Everything at Once - Epilogue 3

EPILOGUE 3-ACCOMPLISHED-MATT WESTHEIM’S POV

remember when the days were long
and rolled beneath a deep blue sky

When Brian Kinney and I were boys, there was no doubt in either one of our minds that we would someday rule the world. My little brother, John, nine at the time, now a world-class valet and servant to the ‘more rich than he is,’ would be our slave, fulfilling our every need, twenty-four hours a day if he knew what was good for him. I don’t think anyone expected two eleven-year-old boys that spent the hot, humid days of June, July, and August holed up in old, rusty railroad cars to be rational, realistic global despots, but even I’ll admit now that a world domination strategy that included giving a free ten-speed bike to every boy who agreed to join our cause wasn’t exactly feasible.

Even back then, Brian didn’t have much use for girls. Neither of us did. Let’s face it. Girls were disgusting.

It always amazed me, even as a young boy, how much energy and effort Brian put into our summers on the railroad tracks. I remember lying on my stomach on top of maps and charts and army men and monopoly houses and bingo counters and Brian’s old game of Battleship strewn all over the inside of one of those cars, but I barely remember actually bringing any of that stuff there. Over the years, I’ve just decided that we must’ve made John our caddy; Brian and I flew far too fast on our bikes, too busy showing off for one another, to concern ourselves with cargo. John’s job as the porter was probably his price of admission to our war games.

For as strong-willed as Brian and I both were, we got along great together. I would spend hours drawing and re-drawing the boundaries of every state and country on our torn and re-taped map of the world while Brian figured out exactly how many troops, tanks, submarines, and missiles it would take to conquer our next enemy and then sent them on their way. I was too young to understand it then, but Brian desperately needed an enemy he could conquer.

Back then, it was board games that held our interest. Today, it’s board rooms.

It’s really not much different.

If on any given day, as I rode up the hill toward Brian’s house, I saw his father’s car in the driveway, I knew to turn around and start heading for the tracks. His father’s car was a signal to me. It meant two things: Brian was long gone, and I’d never beat him to our hide out. And it meant the minute I got there, we’d go straight to the back door of the diner, Luther’s place, and I’d watch Brian talk Luther into giving him lunch. When Jack Kinney came home from work for lunch, Brian never stuck around. I asked him about it one time when we first met, before I knew Brian very well, and he told me he didn’t like what his father made for lunch.

”Why? What does your father make?”

“Knuckle sandwiches.”

It took me about thirty seconds to realize he wasn’t kidding.

He made that joke in front of Luther once, and every time we knocked on the back door after that, Luther would have something for us without us even asking.

It wasn’t like I never spent any time in Brian’s house when we were kids. I did. Those times were just few and far between. Usually, we were just there because we needed something to assist us in our execution of The Master Plan. This was typically something from Claire’s room because she was a girl, and she had everything. We’d raid her board games for pieces we wanted, her sewing box for buttons and straight pins, and her desk for colored pencils to mark all of our different battle plans. She knew we were pilfering from her, but she could never prove it. We were excellent liars, and we never left any evidence behind.

Which was a miracle actually, because sometimes we were unbelievably stupid. Like the day we decided to steal Claire’s Lite Brite. Luckily for us, she was at Vacation Bible School that day, a fate that Brian had escaped that summer because the summer before, he had incorporated Satan into some art project they’d had to do. After that, Vacation Bible School was somehow always too “booked” to enroll Brian.

We were standing in Claire’s room that morning when I got this genius idea that Lite Brite was the ultimate world domination planning tool ever invented. Brian immediately agreed with me and after we couldn’t find the actual box for The Ultimate World Domination Planning Tool Ever Invented, we stuffed all of the colorful, pointy pegs into our pockets and snuck out the back door with the white and black answer to all of our problems hidden under one of Brian’s Vacation Bible School t-shirts. Brian tied it to his bike, and we flew to the railroad tracks feeling like the most invincible boys in the world. Once we arrived, I’d never been so glad to empty my pockets in my life. Those little pegs had practically drilled through my skin as we’d raced to our destination. They made a wonderful sound and scattered everywhere as we got them out of our pants.

“I can’t wait to hear Claire at dinner tonight, ‘Does anyone at this table know where my Lite Brite is?’” Brian had his imitation of Claire’s whiny superior voice down to an art form.

“Your sister’s thirteen. Why’s she still playing with Lite Brite?”

“She’s not. She just takes inventory of her bedroom three times a day. She’s a freak.” I didn’t blame her. We stole from her practically every single day.

“Um, Brian, where’re we gonna plug this in?”

“Aw, shit.” He looked around the car like a receptacle was going to magically appear out of nowhere. “Damnit. I totally forgot about that.”

“Me, too. Now we have to pick up all of these stupid little pegs.”

“Where’s your brother?”

******************************
send up a signal
I'll throw you a line

Returning the Lite Brite was more complicated than stealing it. I had to keep it at my house that night, and then meet Brian at his house the next morning to put it back because that’s when Claire was in bible school. I showed up around ten thirty, earlier than usual, because I could tell that my mom was getting ready to make me dust and vacuum my room, and I didn’t want to stick around for that. For some reason, Brian’s father’s car was there. I contemplated going back home but didn’t want to have to help clean the house, so I stood in his driveway for a minute and tried to decide what to do. Finally, I went around to the back of the house and started throwing Lite Brite pegs at his window. After about the tenth one, the window started to go up and his head popped out.

“What. The. Fuck?”

“I didn’t want to ring the bell.” I was whispering. “I have the Lite Brite.” I felt so stupid. So out of place.

“Congratulations.” I just stood still and stared at him. I didn’t know what to say. Sometimes Brian wasn’t a boy. I didn’t know who he was. “Leave it. I’ll come get it.”

I sat it on the grass in front of me, the pegs in a plastic bag and walked away. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to be there when he came out to get it. I left, went home and cleaned my room.

It gave me something to do.

I remember the afternoon that Brian and I were lying in the doorway of the rusty brown car playing Battleship, and the sun was starting to set and shining right in his eyes. He was squinting and complaining that the only reason I was winning was because he was temporarily blinded. My little brother John was jumping over rocks with his bike in front of us trying desperately to get our attention. We were quite skillfully ignoring him. We had that down to an art form.

”Go home, John. You’re getting on our fucking nerves.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Matt. Mom said if you can be here, I can be here.”

“Then go be ‘here’ over ‘there.’ You’re bugging us.”

“There’s no good rocks over there.” Brian picked one up off the ground and threw it in front of one of the other cars.

“Now there is. Get lost, Little John.” John scowled at us and pedaled away.

I guess I’d always figured that Brian and I would spend our entire lives in those railroad cars, that we’d graduate from Battleship, Mastermind, and War to Chess to video games once we figured out how to steal power from the diner. I never thought I’d be staring across from him that day telling him what I was telling him,

”Um, my dad told me last night that he got a new job, and we’re moving away.” He didn’t say anything. I let him sink my battleship.

“When?”

“Two weeks. So we can start school on time in Florida. We’re moving to Florida.”

“Florida’s not in the master plan. It’s already been eliminated.” Even at eleven years old, his voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It’s not like I want to go.”

“Well, there’s Disneyworld and shit.” Brian never lost sight of the important things.

“That was the reason we eliminated Florida to begin with.” He laughed.

“I guess it is a small world after all.”

Brian and I spent the next two weeks pretending like nothing was different. We rode our bikes, played practical jokes on John, ate free food from Luther, and stole more pieces out of every board game Claire had just to drive her crazy. The evening before the morning I was leaving for good, we rode our bikes home from the railroad tracks as usual and stopped in my driveway to plan for the big day. The day I was dreading.

”I’ll come by your house tomorrow before we leave. And I’ll bring you all the maps and everything. You can keep them. And all the pieces and stuff, since most of them are Claire’s anyway.” We laughed. He told me he was going to put them back a little at a time to really drive Claire bananas. I watched him push off and climb the hill back to his house.

We were ready to leave around twelve fifteen the next day, a Friday, my family packed like sardines into our Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser station wagon. My father was anxious to start the long drive to Florida, so he insisted on driving me to Brian’s house. I couldn’t really argue. My bike was packed. We got about a block away from Brian’s house when I saw Mr. Kinney’s car in the driveway, and didn’t see Brian’s bike. My father had circled around in the cul-de-sac so the driveway was on my side of the car.

”Okay boys, make it quick. I want to get moving.” John was pushing me to open the door. I told him to cut it out.

“Forget it, Dad. He’s not home.”

“You sure? Go knock on the door.” I shook my head.

“I’m sure. He’s not there. He went out for lunch.”

******************************
you oughtta know by now…

My dad’s company kept him in Florida until I was fifteen and then promptly transferred us back. It was easy to fall back into step with Brian. In many ways, it was like I’d never left. Brian always joked with me, telling me it was because I’d never actually said ‘good-bye’ in the first place. The only thing that was really different was that instead of having my little brother tagging along after us, we had Michael Novotny.

At first, I just couldn’t understand why Brian would even want to be friends with this kid. He wasn’t like us at all. He was short and not very smart, and he talked all the time about comic books and Superman and the ‘who gives a shit’ details of their imaginary lives. Plus, he lived all the way over near Liberty Avenue. Then, I found out that his mom worked at a diner. For the first month or so that I was back, I was convinced that Brian had befriended this kid just to get free food. I asked Brian once why he hung around Michael, and he just kind of shrugged his shoulders and said,

“I don’t know. He doesn’t have a dad.”

“He doesn’t?”

“He’s dead. And his mom’s nice to me.”

It made a lot more sense to me the night I was supposed to meet them right inside our football stadium for a Friday night home game. I was early, so I went to take a piss. Michael was leaning against the outside of the boy’s bathroom. I waved to him as I got closer and told him I was early.

“Where’s Brian?” Michael looked guilty of a crime.

“Not here yet.” I stepped past him. Instinct, I guess. He tried to stop me. Brian was leaning against the brick wall of the building with his hand on the back of Stewart Markham’s head. He was getting a blow job. My mouth fell open. I grabbed Michael’s arm and pulled him in the other direction, out of view.

“What are you? The lookout?”

“Shut up. He’ll hear you.”

“How long has--? This is what you do? He gives you answers to tests, lets you copy his homework and you make sure the coast is clear?” I wanted to spit on him.

“Shut up.” I heard Brian moan. It made me sick.

“This is sick.”

“Get outta here, Matt. He doesn’t want you to know.”

******************************
you Catholic girls start much too late

I wish I could say that I remember everything that happened exactly as it happened after that night, but I don’t think I do. I remember being furious at Brian for not telling me, for making me feel like a fool, for doing shit like that in public, when everyone knew we were close friends. I remember thinking that everyone was going to think I was a fag, too.

I remember him telling me that he let our gym teacher fuck him. More than once.

And that he liked it.

And that I cried.

Mostly because I didn’t understand. Because I wanted my friend back, the way he was. Before.

Before I left. When it was just me and him and sometimes John at the railroad tracks and the only thing I worried about was whether or not he was going to beat me to the railroad tracks……….because his father had come home for lunch……..and beaten him.

Because that was so much better. A man touching him like that rather than like this. At least that for some reason, I understood. That, for some reason, didn’t make me sick.

Just ashamed of myself.

But back in school, we were just the same. The three of us, sitting in the back, Brian and I feeding Michael answers to shit he didn’t know, Michael feeding us all the food we wanted. I became editor of the school paper. Brian became our sports reporter, his all-access pass to the boys’ locker room. I pretended I didn’t care.

We sat in the lunchroom one day eating pizza for the thirteenth time that week, and Brian listened to me bemoan the fact that some cheerleader I’d had my eye on for the entire semester didn’t even know I was alive. As usual, he found my failures with women extremely amusing.

“You have no confidence. That’s your problem.”

“You’re giving me advice about women.”

“Men. Women. It’s all the same.”

“Okay. We’ll let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that you’re right. I find some magical confidence inside me, and she says ‘yes.’ Then what am I going to do?”

“Fuck her.”

“Fuck her?”

“Yep.” He raised his eyebrow at me.

“You act like it’s nothing. Like I would just do it. Voila!”

“It’s not rocket science, Matt. It’s pretty simple. You make everything so fucking complicated. That’s your whole problem. Hell, I’ll fuck her, and you can watch and take notes. Or better yet, you can videotape it for posterity—“

“That’s what I need. How to Fuck A Chick by Brian Kinney The Faggot.” The smirk born on his face after I that said to him would become his trademark.

“Well, it’s sold more copies than How to Fuck A Chick by Matt Westheim the Virginal Piece of Chicken Shit Who Wouldn’t Know A Pussy if He Fell Into It.”

“Isn’t there someone on the faculty you haven’t fucked yet? Maybe a janitor?”

“There was a bus driver that caught my eye.”

