CHAPTER 18- PROVOCATION--BRIAN’S POV

Oh yes, wait a minute Mister Postman

Jennifer’s house, Sunday night, 6:41 pm

“Daddy! Daddy! WAIT!”

Gus. I forgot. I turn around and see him running through her front yard in the dark, waving his pictures in his hand. He’s practically in the street, trying to get to me, to my car.

“Stop! Don’t run into the street Gus! I’m coming back.” Michael’s running after him, trying to stop him. Thank god he gets to him before he got to the end of Jennifer’s yard. He listens to Michael.

“Whoa Gus, you’ve got to be careful. You can’t just run into the street after your dad like that. You could get hit by a car.”

“But he forgot my pictures for Mr. Justin! He forgot them.” He’s squirming to get away from Michael.

“Thanks, Mikey.” Gus clings to my leg when I finally get to him.

“No problem. I need to give you something for Justin, too.” He reaches in his jacket pocket and hands me a small box. “It’s a pair of D&G sunglasses. Figured they’d complete his Hollywood ensemble. They’re from all of us---me, Ben, Hunter, Ma, and even Jenny. You can throw her in, too, if you want.”

“Thanks. I’m sure he’ll love them.” I bend down to get the pictures from Gus.

“Here, Daddy. Give all these to Mr. Justin. I don’t have an emelope.”

“You don’t need an envelope. I’m going to give them to him myself. I’m not going to mail them. Give me a hug; I have to go, okay?” He jumps into my arms, squeezing me around my neck. I stand up with Gus still attached to me, tucking his pictures inside my jacket to tell Michael good-bye.

“Listen, tell everyone I’m sorry I had to duck out like this. I’m pretty sure I know where he is. I’ve got to find him, make sure he’s all right.”

“They’ll understand. You know you can call me later if you need anything, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael hugs me. I can feel Gus’ hand inside my jacket. He’s fishing for gum. I take his hand out. My lighter’s in there. “Gus, I don’t have any gum tonight. Listen, I’m going to come have lunch with you at your school this week. Would you like that?”

“With my class?”

“Yeah, with your class.”

“Yeah. Dylan’s dad did and so did Haley’s mom. Haley’s mom is gonna have a baby. She’s real fat.” Michael laughs.

“Well, I’m gonna come later in the week—not tomorrow, or the next day, but after that. I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” I kiss him good-bye. He smells vaguely like peanut butter, probably from a snack he had in the car on the way over.

“Be good for your mom tonight.”

“I will.”

I hug him again and hand him to Michael. They wave good-bye to me as I drive away, deciding to race each other back into Jennifer’s house. I know for a fact that Michael let him win.

*************************************
They say the next big thing is here,
that the revolution's near,
but to me it seems quite clear
that it's all just a little bit of history repeating

It’s starting to rain, just enough of a thick mist to be incredibly annoying, enough to make every red light I hit look bigger than it really is. I don’t have time for red lights tonight. This feeling of driving toward him in the rain, of being stuck at blurry traffic lights, is too familiar, too recent. I turn off the radio. I don’t need any more noise in my head.

This particular intersection is deserted. It’s just me. Alone. I can hear my finger running back and forth over the clue I found in his suitcase. I miss the green light because I’m staring at the mystery in my hand, trying to decide if it’s an invitation or a warning. Guess I won’t know ‘til I get there. No one minds that I’m not paying attention when the light turns green, that I don’t hit the gas until the light turns yellow. There’s no one here to care.

I’ve got a little over twelve hours to make sure it’s not that way permanently.

I listen to the swish of my tires as they slow to make the last turn. It wouldn’t take me long to find his car at this time of night on a Sunday, but I’d rather not waste the time. The rain is almost enough to dampen and chill me as I walk. My eyes adjust to the brighter lights and rushing noise as I step inside.

Every prince charming needs a tall, white horse to arrive on when he saves his damsel in distress, and by a stroke of dumb luck tonight, mine is meandering down the hallway. It’s not white or tall, but rather, stainless steel, and at this point, I’ll take what I can get. My jockey eyes me suspiciously as he approaches the door.

