold him and kiss him till he felt better. Then I could have told him how much I cared about him and wanted to be there for him.


The Justin I knew in my past would have given almost anything to have me be more caring and demonstrative. Wasn't that one of his complaints when he ran off with the fiddler - that I didn't ever tell him I cared, that I wasn't demonstrative or romantic enough? Well, here I am. I'm ready, willing and fucking dying to be all demonstrative and he slams the door in my face? I just fucking can't win, can I?


I'm at a total loss as to what I should do at this point. By default, since I don't have a clue where to go, I end up at Woody's with a shot in one hand and a beer in the other. By the time Mikey and the rest of the gang get there three hours or so later, I'm already sloppy drunk. Which is worrying Michael since that's not my usual M.O.


But, then again, I've kinda lost track of what's 'usual' for me. I can't even remember if it's been six or seven re-try’s now. All I know is that I've been living this past year over and over again, each time trying something different, trying to get it right, and I've fucked up every time. So, regardless of what my 'usual' mode of operating might have been in one of those past attempts, I'm now so confused in my own mind about how I should be acting that I'm not even attempting to act ‘normal’. Fuck it. I don't even care enough to try to figure out what 'normal' should be.


"Brian? What the fuck’s gotten into you?" Michael whines at me in due course. "You're not usually this shit faced this early. What's wrong?"


Apparently I'm drunk enough that my brain no longer exercises any control over my mouth, because the words I hear myself speaking are NOT what I was planning on saying.


"I fucked up again, Mikey," I confess drunkenly. "I want him so bad, you know. I can't seem to work it though. First, I drove him off because I couldn't tell him how much I loved him. Then, the next time, I scared him off cause I DID tell him I loved him. Then I tried to go crazy, but that didn't work and I can't even kill myself 'cause I just keep on waking up anyway, Mikey. And, we had so much fun yesterday at the amusement park - that was fun, wasn't it? - but then his father tried to kill us and Sunshine was bleeding and all before I passed out. So, I figured this time I'd get rid of the asswipe father first, right? You'd think that would work, right? But it's still not working, Mikey. What the fuck am I going to do?"


"Um, Brian, what the fuck are you talking about?" my best friend demands, looking at me like I've grown a second head. "Who the hell is 'Sunshine' and what drugs did you take?"


That starts me laughing. "Sunshine doesn't exist yet, Mikey. He hasn't met Deb yet, so he's not Sunshine, he's still just a nameless twink. Only, to me he'll always be Sunshine. But I don't know if he's gonna meet Deb now or not. Craig was allergic to Tylenol you know, just like I expected. So now Sunshine’s gotta take care of the funeral and all. Maybe it'll never happen because of what I’ve done this time. But that's okay, just so long as he doesn't go to Prom, right?"


"Fuck, Bri. You're not making any sense. Come on, let's get you home. A few strong cups of coffee and a good nap and I'm sure you'll feel much better," Michael takes me in hand, pulling the empty beer bottle out of my hand and sliding my arm over his shoulder so he can lift me off my barstool and lug me out to my car.


I blink and when I reopen my eyes, I'm lying in my bed in the loft while Mikey struggles to pull off my boots and then my pants. He succeeds in undressing me and then rolls me under the covers, but I dart my hand up and catch his wrist before he can make good his escape.


"Don't go, Mikey. I don't want to be alone anymore. And I don't even know his phone number. That's hilarious, isn't it? You'd think after all these times I'd have learned his home phone number. But it just didn't ever come up."


"Who's phone number, Brian? Who are you talking about?"


"Fuck, Michael. I'm talking about Justin, of course. Wake the fuck up and listen, why don't you?"


"Justin? You mean that twink from last night? Why the hell would you want his number?"


"Because, he's not just some twink, Mikey. I love him. That's what I've been trying to explain all night. I love Justin and I want to be with him, but I keep screwing things up and I keep losing him."


"Whatever you say, Brian," Michael says, humoring me. "Why don't you just get some sleep now. Maybe you'll make more sense in the morning."


Michael turns out the light and crawls into bed, spooning up behind me. He's got his arm over me and it's comforting. It's not the body I want in bed with me, but at least it's someone warm.


"I probably won't make sense tomorrow either, Mikey. I don't even know if you'll still be here in the morning. I'll probably wake up with Justin again and have to start all over."


"Go to sleep, Brian. I'll be here in the morning. I promise," Michael whispers as I finally let my eyes drift closed, still unsure, despite his assurances, what I'll find when I wake.