And so it went. But I realized that day what I was really mad at him about. He was the one who was supposed to teach me about girls, to pave the way for us while we fondled the female half of the student body. It wasn’t supposed to matter that I wasn’t the confident one. It was his job to reel them in. Not mine. I was the keeper of The Master Plan; he was supposed to execute it. But, no. He had to go be a fag and fuck everything up for both of us.

If I never lost my virginity, I was going to sue Brian Kinney for something.

We spent the summer before college more separate than together, mostly because I was determined to get rid of my virginity before we went and because Michael wasn’t going with us. Brian and Michael spent most of their time on Liberty Avenue. I spent most of my time convincing Jan Hershel to let me in her pants. She did.

And Brian was right. There wasn’t much to it.

It was over in sixty seconds. A minute of a wet, sticky, rushing urge that made me want to hold her hostage forever in that old, musty railroad car. Not because I liked her, just because I had to figure out a way to convince her to let me do it again.

That’s the kind of thing I needed Brian for. He was much better with POWs.

Jan Hershel wasn’t the least bit interested in letting me re-sink my Battleship.

But at least it was over. I wasn’t a virgin anymore. It was mind-boggling to me how something that was over so fast meant so much.

******************************
if it seems like I’ve been lost in let’s remember…
if you think I’m feeling older and missing my younger days…

And then we were men. College men. In a world where it didn’t matter if you were straight or a fag or what clothes you wore or if your parents had money. He played on one field, I played on the other. We studied hard, drank a lot, and I fucked enough women to almost catch up with him—for about thirty seconds. He’d see Michael when we’d go home for Christmas, staying with him instead of his family. There was no going back home for Brian after he left, not once he’d experienced freedom from his father. I just don’t think he could bring himself to spend another night in that house. He always felt guilty for not being able to go back there, always telling me that being the youngest in the family was no excuse for not being the strongest.

I never knew what to say.

Especially when I looked up from our table in the cafeteria one day, and saw two very pretty blonde women sitting down at a table right near us, staring in our direction, but mostly, of course, at Brian. There was something about one of them that literally took my breath away. Brian gave them his usual smile. He was an unconscionable flirt, particularly with women. He had nothing to lose. I muttered under my breath to him,

“None of this ‘I bat for the other team business.’”

“Let me show you how it’s done.”

Brian had them sitting with us in less than ten minutes. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the girl who introduced herself to me as Valerie Simmons. Her friend, Lindsay Peterson, was pretty hot, too. We talked about everything—sports, politics, school, careers, you name it. I found out that Valerie and I were actually in a class together that semester. Brian found out Lindsay was from Pittsburgh.

Val’s parents were loaded, and I went to Europe with them when during the summer after my sophomore year. Brian stayed at school and worked as a gopher at an advertising agency. Lindsay stayed, too. Apparently, she hated her parents, too. When the four of us started our junior year, Val told me that Lindsay told her that Brian had “jumped the fence” while we were in Europe.

“Not for keeps or anything. I think they were just experimenting. Lindsay’s decided she’s gay, too.”

“Leave it to Brian to fuck a girl and turn her into a lesbian. That’s all the world needs. Brian Kinney fucking everything. Turning everything gay.”

“Yeah, Matt. That’s Brian’s super power.”

“He just better stay the fuck away from your vagina. That’s all I’m saying.”

To this day, Val tells me she has a hankering for some Brian Kinney at least once a year. Val likes to torment me, and as Brian always says, “And not in a positive, life affirming way.”

By the end of our junior year, Val and I were engaged, or, as Brian so eloquently put it, ‘you finally found a girl who likes the way you do it.’ Brian was the last person I told. We were sitting out in the quad on an unusually warm day in March during our senior year. His response was about what I expected.

“Well congratu-fucking-lations.”

“I want you to be my best man.”

He let out the biggest sigh I’d ever heard come out of him as he fell back dramatically on the grass, “Of course you do.” I rolled my eyes at him. He pretended to be dead. I poked him with a stick. “This is payback for me being a fag, isn’t it?”

“Are you freaking because I’m getting married or because you have to be in a wedding?”

“All of the above. I’m not making a toast. I refuse. You can’t make me.”

“I thought you’d like it because there’ll be an open bar and you’ll get to dress up.” He thought about that for a minute and sat up.

“I didn’t even think about that. Can I pick out the tuxedos?” My future-wife would end up killing me for this. “And the shoes?”

“Sure.”

“Deal.”

******************************
rebels been rebels since I don’t know when

Lindsay’s job at my wedding was to be Brian’s date and to use the stun gun we provided for her if he got out of line. She threatened him with it when he stood up and announced that he did want to make a toast after all, something about how happy he was that Val and I were finally married and getting our own place, so that he didn’t have to listen to us fuck anymore. He was extremely drunk by that point and although we understood what he was saying, we were fairly certain that no one else could.

“Okay, Brian, that’s enough. Everyone was very touched by your kind words,” Lindsay pulled him back down into his chair.

“Well, all I’m saying is that one mustn’t forget that I’m that one who explained to Matt how to fuck a girl in the first place.” By this time, Brian was half lying in Lindsay’s lap.

“We know, Brian.” Even though she didn’t.

“If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t even know where to stick it.” He was more or less talking to the tablecloth while Lindsay stroked his hair.

“Your altruism knows no bounds.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? Considering I’m such a tremendous homosexual. Oh, fuck-“ He slid off of Lindsay’s lap and ended up more or less under the table. My wife told me to leave him there. We did, until it was time to cut the cake.

******************************
I don’t care what you say anymore
this is my life

My degree in telecommunications wasn’t going to take me very far in Pittsburgh, and I knew it. When I got a job offer in California, I took it. Brian was less than thrilled because he knew that Val’s rich and powerful family had pulled strings to get it for me. As far as he was concerned, they owned California, and by default, me. But that didn’t really matter because my married life in Pittsburgh and Brian’s gay single life in Pittsburgh just didn’t mesh. We’d meet for a drink after work, talk the talk, and then have this awkward “see you later” thing because I was going home to my wife, and he was going out to the bars. We just didn’t have anything in common anymore. He didn’t want to hear about decorating my new house, and I didn’t want to hear about the two guys he took home last night and how one blew one while the other rimmed him. We were painfully out of sync. But for some reason, we kept trying.

Until the night I told him about the job offer, which he wasn’t thrilled about, and then topped it off by telling him that Val was pregnant.

“You fucking dumb ass.” That was about the reaction that I expected. “You’re twenty-two years old.”

“We didn’t exactly plan it.”

“Were you using birth control?”

“No.”

“Then you planned it. God, you are so fucking stupid sometimes.”

“You act like you thought I wasn’t going to have kids, Brian. Did you think I was just playing house? This is what I want. Duh.” He just kept looking at me like I was the dumbest person he’d ever met. And then it kind of all clicked into place in my head. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You don’t think any of this is for real. That we’re just playing. That I don’t really love Val. That I didn’t really want to get married. That I don’t like my life. Well, you’re wrong. I love it. I love her. I love the fact that she’s pregnant. In fact, I can’t wait for the baby to get here, Brian. I can’t wait to be a father. So, fuck you.”

He looked at me like I had slapped him. “Tell Val I said congratulations.” He threw twenty dollars on the table, grabbed his leather jacket, and left me sitting there, all alone.

******************************
don’t wait for answers, just take your chances

Twins run in Val’s family. Information that would’ve been nice to have before I got her pregnant. I think it was this information that broke the stalemate between Brian and I. He enjoyed a hearty laugh at my expense when I told him the news and then asked him to please meet me for a drink because I was in no way, shape, or form ready to be the father of two twin boys.

I let him laugh at me for a good fifteen minutes.

And then I told him to shut the fuck up.

“Matt, you can’t remember to feed a dog. How are you going to keep two little babies alive?”

“Okay, first of all, Rusty was John’s dog, not mine. He was not my responsibility. And secondly, I don’t have to feed them. I just have to make the money.” Brian nodded, downing his whiskey.

“Well, that you can do. That I’m not worried about. But, shit, twins? And your first time out. God, just think what you might get the second time. You need to lock your penis up and throw away key.”

“Shut up.”

“Have you thought of any names? I vote for ‘Big Mistake Number One’ and ‘Even Bigger Mistake Number Two.’”

“That’s too long to stitch on a blanket.”

“Good point.”

******************************
closed the shop, sold the house, bought a ticket to the west coast

As a new husband and expectant father of twin boys, I did everything I was supposed to do. I found a house for us in L.A. I scheduled my start date at my new job to be about three months after my boys were to be born. I hired movers to get us out of Pittsburgh.

Val did everything she wasn’t supposed to do. She went into labor early, while I was in L.A.

When I finally got back to Pittsburgh later that day, I was already a father. Lindsay had pushed with Val. Brian had paced in the waiting room on my behalf. I saw him before I saw anyone else. He looked completely wrung out and exhausted in his suit, his shirt unbuttoned, his tie wrinkled from where he’d been pulling on it.

“Oh my god, where is she? They’re okay, right? They’re okay?”

“They’re fine. They look just like me.” Right then, Lindsay popped out of a room near the nurse’s station.

“You’re here! Congratulations! Come on! Come on. Hurry up! They’re about to take them to the nursery.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw them. Alex and Tyler Westheim. Screaming their heads off. They did look sort of Brian. It was kind of funny.

Well, not to my wife.

******************************
they say there’s a heaven for those who will wait
some say it’s better, but I say it ain’t

Brian said the only reason he spent his week of vacation in L.A. helping me get our house ready was because he was running out of people to fuck in Pittsburgh. We spent our days building two of everything, cribs, dressers, changing tables, high chairs, you name it. Val would call three times a day to add things to the list. Brian and I were baby furniture professionals by the end of the week. And he was totally fucked out. I don’t think he slept more than two hours on any given night. The scene in L.A. was completely irresistible to him. He reveled in the anonymity of it all. Nobody knew him, nobody needed to……..he was in heaven.

Strollers by day. Trolling by night.

“You should move out here. You belong here.”

“By the time this week is up, I’ll have fucked everyone in this town, too.”

“I’m serious. You don’t think you could make serious money out here? Fuck Pittsburgh.”

“It’s too expensive to live out here.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Plus, you can stay with us for little while, find a place you like.”

“You want her to divorce you? Take your precious bundles of joy and leave your ass?”

“All right. I’m just saying you’d have friends out here.”

“I have friends back there.” I dropped the subject.

“Once we finish this last bookshelf, we’re done.”

“Explain to me again why a three-week old needs a bookshelf?”

******************************
but somewhere back there in the dust
that same small town in each of us

And then Val and I and my precious bundles of joy were gone. No more Pittsburgh, no more cold winters, no more drinks with Brian after work, nothing. Val had her family in California, she had the twins, she had me. I didn’t know anyone. I missed Pittsburgh. I missed Brian. Hell, I even missed John and Michael sometimes. My job was great, but I missed having a friend that would just insult me all the time.

That was so pathetic.

I kept in touch with Brian, mainly through email, talking on the phone with him once in a while, listening to his stories about his wild nightlife and how his nightlife had somehow morphed into him fucking people in his office during the day.

“You’ve lost your fucking mind, Kinney.”

“Why are you calling me ‘Kinney’ all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know. It just suits you. Why are you fucking people in your office?”

“I’m entitled to a lunch break just like everyone else.”

“You are seriously fucked in the head.”

“Does seem that way sometimes.”

“By the way, Val’s pregnant again.”

“You just never learn, you do?”

“Must be fucked in the head.”

“Apparently.”

******************************
’cause he knows it’s me they’ve been comin’ to see
to forget about life for awhile

When my son Jake was born, he almost wasn’t. His umbilical cord collapsed during delivery, denying him oxygen for a few minutes. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It’s just something that happens. Jake has ten fingers and ten toes and cerebral palsy.

It broke my heart.

Alex and Tyler were two when Jake was born, our other huge mistake. Talk about hell. I think the only reason I got through those first few months was because I could pick up the phone and call Brian and rant about how totally fucking unfair it was that some completely random act had done this to my son.

And on an unrelated note, all two-year-olds should all be locked up.

“Does Jake look more like you or more like Val?” Brian asked me one night on the phone while I was feeling particularly sorry for myself.

“More like me, actually.”

“Damn, that kid can’t catch a break, can he?”

“I really hate you sometimes.”

“I told you to put your pecker away. You just didn’t listen.”

“He’s smart as hell, Brian. He just can’t control his muscles. He’s nine months old, and he can’t hold on to anything. Not even my finger. But he understands everything that goes on around him. Everything.”

“Then go with plan A and lock up the other two so they can’t hurt him. I might actually like this one.”

“You’d love him. He reminds me of you sometimes. He talks with his eyes. He has no other choice.”

“Maybe he is a genius.”