“Sir?”

“Cold feet.” I show him my credit card and sign the receipt.

“I see.”

“Do your thing.”

I watch him knock on the door and wait, out of view, for the words that I know are coming.

”Who is it?”

He looks at me. I nod.

“Room service, sir.” I hand him twenty dollars and motion for him to leave.

I hear the chain coming off, watch the doorknob turning, and see history repeating itself in his startled blue eyes.

“Brian.”

“Evening, fair maiden. I’ve come to rescue you.” I gently, but firmly, make sure the door stays open.

“That’s not funny.” He turns around and walks back inside the suite. I shouldn’t, but I admire his body in those ridiculously tight levi’s anyway as he walks away.

“Call your mother.”

I pull the cart inside and close the door. He picks up the phone.

****************************
Well, since my baby left me
Well, I found a new place to dwell
Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street
At Heartbreak Hotel

“You found me.”

“You left a trail of bread crumbs.” He looks at me like he didn’t appreciate that.

“I never thought I’d say this, Brian, but you’re spending way too much time reading to Gus.” He almost smiles, but the moment passes too quickly for both of us.

“You’re avoiding everything and everyone that reminds you of leaving. I should’ve figured this out hours ago.” His hysteria over the luggage last night, skipping his own farewell party. He walks away from me, sinking into the far sofa, his head in his hands. “When’d you shave? Did you go home when I wasn’t there?”

The loft is home.

“They’ll give you anything you want at the front desk, Brian. Hell, they’ll even bring it to you.” I glance around the suite trying to ascertain what he’s been doing here for the last few hours. I don’t see much besides his sketch pad and his box of art supplies.

“Been busy?”

I want to be closer to him, but I feel like he wants me over here, by the bar, where I am. He closes his sketch pad, puts away his supplies, and resumes his defeated posture on the sofa. I guess dinner can wait.

“Yeah.”

“Looks like it.” If he’s got that whole box with him, he’s not messing around. He looks up at me, a pleading look in his eyes that I haven’t seen in a long time. It breaks something inside of me.

“I think I have things I need to say to you.”

“Okay.” Please say something. Say anything.

“But I can’t say them to you when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Yes, you are. You’re doing that thing you do with your mouth when you’re really pissed.” I am?

I am.

Shit. I think I’m just nervous.

“I’m not mad at you. I’ve been worried sick about you all day.” His eyes widen, almost like he’s surprised at that. “I called you six or seven times. You never called me back. You scared me.” You really scared me.

“I broke my cell phone. It’s gone.”

“What?”

“I had it out with my father. It’s just one more thing to add to the list.” Christ.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, matter of time.” I can’t stand to see him like this. I take a deep breath.

“Can I come over there? Sit with you?”

He lifts his head out of his hands and looks at the space next to him on the sofa like it’s a foreign object and then looks at me. I’m not even sure what I look like right now and then I see my reflection in the mirror we pulled out here yesterday during our fashion show. I look like a schmuck, standing here with my hands shoved in the pockets of my jacket like I have no fucking clue what to do. He studies my face.

“You still look sorta mad.”

“I’m not. My jaw might look mad, but it’ll stop in a minute.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Then, yeah.”

********************************
Try to see it my way,
Do I have to keep on talking till I can't go on?

I walk around the sofa and sit beside him, the tension in the room rising again. He fiddles with his fingers, his elbows on his knees.

“I missed you today.” I feel myself start to reach for him as I say this, but I decide against it for the moment.

“I missed you, too.” He’s almost whispering, like it was painful to say that.

“It’s okay that you came here.” My hand is tentatively on his back, afraid he’ll pull away. He almost does. “Should’ve known you were here. You remember every single thing I say.” And everything I don’t. His body is like a bed of nails underneath my hand. I can’t remember the last time he felt this tense.

“My key worked.” I smooth my hand down his back, trying to relax him. Doesn’t feel like it’s working.

“Your key will always work.”

Silence.

He doesn’t move or speak for a couple of minutes, so I hang on to the sound of his breathing and the feel of his body rising and falling underneath my hand.