*Beep, beep, beep*


I roll over and hit the button to silence the alarm, then happily curl around the warm body of the man in bed next to me.


"Morning, Sunshine," I mumble, kissing his sweet little ear as I speak and then following up with a series of light little kisses down the length of his neck as l press my achingly hard dick against his leg.


"Um, Brian? What are you doing?" asks a voice that is definitely NOT Justin's, causing me to practically jump right out of bed in surprise.


“Fuck! Mikey? What the fuck are you doing here? Where's Sunshine?" I demand as Michael stretches and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.


"Well, I WAS sleeping, that's what I'm doing here. Don't you remember begging me to stay last night?" Michael asks. "As for 'Sunshine', I have no idea, since you never got around last night to explaining who or what that is. As best as I could make out, Sunshine doesn't exist yet because Ma hasn't met him, and probably won't now because somebody named Craig is allergic to Tylenol. That's all I got out of your drunken rambling last night, Bri."


"Shit. Why don't I get a do over this time? This whole mess makes no fucking sense, Michael. Why don't I get another try this go around? Didn't I fuck it up badly enough? I don't have to live with this version, do I?" I rant as I pace around the bedroom, Michael following me with his eyes.


"You're still not making any sense, Brian. How the fuck much did you drink last night? You can't still be drunk, can you?"


"Shit," I say again in defeat, letting myself fall back into the bed. "No, I'm not still drunk, Mikey. I wish I was though. Now, what do I do?"


"Since it's Saturday, I suggest that the first thing we do is go back to sleep - sorry, I didn't know your alarm was set or I'd have turned it off last night. Then, much, much later, we'll get up, get some breakfast and then you can try to explain in English rather than drunken-brianese what exactly you were talking about last night. That's what we're going to do, Brian.”


And, since I don’t have any better suggestions about what to do, I opt to follow Mikey’s plan, and I let myself drift back to sleep. We finally wake again about 11:30. This time I check to see who’s in bed next to me before I start to make out with him. Unfortunately, it’s still Michael in my bed, not Justin, so I have to go to the shower and take care of my hard on myself. Then, while I’m drying myself off, I make a new plan of action - I’m going to figure this out, somehow, and get Justin back.


At the Diner, before I start on my breakfast - well, it’s more like lunch now since it’s already afternoon - I tell Debbie to put together a shitload of food for a take out order. That’s what you do when someone dies, right? You take the family food and flowers. So, I’m going to take Justin food and flowers, like a good, caring boyfriend would. I CAN do this whole caring, sympathetic, devoted lover thing if I want. It’s just that I never really tried before. This time though I’m going to do it right.


“What’s with all the food, Brian?” Mikey asks, reminding me that sometimes the boy is denser than platinum.*  


“Pay attention, Mikey. I told you last night, Justin’s father died. I’m going to take this stuff over to his house, because that’s what you do when someone dies. Right, Deb?” I ask, partly to get confirmation from my only source of motherly sentiments that I am, in fact, doing the right thing here.


“Who died, honey?” Deb bustles over, curious as always.


“The father of this trick Brian was with the other night died, Ma,” Michael answers for me. “But, I’m not sure why the hell Brian cares. He was just a trick. So, what’s with the food and shit, Brian?”


I hesitate to answer. Despite my drunken verbal diarrhea last night, I’m not sure I want to be explaining things to Michael anymore. One, I don’t think I CAN explain, since I’m still not sure what the fuck is going on. Two, we’re talking about Michael here - he’s still convinced that we’re both going to be perpetually fourteen and that we never need to grow up. How exactly am I going to explain that I want to grow up and have a real relationship with Justin to Michael? He doesn’t want to hear that about me. It would ruin his perfect image of me as this perpetual playboy. And, three, if I do explain, he’ll just want to interfere. So, I guess I’m better off doing this on my own, even though I kinda let a few things slip last night. But, I decide to cover up as best as I can and move on from there.


“He’s a nice, kid. That’s all, Mikey. I feel bad for him. No big deal. Don’t let it worry your tiny little brain,” I tell him as I grab the large bag full of take out boxes from Deb and pull out a wad of bills to pay for my load.


“But what about all that shit you were saying last night, Brian? That you loved him and all that? You were really freaking me out, Brian.”


“I said, don’t let it worry you. I was drunk. I was insane. Just forget everything I said, okay?”


"Are you sure you're okay, Brian?" Mikey's still asking as I walk out the door, ignoring his imploring tone.