******************************
he sees angels in the architecture

For a while, as my boys started to grow up, I spoke with Brian less and less. Life is like that, I guess. I was constantly chasing after Alex and Tyler, and Val was enrolling Jake in every program she could think of to help him conquer his disability. Our kids were just like everyone else’s kids. They went to preschool, including Jake; they got hurt, drove us bananas, broke shit in our house, got in trouble in school, played baseball…. The list goes on. I saw Brian somewhere in the middle of that whirlwind when I returned to Pittsburgh with the family in tow to attend my brother John’s wedding to Melissa, a marriage that wouldn’t last for long. It was the first time Brian got to see Jake. He was three. My twins were five.

I was in the empty sanctuary at the church, squatting down in front of Jake’s chair, asking him if he wanted to sit in it for the ceremony or if he wanted to sit in the pew. I didn’t know that Brian was watching me at the time. Jake’s chair is adaptive. It straps him in, helps him sit up. Without it, he tends to fall forward.

“Do you want to sit in your chair while Uncle John gets married or do you want to get out of your chair and sit on one of these benches?” He signaled to me with his hand that he wanted the second option. Jake can speak, and I can understand him, but he doesn’t usually like to speak in public. He knows he doesn’t sound like other people. “Okay. You’ll have to sit next to your—“

He started shaking his head. He didn’t want somebody to have to hold him up.

“You can’t sit completely by yourself. You’ll fall. And I’m in the wedding, and so is your mom.”

“He can sit with me.”

I turned around and saw Brian standing behind me.

“Hey. I didn’t know you were there. Jake, this is Brian. He’s my friend. We went to school together.” Jake’s head hit the back of his chair as he tried to look at Brian, at all of him. “Can you bend down? You’re so tall, he’s straining.”

“Sorry.”

Brian squatted down beside Jake’s chair, his hand on the tray in front of it, and Jake immediately saw his watch. He slapped his hand on it.

“Wa.”

“He likes your watch.” I looked at mine. Time to go see if Alex and Tyler were ready to walk down the aisle as John’s ring bearers. I think I’d actually promised each of them a thousand dollars if they could do this without killing one another.

“Jake, Brian said he’ll sit with you for the ceremony. Do you want to do that or just sit in your chair?” He looked at Brian and slapped his watch again. “He wants to sit with you.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jake smiled. That he can do.

“Then you’re going to stay with Brian, and I’m going to go check on your brothers. Okay?”

“Kay.” Jake fell forward onto me as I removed his tray and loosened his seat belts on his chair. I picked him up and handed him to Brian. I gave Brian my cell phone number in case Jake changed his mind. He didn’t even know Brian. I wasn’t exactly sure this was a good idea.

“Jake, I’ll be back in a little while when Uncle John is ready to get married.”

“Bye.”

“Thanks, Brian.”

“No problem.”

I looked at them one last time and ducked into the back of the church to deal with the rest of my brood, leaving Jake’s chair just inside the door.

******************************
he doesn’t speak the language
he holds no currency

Three weeks after I got back to L.A., I called Brian and told him I needed a picture of him.

“Why?”

“For Jake. He’s been talking about you non-stop since the wedding.”

“He doesn’t really talk.” Always the smart ass.

“I’m speaking metaphorically. He uses an eye gazing system to communicate, has a chart with about thirty pictures on it. We can tell what he’s saying by what he’s looking at. He’s talking about you.”

“Okay, now I’m really confused.”

“He made me put a picture of a watch up there, and that’s all he’s talking about. I need a picture of you.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll send you one. Jake’s a piece of work. He laughed through that entire ceremony. I like that kid.”

“And he loved you. He keeps saying something about your arm. I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

“My arm?”

“Or sleeves? Sometimes I think he means sleeves—“

“I was wearing cuff links. Maybe that’s what it was.”

“That’s what it is. He’s completely enamored with ‘man-jewelry.’ No wonder he won’t stop talking about you. You should see how excited he gets when we take him shopping. It’s disturbing.”

“Oh, man, your kid’s a fag, Matt.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you near him.”

“I’m gonna put him on the Armani mailing list. Immediately. You’re never too young for Armani.”

He did. And Prada and Gucci. And any other primarily homosexual male name brand he could think of. Jake’s eyes practically rolled back in his head every time he saw the mailman. Because of course, they were all addressed to him.

******************************
It's a little secret,
just The Robinsons' affair

I found out Lindsay was pregnant from Val over dinner one night.

“That’s a miracle of modern science.”

“It’s Brian’s.” I almost choked on my meatloaf. “Turkey baster, Matt. Calm down.” Eight months later Brian had a son. I called to tell him I was proud of him. He told me I was a lesbian.

“Does he look more like you or Lindsay?”

“Me, actually.” He sounded proud. It’s impossible not to, even if you are Brian Kinney. Made me smile.

“Then he must be pretty ugly.” He laughed.

“Yeah, maybe he’ll grow out of it.”

“I hope he grows up to be straight, just to spite you.”

“As long as he’s not a lesbian.”

******************************
O beautiful, for spacious skies
but now those skies are threatening

The first time I heard Justin Taylor’s name was on my answering machine at the end of a very long day at the office and an even longer evening spent at Alex and Tyler’s school at one of their baseball games. There’d been a picnic afterwards and keeping track of those two and trying to feed Jake at the same time while my wife socialized was enough to put me in a pretty shitty mood. My wife spent her days catering to Jake’s every need, and she needed to converse with other adults, other parents. I felt like I just needed a beer, a blow job, and maybe some Leno. Definitely, not all this crap. But this was my life, so whatever.

Alex and Tyler thought it was their destiny to race in the house whenever we got home from anywhere and see who could get to the answering machine first. That night it was Tyler. I was upstairs patiently explaining to Jake that he was going to take a bath, no matter what. I was pretty sure he had potato salad in his pants.

“No.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No.”

“Stop arguing with me.”

“Dad?”

“Tyler, not now. You and your brother need to take a bath and go to bed. It’s late.”

“Dad, there’s a message on the machine for you.”

“I’ll get it later.”

“Somebody’s dead.”

“What?”

“Somebody’s crying and somebody’s dead.”

“Stay with your brother.”

******************************
you are still the victim of the accidents you leave

His voice was almost impossible to understand. I had to play it back three times.

Matt, you don’t know him. I didn’t tell you because. I don’t know why. I think he’s dead. Somebody, this kid, hit him, hit him in the head with a bat, a baseball bat because I, because I showed up at his prom …I shouldn’t have, oh god, I shouldn’t have. I’m pretty sure he’s going to die. He’s going to die, he’s eighteen. Eighteen. He might already be dead. Fuck. I don’t know. I should go back in there; I shouldn’t be standing out here. His mother. Christ………. I don’t know what to do. Justin Taylor, that was his name. If he dies, Matt, if he dies, I’m coming out there. I can’t stay here. I killed him. I think I killed him.

EPILOGUE 3-ACCOMPLISHED-MATT WESTHEIM’S POV continued...

and I see losing love
is like a window in your heart
everybody sees you’re blown apart
everybody feels the wind blow

That was four years ago.

In the entire time I have known Brian Kinney, I have known two different people. He’s been these two different people since the day I met him. A boy who could lose himself in a fantasy world he created, in something that gave him nothing but pleasure, and a man who could brace himself against any amount of cruelty that was thrust upon him. When I was a boy, I always felt cold and alone when the man in him came out. Brian’s transitions between the two were rarely smooth or expected. They were just necessary. As a man, the boy in him fascinated me and drove me crazy at same time--his endless pursuit of pleasure for pleasure’s sake, his rejection of responsibility. It frustrated me sometimes. I didn’t understand it.

What struck me, though, after I’d been a very tired father for a few years, was that for all of Brian’s bitching and moaning, he had a very distinct air of responsibility about him. From taking Michael under his wing, to helping me prepare my house for my early birds, to fathering Lindsay’s child. Brian protected, almost coveted the people he chose to have around him. He was creating his own family, I’d decided. A family he could love, but more importantly that he could define, package, and shield. And control. One that he could practice on, to prove to himself that he could do it, that it was safe to care for other people. That maybe it was safe for other people to care for him.

He was trying, desperately, to fix things, to fix himself. One very small step at a time.

Just like our afternoons at the railroad tracks, when I’d draw and re-draw our plan of attack at his request, his demand, over and over and over. There was always a better idea, a better way. A route or configuration he’d just come up with.

I loved to watch his mind work. Marveled at how he could hover in that constant state of impatience for so long.

He’d catch me sometimes, staring at him, his straight hair hanging in his face as he noticed that I’d stopped doing whatever I was supposed to be doing, whatever correction to The Master Plan I wasn’t making.

“What? What are you staring at?”

“Nothing.”

“Fix it. Hurry up. We have to go home in forty minutes.”

And that was it. The reason he could monitor every breath I made from clear across our hideout. Because it was a survival skill for him. He woke up watching his back and never slept with it to his bedroom door. I spent the night at his house once and ended up leaving—riding my bike home after midnight because Brian was so uncomfortable having me there.

I told my mom that Brian and I had a fight, that that’s why I came home in the middle of the night. I don’t know why I lied. I guess I didn’t know how to tell her that I couldn’t sleep because Brian couldn’t sleep because for some reason his father wasn’t asleep.

I wanted to tell my mother that I didn’t think Brian ever slept, except when he was at my house. When he was at my house, he slept like a rock. He snored. He kept me awake.

I’ll never forget that bike ride home that night. It was eerie, almost threatening, the air so thick and heavy. The swoosh of my tires, for some reason, making me feel like someone was behind me the whole time, chasing me, making me feel like I couldn’t get home fast enough. The downhill run to my house always felt so good to me. I always loved riding home from Brian’s because I got to fly down that hill, the wind in my hair, but that night I felt like I was cheated out of something that rightfully belonged to me. I abandoned my bike the second I hit the edge of my driveway, before it’d even stopped moving. The tires were still spinning.

******************************
if you’ll be my bodyguard
I can be your long lost pal

The second time I heard Justin Taylor’s name, out of Brian’s mouth, was when he called me a few months ago to tell me Justin had a picture deal and was moving to L.A. Brian knew that I knew about Justin. Women talk.

“I want to give him your numbers. He doesn’t know anyone out there.”

“John just called me an hour ago. It’s no problem. He’s coming Monday, right?”

“Yeah, Monday.” It was Friday.

“It’s no problem. Glad to do it. He can come to our house, have dinner once he gets settled, if he wants.”

“I’ll tell him. But, I should warn you, he eats a lot.” I heard him smile.

“No more than my boys. I promise you.”

“Yeah, right. He’ll eat them under the table.”

“I’ll make him run a tab.” He laughed.

“Don’t bother. It’ll just come to me.”

“In that case, I’ll charge him double.”

“I appreciate this.”

“When my mistress is in Pittsburgh, you can wine and dine her for me.”

“I had her last night.”

“You know, I can call you an asshole and mean it because I’m doing you a favor this time.” He ignored me.

“She was hot and all, but hearing, ‘Oh Brian, sink your battleship!’ just kinda kills it for me, ya know? Teach ‘em something else, please. It’s getting old.”

“You fucker.”

“I mean, for Christ’s sake, Justin laughed so hard he fell off the bed.”

“I rescind my offer.”

“And he bruises easily, Matt. I don’t need that.”

“Unless you’re the one bruising him, right?”

“Exactly. Is that so much to ask?”

“Just wait ‘till you get my bill.”

“And you mine. I charge seven hundred and fifty an hour to sink my battleship into—"

“All right, you win. That’s enough. Don’t you have work to do?”

“That’s what your wife wants for her birthday, you know? A gift certificate from the Brian Kinney—“

“Battleship Collection?”

“All the rage this year.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Thanks again, Matt.”

“Don’t mention it.”

******************************
she's a rich girl
she don't try to hide it
diamonds on the soles of her shoes

The day Justin landed in L.A., I paid him a visit at his office. Brian had emailed me that morning and asked me to do him a personal favor. I didn’t mind. I was extremely curious to actually see this kid. He was a four year mystery to me.

“Can I help you?” Blond, blue eyed, perfect body, and Brian had obviously consulted on his wardrobe. You’d never know from looking at him that he’d been struck in the head with a baseball bat, suffered brain damage, and lived to tell about it. Unbelievable. He stood up when I walked in his office and handed him my business card. The name didn’t ring a bell right away. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I’m a—"

“You’re Brian’s friend. He gave me your name and number and everything. I’m sorry. It’s been a really long day, the flight and all. Sit down.”

“Not a problem. It’s nice to finally put a name with a face. I’m under orders to bring you a cell phone.” I put the three boxes I brought on his desk.

“Brian told you to do this?”

“Yep. It’s what I do. I have about fifty of these in my office. Top of the line. Pick one. I’m not allowed to leave until I program it for you, and you’re all hooked up.”

“He bosses you around, too?”

