Brian

“Where are you going?” I’m more asleep than awake when I feel Justin get out of bed and I rise up on my elbows, blinking my eyes to focus on him.

“Can I have a glass of milk?” He pauses at the foot of the bed. “My stomach’s kind of jumpy.”

“Of course.” I throw back the covers and follow him to the kitchen. I yawn and rub my eyes as he pulls open the fridge. “It was probably the lobster or all that butter you slurped with it. Do you want some bicarbonate?”

“No thanks.” He pulls a glass from the cupboard and fills it halfway, then looks at me over the rim as he takes a drink. “I think the milk will hold me till I get home.”

“You’re going home?”

“Well yeah. I was invited for a date, not a sleepover.”

Justin takes a couple swallows of milk and offhandedly I say, “You don’t want to stay?”

“Brian, do you want me to stay?”

I stare at him for a moment then shrug my shoulders. “It’s your call.” Fuck me, I can’t believe I just said that.

Justin turns away to rinse his glass in the sink. Then he comes around the end of the counter and stands right in front of me, toe to toe. Looking me in the eye he demands, “Say ‘Justin, I want you to stay.’”

Reaching out quickly with both hands, I grab Justin around the waist and lift him off his feet, throw him over my shoulder and carry him up the steps to the bed. I feint like I’m going to throw him but instead I carefully lower him onto the bed and then step back and point a finger at him. “Stay!”

Justin rises up to his knees and I can see that he’s struggling not to laugh. Or maybe he’s struggling not to tell me to fuck myself. “If your next command is ‘Roll over and beg,’ I’m out of here,” he threatens.

“You don’t have to beg,” I whisper, sliding onto the bed beside him, pulling him into my arms, “Just roll over.”

“Brian – “

I kiss him.

“Brian – “

I kiss him again.

“Why can't you just – “

I kiss him again, and he shuts up, he stops talking finally and instead we lose ourselves in kissing.

I’ve kissed thousands of men and nobody tastes like Justin. I’ve memorized the shape and length of his tongue, I know every crevice in his teeth, I know perfectly the surface of the roof of his mouth like I was a scientist memorizing the surface of the moon. I know every nuance of flavor in the crease of his lips as I suck them into my mouth.

Our bodies slide together and every inch of him fits perfectly against every inch of me. We move together like synchronized swimmers, I know when he’s going to moan, I know how to make him gasp for breath, I know how to make him sigh and whisper ‘Brian.’ And he knows how to slide his hands down my back just so, how to lick and suck my left nipple until I almost come just from his mouth so hot there, he knows when to murmur ‘now-now-now’ to jolt me into an orgasm way, way beyond any pleasure I can ever remember.

It’s only sex, and yet. . .

It’s only sex. You’d think that it would be boring with the same person over and over. Stale. Routine. So why isn’t it? Why isn’t – oh God, his mouth pulls away from mine and traces a slippery path down to my nipple, I can’t –


Justin

I can almost make Brian come just by sucking his left nipple, it’s one of only a couple places on his body that he can’t control by sheer will power. He loves to be rimmed but he won’t let me do it very often, he says it makes him a pushover for fucking and he’s right. Or nearly. Brian’s so good at rimming because he knows exactly what feels the hottest, I learned from him how to pleasure him and two of the times I’ve fucked him, I got him to agree by rimming him first till he was almost begging for it.

Well, Brian doesn’t beg for anything. But he makes these sighing murmuring sounds that let me know it’s okay to go ahead. No words are necessary. Brian doesn’t like words.

Dragging my head away from his nipple, Brian pulls me up again so he can kiss me. Nobody kisses like Brian – well nobody I’ve ever kissed. Gently but firmly he pushes me down on my back on the bed till he's crouched over me, and I feel his knee slide between my legs, opening them wide. In one swift movement, he's poised to enter me, and almost of their own volition my legs lift up to rest on his shoulders. He's still kissing me and my eyes are closed but I hear the rustle of his hand fumbling in the condom bowl, then I hear his teeth tearing the package open and my breath quickens when I feel his fingers begin to open me up. He's being gentle now, but earlier tonight he was rough. I love it both ways with Brian.

We both gasp as he pushes just that last little bit and he's inside me, and our mouths move apart as we sputter a laugh, then I gasp again when he begins to move in rhythm, and his lips capture mine again and then I'm lost in sensation, my hands moving all over his chest and his hips and his thighs, his knees digging into the mattress with each thrust. He's taking it slow, making it last, and a light film of sweat moistens our bodies all the places they rub together. "Brian," I murmur, "Brian."