When I show up at the Taylor abode, Jennifer happens to be the one who answers the door. She's dressed smartly, as always, her hair neatly coiffed and her makeup perfect. This strange form of WASPish grief is alien to me. I'm more used to the typical Irish wake mentality where any death in the family entails a lot of wailing and weeping, a few fist fights, and maybe even a little drunken singing. Instead, Jennifer is just calm, cool and life-as-usual collected.


"Hello, Ms. Taylor. I'm Brian Kinney. I'm a friend of Justin's. I was here yesterday when you found out about your husband. I didn't get to introduce myself or express my condolences."


"Thank you, Mr. Kinney. It's very nice of you to come by," Jennifer nods at me amiably.


"My surrogate mother packed all this food up for you," I say, handing the shopping bag full of food to her. "She's Italian, which means that she probably overdid it. But, Debbie means, well."


"Thank you, again. It's very kind of you, Mr. Kinney,"


"Please, call me Brian," I say with a dose of Kinney charm, determined to win her over as early in the process as possible. "Is Justin home? I'd like to see him if I could."


"Of course. Please come in, Brian. I'll go put this all away and I'll call him for you."


Jenn heads towards the kitchen, yelling up the stairs for Justin as she passes. I'm smiling, thinking 'so far, so good'. I can maybe work this after all. Which means I'm in a good mood right up until I see Justin coming down the stairs. But his dejected look and complete lack of enthusiasm at seeing me takes me down quite a few pegs pretty fast.


"Hey, Sunshine," I say as he nears. "Just wanted to check and see if you were holding out okay."


"I'm okay, I guess," he says, standing shyly a good five feet away from me.


I move forward and extend my arms, ready to pull him to me where I can hold him and thus satisfy my hunger to touch him as soon as possible. Justin, however, steps back almost as fast. He's looking around at the same time, apparently trying to figure out where his mother went. I settle for grabbing ahold of his arm instead, rubbing lightly through the fabric of his shirt.


"Brian, don't. Please," Justin says as he removes my hand from his arm. "My mother . . . She's got enough to deal with right now. She doesn't need me adding to her worries. What are you doing here, anyway? I said I'd call you."


"I wanted to see you," I answer simply enough, touching the back of his hand with one finger in lieu of his arm, since I just can’t seem to keep my hands away from him. “You didn't call and you never gave me your number, so I just came over instead.”


I want so badly to pull him into my arms right now. He looks so vulnerable and sad. I could kiss those cotton candy pink lips until he forgot he was sad, if he’d let me. I could do a lot more than that, if he was so inclined, but I don’t think he will be, even if I could get him somewhere alone. But I’m not ready to give up yet.


“Brian, I can’t do this with my mother here and all,” he says in a hushed voice.


“Then come with me. We can go somewhere and talk. Somewhere your mother isn’t,” I suggest.


“Yeah, I can guess exactly what your version of ‘talking’ would be like,” Justin says with the first hint of a smile I’ve seen yet today.  


“I’ve been told I’m a very good listener, you know,” I tell him with my own smile back. “I especially like to listen when you make those noises you do when I . . .”


“Mom,” Justin yells in the direction of the kitchen, interrupting before I can give him the full description of just what I plan to do to him to elicit those noises I wouldn’t mind listening to. “I’m going out for awhile. Do you need me to get anything?”


Jennifer steps back into the foyer right then and I’m glad that Justin and I are being wholly appropriate for once. She gives me a tight little smile that’s just full of questions like, ‘how, exactly, do you know my son, Mr. Kinney?’ Luckily for me she’s a bit too distracted by other events right now to pursue those questions. I would like, this time around, to NOT be the one that outs Justin for a change.


“No. I don’t need anything, Justin. Molly is at her friend’s house until 3:30 and there’s nothing else that I can do today. I feel a little lost, actually. I wish there was something I could be doing right now, but . . ." Jennifer responds.


“Maybe I should stay, then. I don’t want you just sitting here alone,” Justin starts to change his mind.


“No. That’s silly, Justin. Two of us just sitting here being sad is twice as useless as just me being here. You go, if you want. What were you planning on doing, anyway?”


Justin starts to sputter, at a loss for any explanation, but I swoop in and elegantly save the day.


“I thought I would take Justin to see my son, if that’s okay. Justin had volunteered a few days ago to babysit sometimes. I thought maybe this would be a good time to get him and the baby better acquainted and see if the plan will work out. Lindsey, my son’s mother, could definitely use a break every now and then. What do you say, Sunshine?” I ask, winking at Justin when I’m sure his mother can’t see.