“Makes him feel important.”

“Tell me about it.”

******************************
we'd like to know a little bit about you for our files
we'd like to help you learn to help yourself

Justin came to our house for dinner after he’d been in L.A. for about two weeks. You would’ve thought Santa Claus had just come down the chimney by the look on Jake’s face.

“Wa!”

At six years old, Jake’s language skills had developed as much as they were going to. He did have a giant notebook with pages and pages of pictures and photos in it, though, that he could flip through if he thought he wasn’t being understood. Jake has no patience for not being understood. He slammed his hand on the kitchen table a second time because I wasn’t responding fast enough for him.

“Wa!”

“Justin, this is my son, Jake. He would like to see your watch up close.” Justin gave me a hesitant smile and walked over to Jake to show him. “Jake has cerebral palsy. He has very little control over his gross and fine motor skills and way too much control over his intellectual skills. Right, Jake?” Jake nodded and laughed. He knows he’s the smartest person in our family. “He’s also a fashion connoisseur with an extreme fetish for accessories.”

Justin laughed. “I have a belt on.”

Jakes eyes lit up. “So.”

“He wants you to show it to him.” Justin stood up so Jake could see it, and Jake immediately opened his binder and started flipping through pages.

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s finding it.” Jake turned to a whole page he had of belts that Val had helped him cut out of all the catalogs he gets from Brian. He slapped his hand on the picture of the one Justin was wearing. “Is that it?” Justin bent down and looked at the picture more closely.

“Yeah, that’s it. It’s just black, not brown. It’s Armani.” Jake smiled. “I can’t believe he—"

“Talk to him. He’ll answer you.”

“I can’t believe you have all those pictures, Jake. Where do you get them?”

“May.” Justin looked at me, not understanding.

“Mail. He gets them in the mail. Brian put him on a bunch of menswear mailing lists.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“Sometimes I think he’s not my kid.”

My wife answered me, coming in the house with Alex and Tyler who were covered in mud and fighting with each other. “He’s not Matt’s son. He’s Brian’s.” She introduced herself to Justin and then ordered Alex and Tyler upstairs to take a shower. “Believe me, Matt couldn’t match a shirt with a pair of pants if his life depended on it. Jake’s either Brian’s son or he’s an alien.”

Jake pointed to a picture of a martian in his book about a minute later. “Very funny, Jake. You’re much smarter than a martian.” He laughed.

******************************
you give us those nice bright colors
you give us the greens of summers

Not being able to physically do something has never prevented Jake from wanting to do it anyway. When he was born and I realized that he was never going to walk or run like every other boy and that he had brothers who could, I just assumed that he’d want to be an athlete. I had visions of the Special Olympics, nights of trying to figure out ways to adapt a basketball net or a bike or even a video game so that he could do all of those things just like my other two sons and not feel any different. But then Jake kept growing up and was never interested in any of those things. He wanted to be read to, constantly. He wanted to play with playdough and clay and water and sand. He was fascinated by these things. Other children didn’t really interest him that much. It was as if there was so much going on inside his own imagination that he didn’t really have room for other kids. He was fine if they were playing beside him, but he didn’t want to be interrupted. He had important work to do.

The day my wife put finger paint and a piece of paper on the tray attached to his adaptive chair was the day I saw my son come alive. It was as if all that important work that had been going on inside his head had finally poured onto this piece of paper that he could keep. That we could display. That had his name on it. He was somebody.

He was an artist.

He was almost three.

The first time that Justin had dinner with us and he talked about what he did for a living, about his art, Jake couldn’t take his eyes off of Justin’s face. I don’t know why I’d never thought about letting Jake meet a real artist before. It’d just never occurred to me. I had to keep reminding him to eat his dinner. He was spellbound. He hung on Justin’s every word.

When we finished with dinner, Jake hit me on the arm repeatedly. He was afraid that Justin was just going to get up and leave.

“He’s just going to the bathroom, Jake. He’ll be right back.”

Alex and Tyler were already beating the crap out of each other in the backyard when Justin came back to the table. Jake started hitting me again. He didn’t have his book. I asked him if that’s what he wanted, and he shook his head in frustration.

“Then what?”

“Pay.”

“Paper?” He nodded. I got up and got him a legal pad and his art box and brought it back to him. “Here.” He shook his head and looked at Justin. “He wants me to give this to you. He wants you to draw.”

“He does?”

“Is that what you want, Jake?” His eyes opened wide, and he smiled. “That’s what he wants. Jake loves to paint and loves to draw. When you were talking about your comic book and your art, he was very excited.”

“Okay, Jake,” Justin got comfortable in his chair with the pad of paper and opened Jake’s box of crayons and pencils. “What do you want me to draw?”

Jake looked around our back yard. “Te.”

“Tree. Draw the trees.”

“Okay.”

Justin ended up drawing our entire backyard and both of our neighbor’s backyards and everything else Jake could point to. He wore Justin out. I think it was actually the first time Jake had ever actually seen something actually take shape like that on paper. Justin came inside after about an hour and told me he had to stop because his hand was giving out.

“I’m sorry. After I work all day, it just doesn’t cooperate for very long.” I felt terrible for making him perform for my son.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—"

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I had so much fun. He’s so funny. He gets so excited. I started drawing his brothers, and he could not stop laughing. And then I couldn’t stop laughing. He’s hilarious.”

“He doesn’t have a very high opinion of his brothers. It’s pretty funny, actually. He likens them to cavemen.”

“I can tell. I’d love to come back sometime and work with him. I tried to get him to draw some for me, but he seemed really shy, like he didn’t want to.”

“He’s embarrassed because he can’t hold crayons very well, and probably because he can’t draw as well as you. But, yes, you can come back anytime. I’ve never seen him so enthralled with someone in my entire life. Well, except Brian. I’ll tell you that story sometime.”

“I can’t wait. I’ll go tell him good-bye.”

******************************
and I’ve been waiting such a long time for today

And Justin did come back, several times. He helped me fashion an easel for Jake that I could attach and detach to his chair that made it easier for Jake to paint and draw. He searched online and found adaptive paintbrushes with flat handles that were easier for Jake to grasp and made it possible for him to control his strokes. He helped him make another book of his artwork so that over the span of three months since Justin’s been here, Jake can actually see his progress. He can see that he’s getting better. I think that has meant more to Jake than anything else.

I watched my son watch Justin draw, color and paint. He started out mimicking him, his eyes so intent on Justin’s every move that I worried sometimes that he was going to burn a hole through him. Justin would lay his brush or his pencil down sometimes when his hand tired and Jake would do the same, thinking it was part of the process. It became a game between them.

“You don’t have to stop just because I stopped, Jake. My hand is just tired. Keep going.”

“No.”

Justin’s explanation of why his hand was tired, and why he and Jake wouldn’t be tired at the same time didn’t matter to Jake. He wanted to be Justin, to the extent that he could. Justin would tease him sometimes, pretending to stop, and Jake would get the joke. Eventually, Jake would pull the same trick on Justin. They were good for each other.

One day while Jake was sitting on the deck in his chair painting on his easel, Justin was sitting beside him sketching. When Jake finished, he showed Justin what he’d painted, a tree or something from the backyard, and Justin showed him his sketch of Jake at his easel, painting. I was standing on the stairs to our deck while this was going on trying to decide if I wanted to mow the grass or not.

“Da.” Justin had gotten pretty good at understanding Jake.

“You want to show your Dad your painting?”

“DA!”

“I can hear you, Jake. You don’t have to scream.” When I went to look at his painting, he shook his head and pointed to Justin. Justin handed me his sketch pad. I looked at the amazing sketch that Justin had done of my son, the artist. “Jake, look at you. Wow.”

“I pay.”

“Yeah, you sure do, Jake. You paint.” And then I stopped looking at Justin’s sketch of Jake and really looked at my son, the artist.

Those were the first two words he’d ever strung together in his entire life.

******************************
and I’m not ashamed to say the wild boys were my friends

The third time I heard Justin Taylor’s name out of Brian Kinney’s mouth was after Justin had been in L.A. a little over three months. Brian called me out of the blue on day at the office.

“Matt Westheim.”

“Greetings King of the Lite Brite and Master of All Really Dumb Ideas.”

“Touché.” The more things change with Brian Kinney, the more they stay the same.

“How’s your pre-pubescent Picasso?”

“Not quite as talented as yours, but he’s getting there.” He laughed on the other end of the line.

“Give him time. Give him time.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”

"Are you free next weekend?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“We do threesomes, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“He’s my kid’s hero. Do you mind?”

"You and I have more in common every day, Matthew. It’s starting to freak me the fuck out.”

******************************
he says, "son, can you play me a memory?”

It was like time picked up right where it left off when I picked up Brian and Lindsay at the airport after lunch on Thursday, except that Gus was there, four years of proof that time had passed.

“Lindsay, he’s beautiful. And you look great. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Neither have you. I can’t wait to see Val and the kids again. It’s been so long.”

“Hey, what about me?” Brian can’t tolerate not being the center of attention for more than thirty seconds.

“What about you?” I hugged him. Gus was in his arms. “I can’t believe you made something this cute.”

“Yeah, well, just wait until the jet lag hits him. Then you’ll be sorry you agreed to this.”

“Daddy, where’s Mr. Justin?”

“That’s the eighty-fifth time he’s asked me that in the last half hour.” I laughed. Mr. Justin?

Gus repeated his question several more times on the way to my house, and Brian answered it in between telling me that this had also been Gus’ first plane ride and that he should have never let Gus have Coke on the plane. Lindsay told him Gus was fine, that he was just excited, and to stop queening out.

“Gus is convinced that every plane he sees takes him to Justin.” Gus was asleep before we even got home.

Jake eyed Brian like an animal zeroing in for the kill while Brian helped himself to a beer from our fridge. “Jake, do you remember Brian from Uncle John’s wedding? Brian’s the one that sends you all of those catalogs. You sat with him remember?”

“Wa.” Brian’s face lit up.

“You remember me.” He went over and sat on the floor in front of Jake’s chair, so he could be eye level with Jake. “Yeah, you liked my watch.” Jake flipped through this giant black book on his tray and pointed to Brian’s photo, the old one Brian sent me years ago. “Yeah, that’s me.” Jake pointed to his other book, his art book, and I switched them for him. He flipped through pages until he found the picture he wanted. It was a sketch of Brian that Justin had done. I’d never seen it before.

“You.”

“Yeah, that’s me at the airport in Pittsburgh.”

“Justin’ll be here in half an hour, Brian.”

“I’m gonna take a shower then.”

Jake looked at me, “Si.”

“What’s he saying?”

“Outside. He wants to go outside. He and Justin usually draw outside. Jake’s more of a landscape artist.” Jake laughed. He’s always had a sense of humor about himself.

******************************
come out, Virginia
don’t make me wait

The minute Justin arrived, he headed straight for the backyard. He knew that’s where Jake would be, waiting for him. He usually helped him put on his smock, set up his easel and his paints, and then talked with him about what he wanted to paint or to draw if Jake was in a more patient mood and felt like tackling pencils. But for some reason that day, Justin had some new idea he wanted to try, and when Brian came downstairs, ready to surprise him on the deck, he wasn’t on the deck. He was rolling Jake’s chair and his paints and his paper and everything else into the backyard. Brian’s stood inside the sliding glass door that leads to our deck, his hand wrapped around his second beer, shaking his head.

“Matt, what the fuck is he doing?”

“I have no idea.”

“This was not the plan.”

“I know.”

“You were in charge of the plan.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Well?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

So we stood there, watching, mind-boggled, trying to figure out what the fuck Justin was doing. I think Jake was, too. He was completely intrigued. Justin stopped pulling Jake when they got to the biggest tree in our backyard.

“My son loves to draw trees. He’s fascinated by trees.”

“That’s great, Matt. That helps me a lot.”

Justin put a piece of paper on the tree, reached down for Jake’s hand, picked it up, and put it on the paper. Then he got his other hand and did the same thing. So then my son was sitting in his chair with both hands pressed against a piece of paper on a tree. Justin got out a pair of scissors and picked up a roll of duct tape.

“Where’d the duct tape come from?”

Brian laughed, “You’re asking me?”

Once the paper was taped to the tree, he helped Jake let go, helped him with his smock, set up his paints, and then taped another piece of paper to the tree right above Jake’s. Justin ran his brush over the paper, and Jake’s arms start to flap up and down. When the outline of the bark started to appear through the paper, Jake got so excited, he almost tipped his chair over. Justin anchored it with his foot. I could see Justin saying, “You do it,” to Jake. Jakes strokes were broad and coarse and sloppy, but it didn’t matter. He got the same effect. He could paint just as well as Justin. He covered the whole piece of paper in less than two minutes and was ready for another one.

“You know he’s an artist in the bedroom, too.” Brian lifted his beer to me.