“Justin, I want to help you, but I don’t know how. I don’t know what’s wrong.” He inhales.

“I know. I’m trying, Brian. This isn’t easy for me.”

Another minute passes, and he reaches over and holds my hand. It surprises me. God, I want to hold him. His head is still down, staring at our entwined fingers.

“There are some things I need to talk to you about, to say to you, things that are really bothering me, and I need you to listen.”

“You don’t want me to say anything?”

“No, I’m just saying I don’t want you to lose your shit.” I smile at him.

“I’m not going to lose my shit.” Give me some credit.

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

“Okay.” He looks at me for a second and then looks away again, our hands an endless fascination for him tonight. He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry about this morning. I blew up for no reason. We can’t do what we did, unless we talk about it together and agree, but I went off on you for no reason.”

“It’s okay.” I shouldn’t have let it happen.

“It’s not okay. I hurt you, Brian, and I don’t ever want to do that. I’m embarrassed—that I acted the way I did, that I got so freaked out just because you told me that you loved me-"

“Well, I kind of sprung it on you.” Literally.

“You surprised me.”

“Right.”

“But I should be used to that. I never know what’s gonna happen with us. That’s what I’m trying to say, Brian. You hold all the cards in this relationship.” He looks me straight in the eye. “And I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean?” He hears the change in my voice. He feels it.

“Just let me give you an example, okay? Don’t get upset.”

“I’m not, I’m just listening.”

“How’d you feel this morning when I left you here?” Now, I’m staring at my hands.

“Like a fucking idiot. Like—” I don’t even want to talk about this. He turns toward me, folding one leg under the other.

“Tell me--please. This means something to me. I’m not trying to exploit you.”

“Like a fool, Justin. Like I don’t know how to pay attention to what you’re feeling. Like I’m so bad at it—that you just have to leave. You can’t even talk to me. Like I don’t even deserve to know.” Felt exactly like it did when he left to go be with the fiddler. Those few weeks before he left, how I knew something was wrong with him, but he’d lie to me or just clam up, wouldn’t let me in.

“And then today, when you didn’t know where I was—"

“Fucking helpless and scared. Is that what you wanted? Is that what you were try—" Because that’s fucking bullshit.

“No. That’s not what I wanted. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to figure out why I’m so terrified to leave, Brian—and this is part of it.” His fingers pull at the denim in the bend of his knee. “All of this is happening so fast. It feels like it’s beyond my control, you know?”

“I know.” I’m overly familiar with that feeling.

“All of these things by themselves probably wouldn’t be so bad—this new job, which, by the way, I don’t know shit about, moving across the country, dealing with these fucking panic attacks, my fucking father, leaving all of my friends, saying good-bye to you—“ his voice wavers, “but all of these things at once just set me off, made me realize that I don’t have control over anything in my life.”

“You could’ve told me, Justin—about the job, the panic attacks. I could’ve helped you.” I want to help you. He looks at me like I just don’t understand.

“You mean like how you told me about having cancer, or about possibly selling the loft, or how you’re really gonna go on the Liberty Ride even though you’re gonna tell me you’re not? Or how you can’t sleep at night anymore, but I’m supposed to lie next to you while you say my name in this creepy ass way and then believe you when you say you don’t remember anything?”

“Justin.” The truth comes out.

“Or how you get to decide how I’m going to spend my last forty-eight hours in Pittsburgh without even asking me?” Shit. I don’t know what to say. “You control everything in this relationship, Brian. I’m your partner. You have no idea how much it hurt me when you didn’t even tell me you were sick, and then when you found out I knew, you physically threw me out. I was worried sick about you, Brian. Sick. Worried about you, like you were worried about me today—like you were four years ago, when you came to my hospital room every night when I was in a coma.”

Oh fuck.

“And then fucking lied to me about it.”

Oh shit.

“Why? Why would you lie to me about something like that?” He’s pissed, but not like this morning. I think he just wants an answer.

*************************
While you see it your way
There's a chance that we may fall apart before too long

“Because I didn’t know how to tell you the truth.”