Brian

We're taking it slow, no hurry, just smooth and gentle pleasure, for a while anyway. Soon we pick up the pace, we're both getting hot and hotter, I can tell he's getting close right before he murmurs, "Now!" and I let go and he lets go and we come together, the first wave of pleasure jolting our bodies like an electric shock. Then another gentler wave, and my body collapses above him, careful to roll sideways so I don't crush him with my weight. Justin hangs on tight and moves with me, not letting go. He never wants to let go, right from the beginning he has always hung on to me as long as he can.

And I wonder, not for the first time, why I ever let him hang onto me. Right from the beginning I let him, and I'm still letting him - only now I’m hanging on to him, too. Now I don't want to let him go either. So we lie in each other's arms, catching our breath, relaxing into the mattress, and within moments we're both falling back to sleep. Right before I go completely out, I pull off the condom and throw it over the side of the bed, then I reach for the duvet and pull it over us, Justin sometimes gets cold in the night. His face is pressed into my neck and I feel more than hear him murmur "Mmmmm."

When we wake up it's morning, in fact, it's almost ten o'clock, usually, I don't sleep that long even when I'm up late. Justin's still hanging on to me, our bodies have turned into spoons sometime during the night and he's holding onto me from behind. As I begin to open my eyes I feel his lips kiss me lightly on the shoulder and almost I turn around and pull him into my arms. Almost. Instead, I feel myself moving away from him, slipping out of bed, standing up and stretching. I turn around and glance at Justin, as if I'm surprised to see him there. He's not letting me get away with that, though.

"Brian, don't."

That's all he says but I know what he means, so quickly I counter as if it was all I meant to say, "I can't believe we slept so long. It's ten o'clock." Then I turn away and move into the bathroom, desperately needing to take a piss. A half-second later Justin’s beside me and silently we piss together into the toilet. I finish first so I move into the shower enclosure and a moment later Justin joins me. He stands off to one side while I adjust the temperature - his skin burns easily, then he meets me in the middle. We pick up bars of soap and begin to wash each other, a habit we formed when he lived with me.

"I had a great time last night," Justin says, running the soap across my chest.

"Your stomach okay now?"

"Yeah. Mostly."

I'm washing his shoulders, enjoying watching his pale skin turn pink in the hot water. "Still queasy?"

"Yeah, but - I don't think it's from the lobster." He turns around and lets me wash his back.

"Too much champagne." I'm not done with his back but he turns around and grabs my hands, holding them still.

"No." That's all he says, but he's looking at me now. I can't read the expression on his face, but for some reason, I don't want him to explain. If he's going to start talking about 'us' or something, I don't want to hear it. I just don't.

"I wanted to talk to you last night but we fell asleep too fast."

"Fucking'll do that," I reply lightly, pulling away and turning around so he'll wash my back. And maybe so he'll stop talking. I just don't want to go there.

I hear him sigh and I hope that's an end to it though he's tenacious as hell so I doubt it. To forestall him further I duck my head under the water and begin to wash my hair. He gives up for the time being and we don't speak anymore until we're stepping out and drying ourselves off.

"Would you like me to cook you breakfast?" Justin asks, "I saw a carton of eggs in the fridge."

If he does that I'll be trapped in the loft, giving him plenty of time to work me over. It was bad enough that having an actual date opened the door, maybe giving Justin ideas that I don't even want to think about. I still haven't figured out why I started this whole business. "Thanks, but there's no time. I need to go into the office this morning." That's not really untrue, it's Saturday but there's a ton of work waiting for me, I can put in a couple hours and get a jump-start on next week.

I feel Justin's eyes on me as I pull out my shaving gear, then he just says "Okay" and goes into the bedroom to get dressed. I'm finishing up my shave when he comes back and stands in the doorway. He's put on his khakis and sweater and when I glance at him he shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Well, I'll be going then I guess, so you can get to work. Thanks for the dinner - it was great. I had a good time."

"Me too." It's true. I wipe my face with a hand towel and walk over to Justin, slip my arms around his shoulders. "We survived a date. Imagine that." I bend down and kiss him lightly, then let go and step back.

"Brian - maybe you could call me when you have time to talk?"

Christ, I knew it. He's not going to let it go. "Talk about what?"

Justin doesn’t answer, just looks at me for a moment, then he turns away and heads down the steps. I move outside the bathroom door and wait, watching him grab his jacket from the sofa and open the door. I’m expecting him to look over his shoulder and give me a wave and when he doesn’t, merely shuts the door without a glance, I feel let down somehow.