“You just had to ruin this moment for me, didn’t you?”

“I came to California to come.”

“That bed upstairs is an antique. Don’t break it.”

“I’ll take the toolbox with me. That’s the best I can do.”

Brian informed me of the new master plan to lure Justin into the house since mine had so dismally failed. I had to admit, his plan was better. I guess I’m just out of practice when it comes to snagging tail.

“All right, Kinney, let me go have my moment with my son before you go have your moment with yours.”

“I’ll gladly wait my turn. Mine’s gonna take a lot longer.”

******************************
I’d rather laugh with the sinners
than cry with the saints
the sinners are much more fun…

It was everything I could do to keep from laughing when Justin’s cell phone rang in the backyard about five minutes later. No matter what he said to Brian, Brian just kept repeating that he couldn’t hear him. Over and over and over. Finally, after yelling into his phone, Justin looked at me, frustrated, and said, “Can I just go in your house and use your regular phone?”

“Sure.”

He opened the sliding glass door and walked right into Brian.

“Brian!”

“Justin.”

“Oh my god.”

Justin’s feet were at least a foot off the ground when Brian shut the door.

A little over two hours later, my cell phone rang. It was Brian.

"Where’s Lindsay?”

“Standing right next to me in the driveway.”

"Can you please tell her that Gus woke up from his nap and he’s crying?””

“Lindsay, Gus woke up from his nap, and he’s crying……………….It is interfering with your ambiance?”

“It’s making Justin’s maternal instincts kick in.”

“Will you be ordering room service later or will you be coming down for dinner?”

“Send up a menu and the tool box.”

******************************
you say your mother told you all that I could give you was a reputation

It was obvious to me, when Justin and Brian showed up at my house at eight a.m. on Saturday morning, that they’d been fucking non-stop since we left them at the restaurant Thursday night, but taking Gus to Disneyland wasn’t my idea in the first place. It was Brian’s. Something about making a promise to Gus to show him where Mickey Mouse lives and where rockets take off, and since there was no way he was going to Florida, Gus would have to settle for Mickey Mouse and Mr. Justin. It made no sense to me, but most of the things Brian does don’t make much sense to me, so that was nothing new.

Gus and Jake had gotten along great together at my house all day Friday since Gus loves to draw and Jake loves to show off. Jake was thrilled to have a mobile friend who he could order around. He basically spent the day just pointing to things to see if he could get Gus to actually bring them to him. Jake actually got Gus to bring him my wallet. I had to pull Jake aside and have a conversation with him at that point. I worry about him sometimes. He’s a little mastermind. Every time I’m missing something and he’s had a friend over, I think I should frisk him. Val lost her wedding ring once, and I spent half the day looking for it all the while thinking Jake probably had it. He didn’t. Val found it in her purse.

Our day at Disneyland was more or less like I expected it to be. Insane. Every time Jake leaves the house, he wants to be dressed to kill, so I had to spend the night before and that morning explaining to him why it’s inappropriate to wear a shirt and tie to Disneyland. Brian’s menswear catalogs have completely poisoned him. He believes everything he reads. If the description beside a sport coat says it’s ‘for any occasion,’ then Jake thinks that means he should wear a sport coat to Disneyland. I admire the way his mind works sometimes, and then sometimes I just want to take Brian somewhere and beat and the crap out of him. Him and the mailman.

Ironically, though, it was Brian who saved me that morning when he and Justin showed up in regular clothes.

“See, Jake, Brian and Justin aren’t wearing shirts and ties to go to Disneyland. They’re wearing regular clothes just like the rest of us.”

“My clothes aren’t regular. This is a Prada shirt.” I almost punched Brian. Justin intervened on my behalf.

"No, it’s not, Brian. You got that shirt at the mall.” Brian was about to object when Justin did something to him that, quite frankly, is none of my business.

“Um, that’s right. I got this shirt at the mall.” Brian looked like he wanted to vomit after the word “mall” came out of his mouth. “You owe me for that, Sunshine. Big time. I don’t even buy my hangers at the mall.”

“Shhh.”

Jake’s favorite ride at Disneyland or anywhere for that matter is bumper cars. There aren’t many rides he can ride, but he loves that one, mainly because he can control it well enough, and he feels like he has power. We spent about forty-five minutes taking turns in the car with Jake letting him slam into each one of us. It’s therapy for him. It’s worth it.

Justin and Brian’s favorite ride was each other behind the defunct Frozen Lemonade shack about five hundred feet away from the bumper cars. They rode that ride more than once, too. Brian looked just as happy as every little kid at Disneyland each time he got off. I stood next to him in disbelief as he smoked a cigarette. I think that came with his ride, too.

“You are unbelievable, Brian Kinney.”

“I paid for my ticket just like everybody else.”

“I’d love to fuck Val behind that abandoned lemonade shack structure thing.”

“So do it.”

“Oh, yeah, right. I can see that now. ‘Val, honey, you wanna fuck behind that thing over there?’ Brian’ll keep an eye on the kids for us.” Brian flattened his cigarette on the cement.

“No, no, no Matthew. You’ve got it all wrong. You don’t ask. You tell them. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for what? Some twenty-some million years now?”

“At least.”

“It’s all in the voice, Matt. Trust me. Watch this.” Justin was about forty feet away from us, looking in the opposite direction, totally oblivious to what we were talking about when Brian called him, “Justin.” He turned his head immediately. “Come here.” Justin walked over, put his hands on Brian’s waist, and Brian leaned down and basically gave him a tonsillectomy right in front of me. I looked in the other direction.

“What was that for?” Justin asked him when Brian finally let him come up for air.

“This is just such a magical kingdom.” He kissed him again, turned him around, slapped him on the butt and sent him on his way.

“You know, when we were kids and I moved away to Florida, I always wished that you’d come visit me and you and I could do the Disney thing. I never once imagined I’d be standing in a Disney establishment watching you play tonsil hockey with your freakishly young, yet oddly mature, very pretty boyfriend.”

“If you play your cards right, you might be able to lure Linds behind that shack. She likes it up against a wall.”

“Do you listen to yourself or are your mouth and your brain just no longer connected?”

“It’s intermittent. Probably needs a tune-up.”

“Ya think?”

I tried that 'say your name, come here thing' with Val that night when we were done with dinner. She came right over. After I kissed her, she said, “Thanks, now do the dishes,” and left me standing there with a dish towel in my hand.

He makes everything look so damn easy.

******************************
he’s a smooth operator

I had the utter good fortune of getting to witness their good-bye at the airport that Sunday. Brian’s final intimate moments with Justin were punctuated by a very long kiss that belonged in L.A. because it belonged in the movies. It landed me in less than warm water with my wife.

“Why can’t you kiss me like that once in a while?”

“I tried to kiss you like that last night after dinner, but you just wanted me to do the dishes!” She shook her head at me like I was hopeless. I was tempted to grab her, throw her back, and plant one on her, but I was afraid she’d make me get on a plane afterwards. So instead, I gave Brian the finger. He returned the favor, the same hand groping Justin’s ass at the time.

Justin had tears in his eyes as he walked back toward us. Val grabbed him and hugged him as tight as she could. She has no problem being affectionate with Justin. I tried to make myself cry so I could get in on it, but it just wasn’t going to happen.

“Oh, Justin, that was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” Val consoled him. Justin had just been fondled to death. He didn’t need any more affection. I did.

Justin wiped his eyes over Val’s shoulder. “Yeah, he’s a really good kisser at the airport.”

….and in my kitchen, and my guest room, and the back seat of my car, and my backyard, and especially behind the now defunct Frozen Lemonade Shack at Disneyland………….

******************************
I thought our little wild time had just begun

We didn’t know it at the time, but that visit marked that halfway point of Justin’s time in L.A. Three months later, we were at the airport telling him good-bye. Two weeks before that, I was trying to break the news to Jake. He took it about like I thought he would.

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Jake. But he is. He was only going to be out here for a little while. It was only temporary.”

“No.”

I didn’t know what I was going to do. My entire family was practically in mourning.

My wife was crying because before Justin came, she’d never been able just to walk down to the mailbox or run to the store or anything without Jake in tow or threatening Alex and Tyler within an inch of their lives if they left his side. The boys resented having to look after Jake, and Jake hated being looked after. I rushed home from work to relieve her many a night because she was at her wits end. We’d had many a sitter or aide come in to help, but Jake hated every one of them and made their lives miserable. No matter what, Val or I had been by his side since he was born. Jake just hadn’t enjoyed anyone else’s company outside of this family until he met Justin. And now he had to leave.

Jake’s one of the smartest children I’ve ever met, and one of the proudest. He was determined not to let Justin know how upset he was that he was leaving. Instead, he just became more and more interested in whatever Justin was showing him how to do that day and tried even harder. I think he thought that if he just kept drawing and painting and laughing with Justin that he wouldn’t leave.

Ever since Justin had drawn that picture of Jake painting that day, Jake had gone from being fascinated with trees and backyards to people. Justin had shown him some comic book sketches he’d done that were child-appropriate, and Jake seemed to enjoy the different ways that Justin could portray people. He drew a comical sketch of Jake once wearing his suit and tie, and Jake laughed for twenty minutes. It’s still hanging over his bed. There’s a bubble over his head that says something like, ‘I’d rather be in Gucci.’

He’s drawn pictures of all of us for Jake, pictures of Val on the phone in the kitchen, Alex and Tyler doing their homework, and even one of me kissing Val when I got home from work one day. Jake calls that picture: “Oooo.” I told Justin I was going to send it to Brian to prove to him that my wife really does let me kiss her.

“I’ll make you a copy, but I already told him.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said you paid her.”

Jake and Justin dissolved into laughter.

“Oooo.”

“Be quiet, Jake.”

From clear across the country, Brian Kinney had somehow turned my own son against me.

******************************
how about a pair of pink sidewinders
and a bright orange pair of pants?

Jake’s good-bye with Justin at the airport did not involve cinematic kissing, but it did involve Jake wearing a shirt and tie and a sport coat because Jake knows that people dress up to go to the airport and there was no way I was going to convince him otherwise, and it was a real tie, too, not a clip-on. Jake’s no poser. He’s the real thing. Hell, I dressed up, too, because once I got him dressed up, I felt pretty stupid in a t-shirt and jeans. We had a bit of time to kill once we got to the airport, which was fine with Jake. The only thing that makes him happier than looking at pictures in catalogs, is actually seeing the real thing. He was like a kid in a candy store watching so many men come and go in so many different suits and ties and, lo and behold, briefcases. About half an hour before Justin had to go, he told Jake he had something for him and pulled a small box out of his pocket. He had to help Jake open it. Jake smiled from ear to ear when he saw what was in it. They were small, silver cuff links.

“Jay!”

“Yeah, ‘J.’ They have a ‘J’ on them for ‘Jake.’ They’re from me and Brian.”

“Juh.”

“Yeah, and for ‘Justin.’ Don’t want you to forget me.”

My son waited until Justin was long gone, and we were back in the car before he said anything to me. He was so quiet, I thought maybe he’d fallen asleep.

“Da.”

“Hmm?”

“Bye, Juh.”

“I’m going to miss him, too, Jake. I really am.”

******************************
don’t you know about the new fashion honey?
all you need are looks and a whole lotta money

Right before Justin left, I enrolled Jake in an art class that met on Saturday mornings. It was a class for regular kids; he was the only handicapped child enrolled. I didn’t want him to lose the spark that Justin has ignited in him. Jake was excited, mostly about what he was going to wear on his first day. We went through our usual song and dance.

“You can’t wear a shirt and tie to art class. C’mon, Jake. You need to pick something else.”

I let him ponder his alternate wardrobe choice in front of his closet while I went to his desk to get his art supplies. The community center wouldn’t have the brushes and other adaptive tools Jake needed, so he’d have to bring them. I opened his drawer where we keep his smocks, and found this on top:

Epilogue3positit

It was one of Justin’s dress shirts that I’d seen him wear. One that I think he told me Brian had given him.

“Jake, I think I found something for you to wear.” He recognized it immediately.

“Juh.”

“It’s your new Armani smock.”

Jake felt like the king of the world when he rolled into that classroom. He dove in and never looked back. It was like Justin had never left.

******************************
nowadays you can’t be too sentimental
your best bet’s a true baby blue Continental

Except he had. And things were back to normal. And my wife, through all fault of my own, was pregnant again about two weeks later. We kept it quiet. After what happened with Jake, Val was worried, pensive during this pregnancy, unlike all the others. For some reason, it made her seem even more beautiful, this secret we were sharing, until, of course, we couldn’t anymore. By five months along, everyone knew.

I called Justin, once we settled our daughter into our home, to tell him the news. He was at the loft. I figured I’d let him break it to Brian.

“We’re home. It’s a girl.”

"No way! And everything’s fine? She’s fine?”