“And which truth would that be? That you loved me or that you felt guilty?”

“Both?” I hate him when he gets like this, when he’s like human truth serum—blond interrogation. But he’s touching my hands again, so that’s a good sign. I think.

I hope.

“You know what your problem is, Brian?” No conversation that started with that question has ever ended well.

“Actually, I think I do, but feel free to tell me anyway.” He laughs. So do I. We needed something to break the tension.

“You feel guilty about the wrong things, Brian. It’s not your fault that Chris Hobbes hit me in the head with a bat. I know that you’ll probably never really believe that, but it’s not.”

He’s right. I never will.

“But it is your fault when you shut me out or throw me of your life, or don’t tell me shit, or make decisions or manipulate the circumstances of my life, things you should talk to me about. Decisions that we should make together, if we’re gonna do this.”

He sounds like maybe we’re not.

“You don’t wanna do this?”

“I want to know that you understand what I’m saying. That you understand how much it hurt me not to be able to be with you when you were diagnosed, being operated on, for Christ’s sake, to be turned out in anger. And I know damn well that you know what I mean because if someone had tried to keep you from coming to that hospital in the middle of the night when I was in a coma, you’d have killed them with your bare hands.” I knew he’d fucking find out about all of this. Goddamn little detective.

“You’re right. I would have. I couldn’t stay away.” Wild horses and all that.

“So don’t deny me, Brian. You have to let me love you in my own way, just like you want to love me in your way—like buying me a new wardrobe, dressing me up, taking me out for ridiculously expensive dinners, molesting me in public places—“

“Spanking you?”

“Brian.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes. I’m a highly evolved life form, and yes, I do understand. You’re trying to say that if I’m feeling possessive of your sweet little ass, I should consult you before I decide that we’re not gonna fuck in the backroom anymore.”

“Before we decide.”

“Right.” I’ll get this right sometime.

“And I’m not ready to give that up. I love being back there with you. It makes me feel—"

“Like a fairy princess.”

“You’re an asshole, but, yeah, I guess it does. I’m the only one who gets to have an encore back there. Don’t take that away from me.”

“Your wish is my command. The show must go on.”

“You’re so retarded.”

I can’t catch a break tonight.

*******************************
Shouldn't be so complicated
Just hold me and then
Just hold me again

“Come here, there’s something I want to show you.” I stand up and tug on his hand, pulling him toward the dark bedroom.

“What?”

“Just come here.” I lead him to the window in the bedroom, opening the curtains all the way.

“I’m not looking at the parking deck.”

“This has nothing to do with that. I’m done with art therapy. Just come here.” I turn him around, pulling him against me, propping myself against the window sill. “Don’t even look at that fucking thing.”

“I’m not.” I wrap my arms around his waist.

“I want you to look out the window at those two streets over there.” I point to the ones I mean. “See them?”

“Yeah.”

“Watch them for a couple of minutes. They’re almost identical, except for one thing. Watch for a while and see if you can figure it out.”

“What is this, like a riddle or something?”

“Just watch. It takes a minute.”

He relaxes a little against me, and I prop my chin over his shoulder, just breathing him in, listening to him inhale and exhale, feeling his body against mine, trying to memorize every little detail about him. He has that familiar Sunday evening scent.

“Your clothes smell like that diner.”

“I was there for a few hours today.” I should’ve figured that, too. Sometimes what you’re looking for is right in front of you.

“That place has an unmistakable smell. I’ll never forget it.” He tips his face back and looks at me.

“God, do I smell that bad after I’ve been there?”

“It’s not you. It’s that place. It’s smelled that way for over twenty-five years.” He turns around a little more.

“What do you mean it’s smelled that way for over twenty-five years?” Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever talked to him about this. His Sunday sketch-fests are his time. I don’t intervene.

“Used to go there when I was a kid, with Matt, and John, when he was old enough, long before downtown was built up around it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Keep watching out there; you’re gonna miss it.” He turns back around. “There were these old railroad tracks down there and three or four abandoned railroad cars that Matt and I had basically taken over and turned into our own personal forts—"

“That’s every boy’s dream.”