Shaking my head, I go into the kitchen and pull a jar of grapefruit juice out of the fridge, twist off the cap and take a drink. I’m annoyed at Justin for pushing me and I’m annoyed at myself for backing away from him. Like I’ve always backed away from him, from anyone really who's ever tried to corner me, push me up against the wall, coerce me into some kind of fucking declaration or – whatever.

I remember last night when he wanted me to ask him to stay. And I wouldn’t say it. I wouldn’t say, “Justin, I want you to stay.” I shake my head again. Fuck me.



Cynthia

Usually, Brian hides his smiles from me but when he came back from Gardner Vance's office this morning he was practically exploding with what I soon found out was suppressed glee. Not exactly happiness - I've seldom seen Brian let down his guard enough to appear happy - but some kind of obvious satisfaction.

When my phone rang at precisely nine-oh-one and the display showed Vance's number, I took a deep breath before picking up. Just as I was doing my ‘Mister-Kinney's-office’ spiel, Brian surged out of the elevator and passed my desk with his usual Monday-morning frown of acknowledgment. I pointed at the phone and mouthed 'Vance' and Brian's frown deepened as he went into his office and threw his raincoat on a chair. A moment later I followed him in and announced that Vance wanted to see him right away.

Brian just looked at me and nodded and I couldn't resist asking, "Something wrong? He sounds mad."

I didn’t really expect an answer, I know Brian too well, so I wasn't surprised when all he said was, "You'll be the first one I confide in after the meeting."

Luckily Brian's sarcasm became tolerable a long time ago. I hazarded a guess: "Haven't had coffee yet, hmm?" Brian adjusted his tie and straightened his shoulders before moving past me out the door and down the hall.

It’s not even ten minutes later and here he comes striding back and he almost smiles at me until he catches himself in time. Pausing at my desk he says, "If you can bribe somebody to bring me real coffee from Starbucks, I promise not to fire you."

"Wow, thanks." Brian fires me at least once a week. "I've already sent Jeffrey, he should be back in ten minutes."

"Ah," Brian says, then pauses to ask, "Who's Jeffrey?"

"The new copy assistant Amelia hired last week. And forget it, he's got pimples and bad breath."

Then Brian does laugh, and goes into his office, grabs his coat from the chair and throws it toward the coat rack; it misses and falls to the floor. He’s picking it up as I follow him into his office and shut the door. "Tell me?"

Brian unbuttons his suit jacket and sits down behind his desk. "You know Vance has been wooing the Girard-Chambord conglomerate?" When I nod, he goes on. "He took them to dinner Friday night, at the Poseidon. I ran into them there, I was with - somebody." He hesitates and his brow furrows slightly for a moment, then quickly he goes on: "Details aren't important, but anyway, it was made clear to the Frenchmen that I'm gay. Vance was furious."

"Why should that matter?" I interject, though of course, I can guess.

Brian snorts. "I'm sure he thought it might spike his deal somehow. 'These damn degenerate Americans' type of thing."

Leaning back in his chair, Brian picks up the little green ball he plays with when he's thinking. "Anyway, when he called me to his office this morning, I was expecting him to blow up at me. Or something."

"And he didn't?"

Brian finally smiles. He has the most beautiful smile when he allows himself the privilege of a moment's happiness. "Nope. He said - and Cynthia, it nearly choked him! He said, Girard and Chambord have asked him to include me in the consultations. Seems they heard about my reputation - shut up! Stop laughing! My ADVERTISING reputation. And they've asked to have me on board."

I'm laughing so hard I have to sit in a chair by the desk. "Oh God, no wonder he's so angry! Vance wanted to keep that deal all to himself. Everyone's been whispering about it the past two weeks."

"Yeah." Then Brian turns serious. "Now we'd better get to work, I have to prove my brilliance all over again so the Frenchmen don't back out of negotiations and leave my ass hanging out to dry."

"Okay." Declining to make any remarks about Brian's ass, I stand up and turn to go but pause before opening the door. "Brian," I dare to ask, "Was the 'somebody' you were with at the Poseidon - Justin?"

Expecting a growled order to mind my own fucking business, I'm surprised when Brian just looks back at me, his face expressionless but his voice mild when he says, "Yes. Now get to work."

I can't resist a smile then. "Say hi to him for me, will you?"

"Hunh," he grumps, turning to log onto his computer and not looking at me again. "Tell him yourself next time he calls to exchange recipes. Now go away."