“She’s perfect.”

"Now, are you going to put your pecker away?” Brian had picked up on the line.

"Brian, hang up.”

"Hell, no. I won’t hang up. Who’s she look like?”

“Val, actually. All Val. Big blue eyes. Blonde hair.” Okay, so Brian’s not the only one with a thing for the classic blonde. If we’d both been straight, we’d’ve been in the parking lot beating the shit out of each other over the same girl. Trust me.

"Justin, did you fuck Val before you left L.A.?”

"Brian!”

"If she grows up to have a very fuckable ass, she’s Justin’s.”

"Hang up!”

“Her name is Taylor Westheim.”

"No way. Oh, that’s so-“

"Are you gonna call her ‘Sunshine?”

"Matt, just ignore him. How’s Jake taking it? Is he okay?”

"I’m not taking this well at all.”

“There isn’t one picture we’ve taken of Taylor that he hasn’t been in. Just this itty bitty baby and Jake’s huge smiling face. He’s such a proud big brother.”

"At least someone with fashion sense is in the family portrait.”

"Seriously, ignore him. Oh, that’s so great. I’m so glad. Tell him to paint me a picture.”

“All you’ll get is this big blob of pink.”

"That’s okay. That’s what I want!”

"I’ve got a big blob of pink you can have.”

“I know, in your own way, Brian, that means, ‘congratulations.’”

"No, it means Justin needs to get off the phone and –“

"Matt, send me a picture and tell Val I said ‘congratulations.’ I’ve got to put Brian down for his nap.”

“Justin, you’ve got the biggest baby of the whole bunch.”

"And I’m a single parent. Go figure. Talk to you soon.”

"Your life is so har-- Ow! Fuck! That’s child abus--_________________”

I don’t believe in corporal punishment, but sometimes……..you have no other choice.

******************************
only the good die young

When I was a boy, the days I went to the railroad tracks and Brian never showed up were always the worst for me. My mind filled in the blanks of everything I didn’t know. I would play games with myself, setting time limits……

if he’s not here in five minutes, then……

if he’s not here if fifteen….

If he’s not here in an hour….

until the afternoon had gone by…. while I’d done nothing but try to figure out how to break a marble and why a grown man needed to use a skinny, smart-mouthed kid as a punching bag…..why nobody did anything……..

why I didn’t do anything……

why I couldn’t do anything……

why somebody cared enough to hurt him but not enough to help him.

When I was a father, and my son was born, I wondered why I couldn’t fix everything. Why, no matter what I did, no matter how many suits and shirts and ties I bought him, Jake would never rule the world. Why loving him just wasn’t enough. Or was it? Or maybe I was doing it wrong.

The picture that sits in my office today of Jake and my daughter, a disproportionate amount of pink in the lap of young man in a beautifully tailored navy blue suit, a mauve tie in honor of his sister, and a beautiful pair of monogrammed cuff links with a ridiculously joyous smile on his face, is a picture I didn’t think anyone could paint. Brian Kinney, like my son, needed to control his world, to make sense out of the cruel, unfair cards he was dealt. And I suppose the irony in all of this is that Justin Taylor, a boy who’s barely a man, who was taken down with a baseball bat and stood back up again, did that for both of them. He gave something to them that they’d never had, that they didn’t even think was possible. Certainly, in the case of Brian Kinney, something he’d never even known.

And now, just like my son, in his own stubborn, roughly sophisticated, dressed to kill way, Brian Kinney was going to gather and guard those close to him and make damn sure that he did rule the world. Free and clear, on his own terms, and without once looking over his shoulder.

But if he did, if he faltered and looked back, he wouldn’t have to fear what was behind him. Not this time.

Not anymore.

Well—

………..not as long as he stayed on the East coast.

The West coast is my territory. I have proof.

The maps from the railroad tracks, torn, taped, faded, littered with pin holes and all of my drawn and re-drawn boundaries…even all of Claire’s junk…..he wasn’t home that day. I never got to hand it over.

So our stuff, the West coast, and I guess any women that'll have me, all of that belongs to me.

The end. Really.

EPILOGUE 3.1-EXTENDED SCENE-FRENZY
BRIAN’S POV

what a nice surprise

He smells like he should smell, enough like what I remember and enough like something brand new, our voices hushed as I undress him.

“Gus is asleep in the next room.”

The look on his face.

I’m full of surprises today.

“And I should spank the shit out of you for wearing a smock over a five hundred dollar ensemble.” It’s in the trash can now. His eyes glance over at the door separating us from my sleeping son as he slides my hands down over his ass. I shake my head. I know the way his mind works. I trained it.

“Guess you’ll have to wait, Picasso.”

“You and your bright ideas.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll more than make it up to you later. Get in bed.”

The introductions are over.

He pulls the sheets back and waits for me as I undress, moaning softly as I slide into bed beside him and take him in my arms. I feel like I’m inside his skin when I touch him.

It’s been way too long.

I don’t take anything for granted.

Nothing…

…not the way he touches me, his fingers on the back of my neck, not how overwhelming it is to have him underneath me again, his skin soft beneath my hands, his cock hardening as it presses against mine. His tongue tastes sweet in my mouth as he wraps his fingers around my dick and his, his thumb skimming over top of both. Wet and warm.

I don’t know how my body can be so excited and so relaxed at the same time, but that’s the way I feel as I hold him, eventually adding a little lube to the mix. His hand tightens around my neck. ”Brian.” He comes when I finger him. “Oh shit.”

“I love you, too.”

My little blond frenzy.

“Fuck me.”

Jesus, I wish we were doing it raw, but the barrier’s probably a blessing right now because it gives me a second to regroup and push him on his back and slide my cock back and forth at the entrance of his little ass until his whispered begging undoes me.

I’ve been waiting for this for so long. Wanting it, to feel his hands as they trail up and down my chest as I push inside him, easy, to watch his face as he takes me, his eyes pleading with me to kiss him, to fill him, all of him open for me. Ready. Mine.

He lets out a deep breath when my balls brush against his bottom, his legs on my shoulders, my arms encircling him.

He’s trembling. “Need me to fuck you?” The skin behind his ear's so warm.

“I love you.”

His fingernails dig into my biceps as I move inside him. “My little bottom boy.”

“Brian, I can’t believe you’re really here.”

I raise my eyebrows at him and grin, “I’m not. I’m a figment of your imagination.” He has a lot of figments. He’s very creative.

“That’s what it feels like. It’s surreal.”

“Never been fucked by a figment before, have you?”

“This is one hell of a figment.”

“The figment of all figments.”

“Please stop saying figment.”

“Figment.” He rolls his eyes at me.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“I’m so predictable.” I wink at him. “Haven’t changed a bit.”

“Kiss me before I moan really loud and wake up Gus.”

He’s not kidding, he will.

I kiss him, but he moans anyway.

“Shhh, Justin.” I try to muffle his voice by pressing his face to my chest. “Be quiet.” His fingers dig into my lower back. Ouch.

“Mmm, I’m trying. Harder.”

“I can’t. The bed. It’s antique.”

“Fuck the bed.”

Beds can be fixed.

I hope.

“You’re a bossy little bottom boy.” I don’t remember him being this demanding. He grabs my ass. “Justin.”

”Brian.”

Fuck it.

I smother him and fuck the shit out of him.

He bites the shit out of my shoulder when he comes. Hurts like fuck, but it keeps him quiet. I come so hard I feel like I’m breaking him in half.

“Oh god, fuck, Christ.”

He can stay in L.A. as long as he wants, but this perfect piece of ass is going home with me. I let him unfold, relieved that he can.

Now he can whisper, “I left a huge mark on your shoulder.”

“No shit, Vampira.” He covers his face.

“Do not embarrass me. I can’t help that I get a little…….carried away.”

“I need a leash to keep you in bed with me.”

“Stop it. Don’t make fun of me.” I know he’s wondering if I really have a leash.

“Yeah, well, put your fangs away. It’s time for you to suck some cock.” He does his Dracula impression which is so dead on, no pun intended, that it terrifies me.

“Enter. At. Your. Own. Risk.”

“Oh yeah, Dracula with a lisp. That’s tho thexy.”

“You shithead!”

“Shhhh. At least you can say that.”

“Just for that, I’m gonna blow you with my fangs in.” I lean down and kiss the determined look off his little face.

“I missed you, Sunshine.”

“Welcome to the Hotel California.”

************************
You had the Dom Perignon in your hand
And a spoon up your nose.

Sitting in a posh L.A. restaurant at a table for nine for two and half hours watching Gus and Jake fight over which way Justin’s head was turned was an eye opening experience to say the least. When I heard the words, “You know guys, there’s plenty of Justin to go around,” come out of my mouth, I realized I’ve been right all along.

It’s only a lie if they make you lie.

There’s not nearly enough of Justin to go around.

Besides, he needs to be paying attention to me.

My spontaneously-planned diversion-for-two to the men’s room after the soup was thwarted by my own son, his second successful attempt to abort my mojo since we’d gotten here this afternoon. First, he wakes up crying from his nap at Matt’s, an instant maternal moment for Justin, and then he ruins my post-soup/salad signal to Justin.

Gus apparently thought my signal was for him.

“I have to go potty.”

Shit.

“All right, come on, Gus.”

“Mr. Justin, come with us.”

“Yes, Mr. Justin. Come with us.”

“I can pee like Daddy. I did it on the plane, but Daddy had to hold me.” I stuffed a piece of bread in Gus’ mouth and pretended he was Justin’s son all the way to the men’s room.

The bathroom was a three ring circus. Literally. The urinals in Gus’ school are these tiny little things about twelve inches off the ground. He took one glance at the ones in the restaurant and looked at me like they were only there to swallow little boys. He grabbed himself and ran into a stall.

“I want Mr. Justin to watch me.” My son has now decided that each and every act of urinating is made more pleasurable by having an audience. I refuse to acknowledge the implications of that mindset.

“Gus, just use the bathroom.” Justin was fucking with his hair in the mirror. I had two divas in the bathroom all of a sudden.

“I want him to.”

“Fine. Justin, you’re up.” No response. I looked back over my shoulder and rolled my eyes. Justin was fucking with his hair because he was trying to think of something to say to Orlando Bloom. I don’t give a shit how hot Justin thinks I am, the man has a deadly weakness for any man with dark, wavy hair. Just ask Ian. “Sunshine, you’re needed in stall number three.”

His ‘oh, it’s so nice to meet you, and no, that’s not my boyfriend/partner/lover/etc. standing over there’ smile deflated instantly. I smirked at him. “Your services are needed, urgently.” I know he thought I meant a blow job. He rolled his eyes and titled his head at me, his standard, ‘gimme a break, Brian. I don’t blow people in public. I’m so above that’ look. I pointed to Gus. His face turned beet red and he right came over. I watched Mr. Daffodil walk out the door.

“Yeah, you don’t blow people in public, Mr. ‘I’m too snobby for my dick.’”

“Shut up. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s gonna call you. Like, right away.”

“Jealous.”

“Snob.”

“Mr. Justin, watch!”

Justin took my place, and Gus smiled up at him proudly as he peed all over the wall. If you want anything done right, do it your goddamn self.

“You kind of have to give him some ‘direction,’ Justin. You have to remind him where the boundaries are when he’s in an unfamiliar place.”

“Well, I didn’t know, Brian. Shit. You’re standing right here, too.” He was irritable because he was starving. I was irritable because I was horny. And Gus, well…..

“Shit, Daddy. I peed on the wall.”

“I can see that.”

I didn’t really want a blow job after that. Although before we left, Justin asked me if I wanted to sneak back in there and just come all over the wall.

“Why don’t you, in case Orlando Rosebush pops back in?”

“You are such a jealous cunt.”

“Oh, you want to be spanked. That’s just all there is to it.”

“You’re so easy, Brian.”

It’s true. I am.

************************
I know tonight she comes

Gus and Jake can fight all night over who gets to sit next to Justin at dinner as long as I get this for dessert: a lit cigarette and his undivided attention. He gives me the thirty second ‘I’m sorry it’s such a mess but I didn’t know you were coming’ tour of Brett’s guest house, and apologizes for the size of the bed.

“It’s not as big as ours.”

“Let’s just get in it.”

“I have whiskey. You want some whiskey?”

“I want you, but, sure, whiskey’s good.”

He pours it for me, and I drink it in one swallow, watching as he turns off the lights in his house, turns on some music, jazz or something, and closes the blinds. He lights a few candles, telling me his bedroom lights don’t dim.

“Drives me crazy. I can’t wait to get back to your place where there’s intelligent lighting.” He’s such a fag. I love that. I wait for him to come stand beside me on the far side of the bed near the window. He takes my glass out of my hand and sits it on his nightstand. “More?”

“No. I’m fine. Come here.” I pull him to me, and he lays his head against my chest, his arms around my waist. “Three months is a long time.”