“I know. The only problem with the scenario was that the tracks were almost two miles from our neighborhood by bike, and we’d get hungry after being out there for hours on end plotting world domination.”

“Taking over the world makes you very hungry.”

“And we were poor, too. World domination didn’t pay much in those days.”

“Why do I have this feeling that this is where you honed your art of persuasion?”

“You’re not far off, only Luther didn’t need much persuading. He was a nice guy. He’d give us leftovers all the time, and he’d always give us something to drink, especially in the summer, even when it got him in trouble. He couldn’t stomach the thought of the three of us basically cooking ourselves in those hot, metal railroad cars while we concocted our evil plans.”

“Luther worked there when you were a kid?” He makes it sound so long ago. “I just officially met him today. I’ve got to tell you about that later. You won’t believe what happened, anyway.”

“He’s been there forever. I see him once in a while when I have a meeting downtown.”

“You go in that place?”

“Just to say hi to him. Get a cup of coffee. I have a soft spot for diners, I guess. My boyfriend works at one.” I can feel him smiling. He wraps his arms around mine a little tighter.

“Not anymore, he doesn’t.” He’s quiet for a little while.

“Yeah, I know. Not anymore.” We’re both quiet now for a couple of minutes, lost in our own thoughts, staring out the window.

“I think they’re gonna close that place down, Brian. Everything’s shutting down around it.” There’s such a sadness in his voice.

“I don’t think so. Downtown changes all the time. It remakes itself, basically. You’re just not old enough to remember it. That diner’s probably the only thing that’s been there through every renovation. I doubt it’s going anywhere. It’s kind of part of the landscape now.”

“You really think so? They’re pulling almost all of the exhibits at the museum, and they don’t even have new ones scheduled. Just seems odd, to me.”

“Might be getting ready to renovate that place actually. It needs it. It’s been awhile.”

“How long?”

“Ten, fifteen years.”

“Hmm. I hope they don’t change the ceiling.” The ceiling? I’ve never noticed the ceiling in that place. He notices the strangest things.

“Well, if I hear anything about what they’re doing, I’ll let you know. You figured out what’s different about those two streets yet?” He studies them for a few more seconds.

“I think so, but I’m not sure. I don’t want to say ‘cause I’m afraid I’m wrong. Just tell me.” Sometimes he does want me to give him the answer, to show him the way. I’ve got to figure out when I’m supposed to and when I’m not. I loosen my grip on him, pointing to the streets we’ve been looking at.

“All right. I’ll tell you the secret. It’s the same thing that’s wrong with you and me sometimes. Timing. The far street, over there, the street lights are timed correctly. They all turn green at the same time, red at the same time. The street closer to us—they’re off by a few seconds, actually, probably less than that. ‘Causes all kinds of traffic problems, and not just right there---but problems that spill over onto other streets, even the streets with correct timing.”

“That’s what’s wrong with us?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Right words, wrong time; right time, no words. Right place, homophobic prick. Not just us, happens to everybody.”

“Right job, wrong coast.” He laces his fingers in mine. I hold him tighter.

“I figure you’re a visual person. It’d mean more to you if I showed you.”

“You were right. As usual.”

There’s no reason for us to be sitting on this window sill anymore, but for some reason, we still are.

“How’d you know where I was?” I knew that was coming.

I realize that I never took my jacket off, the whole time I’ve been here, that I’ve kind of wrapped him in it while we’ve been sitting here, that I’m going to miss that so much—how he fits so perfectly inside it.

“Okay, remember earlier when you made me promise not to lose my shit?”

“Yeah?”

“You have to make that same promise right now.”

“Okay? Why?” I pull the Fairmont’s Do Not Disturb sign out of my jacket pocket, along with forty-nine of Gus’ pictures. He catches the pictures before I drop them. “Oh, those are from Gus.” He smiles. He can’t see what else I have in my hand.

“What?”

“Most people wait until the vacation’s over before stealing a souvenir.” I flash it in front of his face. He tries to grab it.