Michael

I hardly ever get to see Brian lately, with his partnership in the agency he's working all the time. Then after the accident Justin monopolized him, he was always at the loft, it was no fun going over there with that kid eavesdropping and interrupting. So when Brian called and wanted me to shoot pool with him at Woody's Tuesday night I leaped at the chance. Probably I should have called Ted and Emmett but I really wanted just this best-friends time alone with him.

So we stroll into Woody's, it's after ten, I know the tables will be full but we can have a couple drinks while we're waiting. Inside the door we're pulling off our jackets and glancing around and who should be prancing around one of the pool tables but that damned kid. And he's with a guy. I look quickly at Brian to see his reaction, his face shows nothing at all. Which either means he feels nothing at all or that he's angry or he's upset or feeling any of a dozen other emotions. I've always been able to read Brian better than anybody else, but if he doesn't want you to see inside then you just plain can't.

Brian turns toward the bar and sits on a stool with his back to the room. I'd rather sit at a table but of course I don't suggest it, obviously, he doesn't want to watch Justin, so instead I sit next to him and we order our drinks. I start telling him about a new comics distributor who's hiking up shipping charges and I can tell he's not hearing a word I say. So I stop talking, and it's at least three minutes later before Brian turns to me and says, "What?"

"Look," I set down my glass and put a hand on Brian's arm. "Why don't we go somewhere else?"

"Why?" he raises his eyebrows at me. "Don't you like Woody's?"

"Brian, obviously it's bugging you that Justin's here. Let's just go, okay?"

"Justin's here?" he asks, but he doesn't turn around to look. Of course, he knows.

"Never mind." I wave at the bartender and he comes over to refill our glasses. We drink silently for a minute, then I start talking about the shop again. It takes a while before I notice that Brian is making eyes at a guy standing at the end of the bar. "Look," I say exasperatedly, "If you're going to take off tricking, why'd you even ask me to come?"

"We have to wait for a table anyway," Brian tells me, "Can't you hang on a few minutes while I take this guy out back and get blown? It's never bothered you before."

It's like I always say, Brian will never change. "All right," I agree resignedly, "But if you're not back in ten minutes, I'm out of here."

"Thanks, Mikey." Brian leans down as if to kiss me then turns his head and blows hot air into my ear, which tickles and which he knows I hate. He signals the trick with just a jerk of his head then moves toward the back door, the trick hot on his heels. In a way I'm pissed and yet in another way I'm glad - Brian's finally getting back to normal.



Justin

When Brian comes into Woody's I have to force myself not to stare at him. I haven't let myself call him since we parted Saturday morning. If Brian's not ever going to talk to me, what's the point? He asked me on a real date. I thought that meant he was ready to think about a relationship again, but he's not. In the end, all he wanted to do was fuck.

So okay, he wants me to date for six months? I'm going to date every guy I can get my hands on for the next six months and after that, I'm giving up on Brian. Again.

Probably.

Lawrence was really happy when I phoned him. I picked up the phone and put it down about eight times before calling, remembering what Debbie said about not hurting him. But he's an older man, he's not going to get all silly about love and stuff, in fact, he told me so. He says we're just friends having a good time, so why shouldn't I call him? Why shouldn't I go out with him? It's no big deal.

We went to dinner, just for pizza; it was my turn again and he told me before that pizza's just about his favorite food. We were going to a movie but we'd just missed all the starting times at the cineplex so playing pool was his suggestion. Woody's was his suggestion too and I said okay, although if Brian's jeep had been parked outside I would've asked to go someplace else. How could I know Brian would show up later? It's not like I planned to flaunt Lawrence in his face.

Then Brian comes in and pretends not to see me, he and Michael sit at the bar with their backs turned. Lawrence sees him too and he goes, "There's your friend from the diner, want to ask him to join us?" I say no really fast, he looks at me intently but lets it drop.

So we're all just ignoring each other, and Lawrence is beating the crap out of me because my concentration is completely gone, in fact, he's teasing me about it, and then suddenly from the corner of my eye I see Brian going out the back door - with a trick. That is just somehow too much. I tell Lawrence I'm not feeling well, he grabs our jackets and we get the hell out of there.

Lawrence is so sweet, helping me put on my jacket in the chill night air, putting his arm around me, asking if I want to go home. And I do want to go home, just go home and get in bed and pull the covers over my head. But instead, I go home with Lawrence. I want to fuck and fuck and fuck till I forget all about Brian Kinney. At least for a few hours.