“It’s too long.”

“Yeah.”

We stand here for awhile, almost swaying, and I remember to tell him that he doesn’t have to go to work tomorrow, that I worked all of that out with Brett, and that I’m staying through Sunday.

“And we’re taking Gus to Disneyland on Saturday, in the morning, but just for a few hours. He won’t last too long.”

“Okay.” And then he’s quiet again, eventually taking my hand that’s stroking his hair and putting it on his face. It means something, to us, his way of telling me what he wants. I lift his face, my thumb smoothing over his cheekbone as I kiss him and tell him he can undress.

He takes his clothes off slowly, removing the clothes I’ve bought for him and laying them on the chair beside the bed. He untucks my shirt and starts to unbutton it as I reach down to feel how hard he is. He slides my shirt off my shoulders and unbuckles my belt, pulling it through the belt loops. He winds it and puts it on the nightstand. The buckle clinks against my empty glass of whiskey.

He folds my pants and lays them with the rest of my clothes as I lean against the headboard of his bed. I nod toward the nightstand. He pulls out one my cigarettes and lights it for me as I spread my legs. He takes a drag off of it, hands it to me, and settles between them. He’s a little blonder, a little tanner, and absence makes the boy suck harder.

Christ.

Nicotine, whiskey, and a name-brand blow job. If this is life in the fast lane, I’m gonna set the cruise control. It really doesn’t get any better than this.

But it will.

This is what being a fag’s all about. Sucking on a cigarette while his beautiful, blond head sucks on my balls and licks my cock like he can’t survive if there isn’t something in his mouth for him to work his little tongue around, while his perfectly round ass stays just out of reach.

For now.

And I love knowing that he knows what a talented little cocksucker he is.

He knows everything.

“Put it out, Brian.”

That’s his way of telling me that he’s about to stick something up my ass. I almost set the bed on fire once. I don’t need to have a lit cigarette in my hand during anal activities.

“You’re so romantic.”

“You can’t be trusted. I don’t own this house.”

True. He tells me I can have another one after I come, but I could give a shit because it’s been three months since I’ve had this. My cock in his mouth and his wet fingers teasing me, and he waits until I’m begging him…

“Justin,” until he pushes inside me, “Oh fuck.” And I know he’s going so slowly, but it doesn’t feel that way, it feels like so much, too much, too good, but too much, and then—

“I wanna fuck you.”

That did it. Hot come down his hot throat.

“Uh, Justin.” His mouth is so hot and so sweet as I fuck it and then it’s all over mine as he kisses me, letting my come run over my tongue.

“Mmm, you taste the same.”

“East coast,” my eyebrows play with him as he sheaths himself, and I start to roll over for him, but he stops me.

“On your back, okay?”

“You’re the big star.”

He tells me to shut up, and I close my eyes, my thighs burning before I even feel him inside me.

But then I do. Jesus Christ.

“You okay? Your face? I can’t tell.”

“I’m fine. Goddamn. This feels-- Holy shit.”

“I know.” He smiles, and I kiss him as I feel him sink all the way inside me. It’s never felt like this before. He starts to move, and I just want him to hold onto me. This is the most submissive position on the planet. “You feel….this is amazing, Brian.” He fucks me slowly at first, both of us trying to get used to this. “You have a funny look on your face.”

“This is just such a vulnerable position.” His eyes light up.

“I know. Isn’t it wonderful?” He makes me laugh. Opposite sides of a coin.

“Show me how wonderful it is.”

“Just remember, you asked for it.” No wonder he fell in love with me that first night, if this is how I fucked him. The man knows what he’s doing. "Brian, god." It's beautiful, watching him try so hard to rein this in. He can do it. In fact, he plays with it. Lets it go, lets it run free, and then yanks it back at the last minute. I can usually tell when it's about to slip through his fingers, his breathing gives him away, or sometimes it's just something completely obvious, like him pulling the ever-loving fuck out of my hair.

"Ow."

"Fuck, sorry, jesus, fuck."

The second he feels my body start to tighten, his does, too. We come within seconds of each other, his damp forehead pressed hard against mine, his tongue pushing into my mouth. I love the smile on his face after he comes, after he tops; I love they way he hovers over me, strong, sated, and proud. He tucks my hair behind my ear, leaning down to warn me,

“Remember, you only bottom for me.”

Gee, you think?

I want to tell him that after being fucked like that, I really don’t feel like topping ever again, that I was about ten seconds from rolling over and telling him to fuck me again. But there’s only enough room for one unchecked ego in this relationship, so I don’t.

“I’m extremely honored to be your piece of ass, Mr. Taylor.”

“Same here.”

Relationships are all about the three A’s: attention, appreciation, and ass.

************************
Just open up, I'm gonna come inside
I wanna fill you up, I wanna make you cry.....

Justin’s dominant streak always reminds me of one of those cheap-ass fourth of July sparkers, the only ones my dad would ever let me light all by myself—full of brilliance and height and snap, crackle, dive—right into the ground. I could never get enough of those fucking things, the one day of the year my dad let me set the yard on fire. And not Claire.

Just me.

Justin’s the same way-full of sound, flame, and fury and just for me.

He returns to bed wearing my red dress shirt from today and lies next to me, his words quiet but matter-of-fact, “I’m keeping this.” His tongue waits on the edge of my lips for an objection he knows he won’t get. His kiss is wet and soft and hard and purposeful, all at the same time.

Just like him.

It ends when he wants it to, his mouth moving along my jaw as he turns around in my arms. His body feels tired. He guides my hand under my shirt and presses it against his stomach, an appreciative sound escaping from him as I hold him. And then a request, “Mmm, fondle me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be so vague.”

“Fondle me now.”

“Much better.”

It’s times like these when it pays to be a secret agent, to be able to put him in hiding, so that we’re not in L.A. or Pittsburgh, we’re just in bed, where we should be. His willing suspension of disbelief has already taken him there, I can tell. His imagination’s so much more powerful than mine. And once we’re there, he may be smaller than me, younger than me, and, more often than not, underneath me, but the cues are his to give and mine to follow. I’m no fool. I’m always at his mercy.

Granting me the privilege of being in charge, never really wanting it any other way, that’s the true artist in him.

His eyes close as I hold him, my hand smoothing over his chest, his nipples hardening beneath my fingertips.

“I’m sleepy, just a few minutes.”

“It’s fine.”

I rest my lips behind his ear. He stirs about ten minutes later when my hand brushes past his cock, pulling him tighter against me.

“You’re hard, Brian.”

“Just for that, you can keep my pants, too.”

He turns around in my arms, a seductively innocent look on his face, “I don’t want your pants. I want your belt.”

The smile on my face is the only answer he needs. I don’t say anything, just sit up. He sits up after I do, reaches over to his nightstand, picks up my belt, and lays it beside me as he lies across my lap. I smooth my right hand from his shoulder blades down the back of his legs, my shirt covering his ass as he watches me, his eyes never leaving my face.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look like this, Justin.” He smiles, sort of embarrassed.

“I thought of something funny the other day about one of your ad campaigns when I was thinking about this.” I roll my lips in, raise my eyebrows.

“You mean ‘jerking off about this.’”

“Whatever. Like you don’t. I was thinking that you could take your Endovir campaign and sell it to some BDSM people and call it Bendoverdear.”

“You’re a fucking genius.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. He’s so proud of himself.

“I know. You totally have to let me do the art, though.”

“Of course. You’re so uniquely qualified.”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe I could talk Remson into developing a tiny, little pill that you could give beautiful, blond, bottom boys that will make them automatically lose their pants and strike this very perfect position over your lap.”

“If he does, it will only work on me.”

“And over my knee.”

“It won’t make very much money then.”

“The fuck it won’t. You’ll be taking one three times a day for the rest of your life.”

He laughs as I run my fingers through his hair and then down the side of his face. He holds my hand for a second before letting go, reaching back, and pulling my shirt up. The fabric pools around his shoulders as he lays his hand back on the bed by his face. I trace the outline of his figure with my index finger. Seeing him like this, his perfect ass, perfectly presented, his legs firm and together, all of him waiting for me, after three months—

Christ, it’s almost more than I can take.

“You’re giving me chills, Brian.” His voice brings me out of my reverie. “What’re you thinking about?”

“You. This. Coming all over everything.” Somebody must be putting truth serum in the water here. “The arch of your back. How badly I wanna stick something big, like the Space Shuttle, up your ass.”

“Brian.” He arches his back a little more. It’s subtle, but I notice it and it feels wonderful under my hand. It almost breathtaking.

“Nice, Justin.”

When my hand slides under his shirt, firm pressure on his upper back, he stops breathing. I feel myself get wet. My right hand smoothes over his ass as he moans and exhales at the same time, reaching for my cock, his fingers skimming over the top. The look on my face reminds him that he needs to be still. He licks his fingers and lays his hand back by his face, the expression on his face an apology. The muscles in his body tense as he feels my hands on his thighs. Foreshadowing for him, I guess.

“Relax.”

I slide him closer to me, almost cradling him in my arms. It surprises him at first, he thinks he’s done something wrong, but then he puts his arm around my waist, burying his face against my hip. It feels good. I bend my knees to keep him still, to take the burden off of him, my fingers stroking his hair.

“Better?” I whisper.

“Yes,” his far hand pets the side of my body, and then presses flat against my chest when I lube my fingers and push him open. “Oh god.” He’s virtually helpless in this position. I think he just figured that out. “Please don’t make me come.”

Yeah, he just figured that out.

“You won’t. I won’t let you. Don’t worry.”

The anticipation of submitting to me and of being fucked afterwards and all of him opens up to me every single time. It’s flattering, it’s arousing as fuck, and it’s a responsibility. The pleasure he gets from this goes far beyond the boundaries of his skin, and he won’t be able to get there safely, ride the waves as they come for him, or be able to enjoy a peaceful trip back if I don’t pay attention to everything he’s feeling the entire time, physically and emotionally. When he chooses to submit, when he’s open, all of him is open, not just his body. It goes far beyond that; he trusts me to enhance his experience, to free him to enjoy it, and to protect his escalating fragility at the same time.

He’s such a bottom boy. I love to watch his face when I’m fingering him, the way he gasps for each ecstatic breath. I stop moving inside him and just pause, knowing he’ll come, knowing he wants to, my thumb rubbing gently over his balls. He waits, anxious, squeezing my fingers.

……

……

He grips my waist hard when I pull out and spank him. “Uh god.” The only leverage he has involves pushing against me, which he doesn’t want to do. It frustrates him. My hand’s tingling in no time. He clenches his bottom, his legs. He’s panting. “Uh, Brian.”

I stop and comfort him, my hot hand rubbing the back of his legs. He loves the way that feels, his body relaxing under my touch. He reaches back and feels how warm his ass is and smiles at me. I smile back.

“You okay?” I stroke between his thighs and he purrs.

“Very.”

“I want you back in your regular position.”

“Why?” He stops touching himself. His voice changes.

“It’ll give you more control.” There’s a difference between submissive and helpless. He nods against my hip, relieved that he didn’t make me unhappy.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He runs his hand over my chest for a minute or so, playing with my nipples, kissing the parts of my body he can reach. I stop him after a few minutes, my voice soft, but firm, “Okay, let’s go.”

He readies himself for me, his eyes on mine, dark and focused. His body is beautifully obedient as he soaks up every bit of stinging heat my hand brings him, the pleasure he feels at being humiliated like this making him hard and vulnerable at the same time. It’s the amazing, perilous place he wants to be. The skin on his face is so soft; he clutches my hand when I touch it, grounding himself because he’s spinning. That’s the way it feels to me when I watch him go. He’s spins like an old metal top, like the ones I had as a kid that if you spun them just right, they’d spin forever. But only if you knew what you were doing. It took a lot of practice, but once you got it just right, you could do it for hours, and it would go and go and go.

He can spin like that. I just have to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t get out of my reach.

God, I’m so hard.

His tongue peeks out between his teeth, he doesn’t realize it, when I press between his shoulder blades for the second time tonight, holding him down. I rub the back of his thighs and right below his bottom a couple of times before I bring my hand down in the same places. I can feel him trying to move away from me.

“Justin.”

I raise my left leg underneath him, brushing his cock. He gasps my name.

“Wet, wet boy.”

He whimpers.

“And so hard for me.”

He licks his lips.

“You’re going to do something for me in a few minutes, Justin.”

“Brian,” he begs.

The longer I spank the back of his legs, the sweet edge of his ass, the louder he gets, my name over and over.

“Brian……Brian, Brian, please.”

I stop, and he catches his breath, reaching for me, his hand stroking my leg. I wind my belt in my hand and he stops breathing. It’s what he wants, but he’ll resist, heightens the experience for him, and for me. I take his hand off my leg and place it back on the bed. He won’t look at me.