“Sounds fine. I can’t wait to see Gus again,” Justin smiles at me, relieved that I came prepared with a good excuse. “Is that okay, then, Mom? I won’t be too long.”


“Go ahead, Justin. And don’t worry, Mr. Kinney, Justin’s a great baby sitter. He’s been helping me out with his sister from the day she was born. He’s great with kids.” Jennifer says, almost as relieved acting as her son now that she has a plausible reason for me to be asking to take her son out.  


“It’s Brian, please. And I know that Justin will be great with Gus,” I tell her, because it’s true, I do know this for a fact. “Ready, Sunshine?”


It doesn’t take long to get Justin in the car and drive far enough away so that we don’t run the risk of disabusing his mother of her son’s innocence. But as soon as I’m sure we’re out of suburbia proper, I pull the Jeep over to the side of the road, slide my seat back as far as it will go and then pull my Sunshine to me for that kiss I’ve been longing for so desperately. I just know I can’t wait even one more minute to claim those lips and feel that beautiful soft skin. Fuck propriety. I did the good boy thing for his mother, but I’m no angel and the good boy act is slipping fast.


“Justin,” I moan as he finally starts to show some enthusiasm, kissing me back almost as hard as he normally would. “I couldn’t wait to see you again. It was so hard keeping my hands off you at your mother’s. Fuck. I’m so glad you’re here with me.”


“Shhhh. Too much talk, Brian,” Justin says, as he unlatches his seat belt and crawls out of his seat and his pants at the same time, then insinuates his lithe little body between me and the steering wheel so that he’s on my lap and can kiss me all the better.


“Um, not that I’m complaining, Justin,” I try to say once he takes a break from sucking on my tongue for a moment or two. “But I really did mean it when I said we could talk if you wanted.”


“I don’t want to talk, Brian. I want you to fuck me and make me forget. Just make it all go away, please,” Justin mumbles as he works at the buttons on my shirt, pulling it apart till he can run his fingers over my chest, and driving me fucking wild with his touch.


“I’m happy to oblige, Sunshine,” I answer and proceed to fish a condom out of the arm rest console.


And, after that, there isn’t much talk at all, except for ‘move your leg’, ‘slide towards me’, and ‘Ouch, not there!’ - when was the last time YOU tried to fuck in the driver’s seat of a Jeep, hmmm? But Justin isn’t just enthusiastic about sex, he’s pretty fucking limber too. And, without too much trouble, about five minutes later, I’m happily reclined on the driver’s side seat, with a gloriously wanton Justin riding my cock for all he’s worth.


I’ve got a great view as I lie here, my hands on his slim hips helping to guide him as he moves up and down, his own hands gripping the roll bar overhead.  I love the feel of his ass muscles clenching and releasing my dick as he moves. He always was a natural at this. And, if he seems a little desperate because of everything, who am I to complain? We all deal with grief in our own way, but I have to say, I rather like Justin's way.


If we weren't so exposed, parked on the side of a damn highway like this, I'd happily lie here all day and let the boy play. But this might just be a stretch even for a veteran exhibitionist like myself, especially since we’re so far from Liberty Avenue and so close to the breeder burbs. So, I take matters into my own hands, literally, by grabbing onto Justin’s wonderfully thick cock and stroking him rapidly. His ecstasy level shoots through the roof at my touch, and I get to employ those famous listening skills of mine as Justin groans, moans, whimpers and chants my name as he rides my cock and I stroke his in rhythm. Fuck, he’s beautiful when he’s like this.


Too soon, I can tell he’s ready to shoot. He throws his head back erotically and I can feel his whole body tense for a moment. Then I feel the hot sticky cum shooting through my fingers and coating my chest. The mere look of lust on his face right then is all it takes to bring me over the brink too and I buck up into him giving him even more of a ride for a minute or two. As we both finish, Justin finally collapses onto my chest, panting but happy again.


Yes, this is more like it! I have my Sunshine back. Maybe I’ve worked things right, finally? Fuck, I hope so. But, for some reason, I still have this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.


*For all you science geeks out there - like your’s truly - the densest metal is actually Osmium, but how many readers are going to get that reference, huh?




Just when you think everything’s going so well . . . the evil author comes up with another twist. I'm so twisty, I scare myself sometimes. But you'll have to wait for the next chapter to find out why Brian still feels like this isn't going to be the perfect outcome after all. I'm off to write. See you all soon. TAG



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