“You went through my suitcase! You asshole!”

“Uh, uh, uh. You promised.”

“Shit.” He glares at me, having turned all the way around in my arms now. Gus’ pictures scattered in the chair beside us.

“You left me no choice. You locked yourself in a tower and wouldn’t let down your long, blond hair. I was going to find you.”

“You really were worried about me.” It finally sinks in.

“Unbelievably. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you, Justin. No matter where you were or what you were doing. It’s not exactly rational.” He lays against me.

“You aren’t kidding about that fairy tale shit, are you? You did come to rescue me. That’s why you came to my prom that night, too, isn’t it? You’re a closet romantic.”

“Gotta get it right sometime.” If at first you don’t succeed….

“You got it right, Brian. You got everything exactly right. You can stop trying so hard.”

**********************************************
I feel the earth move under my feet
I feel the sky tumbling down, tumbling down

“Okay, now's the part of the story where I kiss you to break the evil spell that’s been cast on you by the wicked witch.” I’ve waited hours to kiss him, but this is more than worth it. It’s never felt this good, tasted so sweet.

“It’s too late. I already ate the poisoned apple.” He doesn’t taste like apples. He tastes like coffee, and donuts, and cigarettes.

“Now, see, I do have to spank you for that.”

“Like you need a reason.”

“Oh, I definitely don’t, but you’ve given me at least four hundred thousand.” But only one that really matters.

You’re leaving me.

****************************
Well I guess it would be nice
If I could touch your body
I know not everybody
Has got a body like you

I let him pull me onto the bed, work my jacket off my shoulders, my hand sliding inside the front of his jeans, as I lie on top of him.

“Slow, Brian. Soft and slow.”

“Fresh out of soft and slow. All I have left is hard and fast.” And that’s what he’s getting. He pulls my hand out.

“No.” He kisses me. “Please. Slow.” He’s unbuttoning his shirt, that lusty, lidded look coming over his face, running his fingers down his chest as the buttons open one by one.

“You’re so damn demanding.”

“You’ve spoiled me.” The man’s got a point.

“I have, haven’t I?”

“Uh huh.” He reaches for the hem of my shirt, pulls it over my head, and tosses it across the room. It lands right in the middle of the chair by the window. He congratulates himself, “Damn, I’m good.”

“Beginner’s luck.”

“Get to work. I want some seduction.” He wants some seduction. He assists me in getting his shirt off, and I take my shot at the chair and miss by a long shot. “Oh my god, you totally suck!” He’s nothing if not tactful.

“You’ve got youth on your side.”

“And you on top of me.”

“That you do.”

He grins at me as I sit back on the bed and slide his jeans off, mine following seconds after. The sheets are cool on my back, and he’s warm in my arms as we settle under the covers.

“I’m going to miss this, Brian. I have no idea how I’m going to go six, much less eight months, without this. I really don’t.” I smile at him, my fingers playing with his hair. Like I have an answer for that.

“Me neither, and I’m sorry about this morning—for getting you drunk and assaulting you with three word sentences.” He laughs.

“Shut up.”

“Made me realize something though.” Even in the darkness of this room, I can still see the color in his lips.

“Oh yeah, what?” He shifts underneath me, sliding down a little, his head lower than mine, his fingers gently drumming my cock. “You’re so hard.”

“You made me wait all day.” He drives me fucking bananas when he kisses my chest like that. “I can’t concentrate when you’re doing that.” He wraps his hand around my waist. If he keeps this up, my arms are gonna fold, and I’m gonna come crashing down on top of him. Justin Taylor in ruins.

“I know, but you can try. Don’t give up, you’re not a quitter. What were you gonna say?” He’s rubbing my ass—a lot—the little smart ass.

“I was going to say that I realized this morning that I use your attraction to me as a crutch, but forget it now.” He stops the rubbing and the stroking and the kissing.

“What do you mean?”

“Keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t give up, you’re not a quitter.” I imitate him. He slaps my ass.

“I want to know what you mean.”

“I want you to keep doing what you were doing.”

“Tell me.”

“Stroke me.”