Brian

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," I tell Justin; of course he knows it's me, my number shows up on his cell phone. I wondered if he'd even answer my call so in a way I'm not prepared when he does.

"Hey," he says, not very enthusiastically.

"Are you at school?" It's early afternoon, he should be at school. Unless he's still with that guy.

After Michael dropped me at home last night, I got in the jeep and drove over by Jennifer's condo. It was nothing but curiosity, wondering if Justin's car was there. Of course, it wasn't, I didn't expect it to be. I didn't hang around, I'd just been curious to know if he was with the teacher. They left Woody's while I was in the alley getting what was probably the most boring blowjob of my entire life. When I came back in they were gone. Michael didn't comment and as luck would have it, we got the pool table they'd just abandoned. We played a couple games and I let Michael beat me.

"I'm in the school parking lot actually," Justin tells me, "I'm just leaving."

"You working tonight?"

He hesitates a moment, then says, "I'm on my way there now."

"You have plans after work?"

"Yeah, sort of," he says. There's a long pause, then he adds, "I have a lot of homework."

"Okay."

"Brian - "

"Hey, it's okay," I tell him and laugh. "I’ll let you go now."

"Brian - wait."

I don't want to wait, I want to hang up the phone. I'm busy, I have a meeting in ten minutes. I've got a presentation at two o'clock. I don't have time to be hanging around on the telephone. Yet I’m still holding the receiver to my ear. Finally, I say, "What?"

"Were you wanting to do another date or something?"

Christ. "Justin, let's cut the bullshit." When he says nothing I go on. "I thought you might want to come over. That's all. Fuck dating, okay? Just come over after work. If you want to."

"Well okay," Justin says slowly. "But - "

"But what?" I'm getting impatient now, I'm a busy man, I need to get off the fucking telephone and get to work. I have a meeting in five minutes.

"Brian, if I come over, will you at least TRY to talk to me? A little?"

I don't answer. He's pushing me again, damn it.

"Brian, will you?"

"I don't know."

There's a long silence, and then I hear him sigh heavily. And then I hear myself sigh heavily. Two drama queens waging a battle of silences and sighs.

Finally, I say, "Maybe."

"Okay." His voice sounds way too happy. I didn't make any fucking promises, he shouldn't sound so fucking happy. "Would you like me to bring dinner, something from the diner? I get off at seven. I could wait and eat with you."

Cynthia's at the door pointing at her watch. "All right," I concede. "See you then." I hang up quickly before either of us can change our minds. Especially me.



Justin

I'm not letting myself think about seeing Brian tonight. I can't get my hopes up - maybe all he really wants is another fuck. And if he does, what then? What will I do? I don't know, so there's no point in thinking about it.

The hours go slowly, I hate the afternoon shift, I'd rather work in the morning or at night when it's super busy, I like the bustle and the noise and the fast pace and the tips are better too. Tonight's special is chicken marsala, Tony put some aside for me. Finally, the hours drag by and I'm on my way, at last, the take-out bags are on the seat beside me. When he knows I'm coming over, Brian parks on the street so I can have his place in the garage, the streets get filled up at night and it's hard to find a spot anywhere close to his place. Brian buzzes me up immediately and I take the elevator since my hands are full.

The door's already open and Brian grabs one of the bags from me and I follow him into the kitchen. I'm starving so I hope he wants to eat right away, and I see that he's set out dishes and silverware on the counter, and he's already working on a glass of wine, he's holding it in his other hand. "Hey," he says as I set down the rest of the bags and take off my jacket. "Smells good."

Throwing my jacket over a barstool, I start to open up the bags. He sets down his glass and moves in on me from behind, pulling me away from the counter, turning me around and pushing my back up against the refrigerator.

"Hey," he says again, his voice barely audible, then he lowers his head and kisses my mouth. I can taste musky red wine and I slide my arms around his neck. Brian presses his body against me, the surface of the refrigerator cold on my back, Brian's body warm where he's pushing himself hard against me. He pulls his mouth away briefly to whisper, "Dessert first," then continues kissing.

I put both hands on his chest and push him away an inch. We're eyeball to eyeball. A little breathlessly I insist, "Dinner first, talking second, dessert third."

"Hunh," Brian snorts, dropping his arms, backing up and releasing me. He pretends to be angry but I can tell that he's not. "Your priorities are fucked, you know that?" he asks, before turning away and picking up one of the paper bags, pulling it open and peeking inside. "What's this stuff?"