“Now.”

“No.”

“Uh.”

“Roll over.”

He’s never rolled over so fast in his life.

***************************
I can't find all the right romantic lines
But see me once and see the way I feel

My lips are in his hair, my hands underneath his chest.

“So, this morning when you froze underneath me was the worst five minutes of my life.” Almost.

“It was?” He has a beautiful expression on his face as I run my lips down the side of it.

“Yes, it was. I’m addicted to the way you respond to me when I touch you.” So fucking addicted. “It’s the best drug I’ve ever had.” He moans as I run my tongue behind his ear, suck his earlobe into my mouth. He proves my point, reaching back with his hand, his fingers lightly running down my face.

“More.”

He turns his head to the other side. I brush his hair out of my way as my lips brush his temple, his cheekbone.

He wants more.

“There’s nothing more tangible to me than my attraction to you Justin. Nothing.” He covers his ear because my breath is tickling him.

“Quit it.” I move his hand away and guide it back under his pillow. He rolls toward me a little and kisses me and then settles back down, a soft smile on his face.

“It’s been that way since the first night we met—since the first time I looked at you, since the first time I touched you, since the first time—"

“You fucked me.” He laces his fingers with mine, closing his eyes.

“Yeah, and I know about attraction, it’s my business. I create it, market it, sell it—everyday. I know the power it has. I knew the power you had over me—probably long before you did.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” He laughs a little. I run my lips along his shoulders. “But it’s the same for me, Brian. Exactly the same.”

“I know it is.” I’ve always known. I hear his hands smoothing the sheets as I start to move mine down his body, feeling him arch into me as my tongue trails his spine. I stop moving for a second, my hands firm underneath him. “That’s why this morning, when you froze in my arms, didn’t move when I touched you, it was like you’d pulled my legs out from under from me. I couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything.” I want him to understand.

“It’s why you didn’t realize—" I think he gets it now.

“Yeah. And then when you came back to life, when you wanted me again, that’s all I was thinking about, all I could think about.” That if you ever don’t moan, or arch, or beg, or get wet when I put my hands on you, I’ll know the cancer’s back for good.

“I want you now, Brian.” His voice is low, sultry. I can feel him spreading his legs. “Rim me.” Mind reading. One of his many talents.

And then there’s rimming.

One of mine.

The first time I rimmed him, the first time I had him in my bed, I knew he was made for this. His brave little body slightly nervous, more excited than anything, as he laid on his stomach waiting for the unknown. I’ll never forget the way he tasted that first night, how his skin glowed with the sheen of first time sex, how his breath gave away everything that he was too shy to tell me.

“Do you remember the first time I rimmed you?” This little dip at the beginning of his ass is so fucking adorable. I love to suck on him right here.

“Of course.” He’s pushing against my face. He’s so easy. I slide my finger in my mouth and run it slowly down his crack. “Brian.”

“Do you want me to kiss you right here?”

“Oh god.”

I’ll take that as a yes.

My tongue follows my finger as it moves slowly between his cheeks. He has the most beautiful, most fuckable ass I’ve ever seen. I run the back of my finger over his hole, letting him enjoy the pleasure of my knuckle as it brushes past a few times. He gasps. I spread him apart with my hand, kissing the sensitive skin around it, wetting all of that skin with my tongue.

“Uh, Brian, oh my god, please.”

“You’re so tight Justin.” His head will pop up as soon as my tongue swirls outside his tiny asshole.

“Jesus, oh my god.” There it goes. Makes me smile.

I push him open gently with my tongue, softly, listening to him whimper into the sheets, feeling how he fights me at first and then opens up for me and lets my tongue slip in and out of him. I can feel him pulling me in, begging me to stay.

I don’t.

I lick him wide instead, from his balls up past his hole as he fists the sheets, burying his face in his pillow, his legs starting to squeeze me. He scrambles, trying to get on his knees. I pull back a little and let him, my hand sliding underneath his offered ass, my fingers snug around his smooth, hard cock. He rocks back a little, sliding in and out of my hand. I flatten my hand a little against his stomach and let him enjoy this, the ball of my hand hard against the base of his dick, my fingers getting wetter.

“I like to watch you like this, Justin, getting ready for me on your hands and knees.”

I see him reach in his pillow and then throw something at me. Guess I forgot to empty the pillows when I packed our shit.

“Fuck me, please.” He buries his face in his pillow again, his plea muffled the second time. “Oh my god, please.”

“Give me the pillow.” I want to hear him. He hands it to me. I throw it on the floor.

I keep one hand on his lower back as I sheath myself. I love him like this--always have—face pressed hard against the mattress, ass in the air just waiting to be fucked. They should name this position after him. I finger him just to watch him buck. He wasn’t expecting it, but he loves it. He fucking loves it. I press harder on his back, pinning him, angling for his prostate.

“Stop it. Fuck. I’ll come.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m still going to fuck you.”

I love to watch my fingers slide in and out of him, love to watch his hips work them as he moans my name, love to feel his lower back rise and fall underneath my palm as he tries to get off while I hold him down. That is so fucking hot.

“You want me to come like this?” That vulnerable voice he has. Christ, I’ll come without fucking him.

“Whatever you want.” He reaches for his dangling cock and starts stroking himself, his breathing erratic and hot as fuck. “Good boy, Justin. Get yourself off. I want to watch.” He starts to beg.

“Brian, please fuck me.”

“I want you to come first.”

“No, please.” He can’t stop stroking himself. He can’t stop fucking my hand.

“Come, Justin.”

He pushes back hard against me, and I feel it starting in his whole body—his legs tightening, his face changing, his breath metering out bit by bit. He begs me one last time as my cock pushes inside him, his moan one of relief more than anything else.

“Oh god, Brian, go. Go.” He lets go of his cock, preferring instead to reach back and grip my thigh tightly, his nails digging in. “Harder.”

My thighs pound against his, my fingers squeezing the head of his cock hard.

“Ah, ah.”

“Wait for me, Justin.”

“I can’t.” He’s pinching the shit out of my leg. I smack his bottom hard enough to leave a mark. His head pops up again. “Fuck.”

“You made me wait all day. You can wait.”

He falls into the sheets again, and I feel his tight little ass clamping down on my dick over and over. I grab his hips with both hands and pull them against me as I thrust inside him as deep as I can get. He cries out as I hold him down and fuck him until I know he’s at the end of his rope. He’s fighting his orgasm; no use—it’s coming anyway. It’s as inevitable as his departure tomorrow morning.

“Okay, Justin. I’m ready. You can come now.”

He practically screams as he shoots on the sheets, as I hold him where I want him, as I pour inside of him. I let him go when I’m ready to give up, falling on top of him, on the wet, white sheets. He pants underneath me.

“Jesus, Brian. What got into you?” He flips over, his torso coated with his spunk. I move down his body, licking it off of him, feeding it back to him, one tongue full at a time. He tells me it’s delicious, but that he still needs to eat dinner. I try to kiss him and answer his question at the same time.

“You made me wait. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

*************************
She's in love with me and I feel fine

He feeds me reheated room service in bed, while he straddles me, and tells me all about his day. His final Picasso viewing, the little girl at the diner who’s always had a crush on him, but who he just found out today is also a really good artist….how Emmett almost killed her…….how he never wants to eat another donut for the rest of his life……

“These pictures Gus drew are amazing! Don’t you think they’re amazing?”

“He’s a genius. He takes after his father.”

“I should’ve been there tonight, at least to say good-bye to him.”

“You got a lot of cool stuff from everybody.”

“What! Tell me!”

“I’m not gonna tell you. If you wanted it, you should’ve been there.”

“Asshole. Then tell me about Gus. How’s the kitten?”

“Horny. She fondled me.”

“You probably made the first move.”

“That’s highly possible. If Gus ever asks you, you pee standing up.”

“Huh?”

“And your penis is hairy, too.”

“I left you alone with him for one day, Brian. What the fuck did you do to him?”

On second thought, maybe I won’t miss him that much.

Go on to Chapter 19