“Won’t take long. I’ll be quick,” I reassure him, stroking his face. He moans, a tear rolling down his cheek. He wipes it away. “Look at me, Justin.” He refuses, shakes his head. ”Look at me.” He does, finally, that tear joined by another. “Come here.”

He gets up, straddling me, his head on my shoulder. Doesn’t want me to see his face? I wrap him in my arms, worried that I’ve hurt him, that something went too far, that I missed a signal.

“What’s wrong? I hurt you?”

“No. No. God, no.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” He breathes heavy against me. “Justin, what? You’re freaking me out. Please tell me.” He doesn’t say anything for almost two minutes, not with words anyway, his hand smoothing from my jaw down my neck and back again.

“I miss you.” He misses me. “I just miss you.” More vulnerable than hard now.

“I miss you, too. You have no idea.”

“I can’t believe you’re really here. I just can’t believe it. I’ve missed you so much. I can’t stand it, being away from you—"

“I can’t stand it either.” He smiles when I say that.

“It’s like you forget what it’s like, you make yourself forget, and then you just show up all of a sudden? You know?”

“I know.” I hold my belt up. “I take it we’re done with this?” It makes him laugh.

“Yeah. Just fuck me.” I toss it on the floor, and he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. “I don’t want to drive.”

“That’s okay. I do.” His fingers wrap around the rungs in his headboard after he lies face down on the bed. I lie on top of him, pulling his hands off the headboard and back to his body, my cock lodged comfortably between his firm little cheeks.

“I want you, Brian.” I break the bad news to him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Please remain seated. We appear to be having a few minor technical difficulties, but the flight crew assures me that we should be underway in no time.”

“Uh oh.”

“Please enjoy this complimentary molestation in the meantime.” He starts to rise up.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to.”

“Please put your tray table back in the prone position.” He laughs.

“Retard.” And lies back down. I kiss his shoulders, the top of his back. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“I know. It’s just gonna take a second.”

“I scared you.”

“It’s okay.” I brush his hair off of his face. “Don’t get upset. It happens. It’s fine.”

“It just happened really fast, that I felt that way.” And he’s getting upset.

“Justin, we’ve been apart for three months. It’s understandable. It’s okay to be emotional when we’re fucking. That just means that we’re like normal people.”

“Oh my god. We are.”

“Perish the thought.”

“We’re not normal.”

“Well, you’re not. You’re a little kink-mister. You spend more time on your knees than—"

“Shut up, Brian.” I laugh at him. “You’re one to talk. You’re hard as a rock.” Son of a bitch.

“I was imagining you on your knees.”

“Fuck me.”

“I need a little bit of foreplay, thank you very much. Jesus.”

“You can have as much as you want, as long as you don’t lose your erection.” Bossy little thing, isn’t he?

He smiles when I whisper in his ear, “You don’t run this show, Sunshine,” and closes his eyes, moaning quietly as I press my now-ready cock against him. I slide my arms underneath him, making sure there’s no space between us. “You feel so good.”

“Mmmm.” He turns his head to the other side, so I can kiss the other side of his face. “Kiss my neck next.” I love to kiss the back of his neck, where his hairline is. I love to run my nose through his hair. It always smells so good. And the little groove where his neck meets his shoulder, I could kiss that for an hour, and then switch sides. I live to slide my tongue inside it. He always laughs because it tickles. I could care less, I do it anyway. He reaches behind him, into my hair, “I don’t wanna wait anymore,” spreads his legs, pushing up underneath me.

He takes me, tight and quick, exactly the way I like. It almost makes me come.

“Justin, fuck.”

He tightens around my cock, pushing and pushing against me as I fuck him. Doesn’t wanna drive, my ass. I’m the one who’s supposed to have jet lag.

He wants to be fucked.

I pull out, slap him on the hip, “Get up. On your knees.” He looks back and up at me, giving me a coy smile when he sees that it’s not a request and pushes up on his knees. “This is what you need,” I tell him as I slide back inside him.

“Uh, fuck.” A heavy sigh comes out of him as I push his head down. It changes the angle of my thrusts, making him moan and actually shake for a second. “God, oh god, Brian.”

I fuck him nice…and slow.

He pushes against me, tries to set the pace, and I warn him to stop, “Justin, I’m fucking you. I’ve had enough of that.” His moaning’s going to fucking destroy me. He protests when I press right above his pretty ass, a signal for him to arch more for me, my cock bumping his prostate over and over. But he does what I tell him to do, whimpering that he’s about to come because he knows I’m not. I could if I wanted to, but not just yet.

When I am ready, when I speed up, my thighs pushing hard against him, he pants into the sheets, his fingers wrapping around the iron headboard again.

“One hand, Justin. The other on your cock.” His moan’s part trepidation and part relief as he starts to stroke, my hand running in between his thighs as I watch him.

“This is where I really wanted to spank you tonight, Justin.” My hand wanders up to his balls. “So close to your heavy, warm balls.” I squeeze them.

He cries out for me and comes everywhere. I grab his hips and pound him hard. “Oh god, damn, fuck Brian. That hurts.” And spill inside him so hard I see firecrackers, one after the other.

“Hold still, Justin. Hold still.” I want to enjoy this, coming like this. Goddamn, mother fuck, this is beautiful. I just need him to be still and be quiet and be still and be quiet and be still—

But he doesn’t.

“Fuck.” He collapses onto the bed. And then so do I, right on top of him. I tie off the condom and send it flying the friendly skies, jet lagged little swimmers and all. “Brian, you’re smooshing me.” I roll off and he turns right around and tells me to hold him.

“You’re confusing, you know that?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. ‘I’m tired. Fuck me, Brian. No wait, I’m tired again. I want this. No, I want that. No wait, I want both—’”

“Shut. Up. I can’t help I want what I want when I want it.” I agree.

“Oh, you clearly can’t. It’s completely beyond your control.” His head rises off my chest.

“I feel like I should be really mad at you right now, but I can’t be.”

"That's because you know I’m right.”

“No, because you just made love to me. And so the fuck what anyway, it’s why you love me.”

I kiss the top of his head, a smile on my face, “You’re right.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” the truth serum has been re-activated. “I love every stubborn, idealistic, idiosyncratic little inch of you from the top of your blond little head to the bottom of your cute little toes.” Honest to god, he has the most adorable toes I’ve ever seen. He looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Are you on something?” I have to think about it for a minute. I don’t think I am.

Nope, I’m not.

“Nope.”

“Then what the fuck?” I think about it some more and then I think I figure it out.

“I think I’m just not horny for the first time in ninety-some days. That must be it.”

He purses his lips in thought, “That’s gotta be it. We’ll just be quiet for like ten minutes, and you’ll be back to normal.” He kisses me on the cheek and lies back down.

“Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

“Seriously, cut that out. Just be quiet.”

“I really do think you have cute toes. I mean they’re not as perfect as your ass, but they’re pretty cute.” I’m trying not to laugh.

“Stop it. If you can just be quiet, I’ll blow you when the ten minutes are up.”

“I love you.”

“Starting now, Brian.”

“Really, really a lot.”

“One more word and no blow job.”

“Okay.”

“Brian.”

Okay. But I really do.

I use my ten minutes to ponder the fact that if you spend your life being an asshole and then decide to quit being an asshole, no one’s gonna go for that.

People hate change.

Maybe I should create an ad campaign to prepare people for The Change.

Hmmm.

He uses his ten minutes to toss and turn, get up and blow out the last remaining candle, turn off the music, come back to bed with a bottle of water, wrinkle my shirt all to hell, drink half the bottle of water, and then make me all hard again by kissing me while his leg is hung over my hip. He’s hard, I’m hard, and then he’s asleep, breathing his warm breath in my ear, making those little sleepy noises he makes that sound like moans but aren’t, at nine minutes and thirty seconds, and I don’t get fellated.

“I love you, you adorable, sound asleep, little asshole.”

I kept up my end of the deal.

The end.

Lyrics are from The Eagles, Hotel California, Billy Joel, Big Shot, The Cars, Tonight She Comes, and Sophie B. Hawkins Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover

Everything at Once-Epilogue 3.2-Extended Scene-Exposed-Justin's POV-NC-17+
More reunion sex....

Author's Notes: This extended scene is the sequel to Everything at Once-Epilogue 3.1-Extended Scene-Frenzy which was an extended scene written to expand on Everything at Once-Epilogue 3-Accomplished-Part 1. This particular extended scene is very intense sexually. Just to clarify, the difference between a deleted scene and an extended scene is that a deleted scene was cut because the plot changed or I didn't like it for some reason. An extended scene, I write on purpose to expand on a part of EAO that I want to expand on..... Extended scenes are not rejects. :-) I hope you like it. Thanks to fiercediva for the beta!

EPILOGUE 3.2-EXTENDED SCENE-EXPOSED
JUSTIN’S POV

this is no ordinary love

4:42 a.m. Friday morning

I never thought I’d actually wake up and see him in my bed, asleep, dreaming, I think. He slept through most of the night, but not completely. He never does when I fall asleep facing him. I woke up after we’d been asleep for about three hours because he was sucking me off.

There’s nothing I love more than waking up with Brian’s head between my legs.

It’s hard to explain, but I feel so…..privileged or so empowered or something to wake up to his greedy mouth on me. And the fact that he doesn’t even care if I’m awake, that I can’t even describe. He wants me. That just makes me feel invincible.

I usually wake up and just lie quietly and enjoy it, his hair running through my fingers like cool silk as it rubs softly against my stomach. I picture my dick in his mouth, his hands touching me. Half the time when Brian wakes up in the morning with really bad bed head, it’s pretty much my fault. I fuck his hair all up when he blows me. I like it. It’s fun. I don’t really care that he doesn’t suck me off in public. I can’t really mess up his hair in the back room. He'd kill me.

He lets my orgasm rise quietly inside me and then charms it right out of me, and I always want to squeeze him to death as I flood his mouth. He doesn’t swallow, he always kisses me, letting my come run onto my tongue. He teases me after I swallow, his tongue sweeping my mouth, “Did you swallow all of it?”

“Of course.” I turn around and a few seconds later, he’s wrapped around me, his fingers pushing inside me in this thick, possessive way.

“You’re still wet.”

“Mmm.” I no sooner close my eyes, and he’s fucking me.

He makes love to me like it’s just for me, pushing deep inside me and just staying there for a long time. It makes me want more. I look back at him, and he kisses me. “Feel good?”

“It feels too good.”

“Shhh. Go back to sleep. Just let me have this.” He kisses my shoulders, my neck, keeping me full, my face rubbing against the sheets as he moans in my ear, “This is good. So good.” He squeezes me. “So tight.” He kisses my ear. “So beautiful.”

I fall asleep while he’s still inside me.

********************
diamond life, lover boy

8:21 a.m.

This morning he opens his eyes just briefly, at first. I don’t think he remembers where he is right away. The second time they open, they’re clear and he looks right at me as I sit facing him against the opposite end of the bed. He reaches out and tickles the bottom of my feet. I pull them away, grinning at him.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

“Hey.”

“Don’t you look--?” He searches for the right word. I’ve surprised him. He raises his eyebrow and smiles at me.

“How’d you sleep?” He gets out of bed and comes over and kisses me, his hand lingering on my neck.

“In your ass.” He goes to take a piss, his eyes lingering on me as he walks away. He’s intrigued. I’m going to tie him to the bed at some point so he can’t leave.

But not this morning.

He comes back to bed, and I turn and stand on my knees to greet him. His fingers trail the black leather collar around my neck. It contrasts sharply against his red shirt that I’m still wearing, that I slept in.

“Justin Taylor, where in the world did you get this?” I think he likes it. That makes me lick my lips for some reason. I have no idea why.

“Same place I got a bunch of other stuff that I’m hiding from you right now.” His eyebrow goes up again. I want to throw him down on the bed and attack him every time he looks at me like that. He’s so damn sexy.

“Really?”

But I don’t. I light his cigarette for him and hand him that and his gourmet coffee that was just delivered before he woke up.

Yeah, I said delivered.

“Yep.” He looks at his coffee cup like he has no idea how it got here, and then sips it, his eyes lidded over the rim, his cigarette dangling between his fingers. He gives me a suspicious stare. “Living in the lap of luxury.” He laughs when I say that.

“And I thought it was my lap you preferred.”

“I guess I never met a lap I didn’t like.” He rolls his lips in, a mischievous expression on his face.

“You’re asking for trouble, you know that, right?” I scoot closer to him, closer to the edge of the bed.

“I just want what I want when I want it.” I run my hand up his stomach and over his chest. “Just like you.”

“Just like me?”

“Just like you.”

“Oh, I think you and I are a little different.” He leans over to the nightstand, sits his coffee down, puts his cigarette out, and comes back to me. “Don’t you?” He kisses me, his hands strong and wide on my back.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

He smirks at me like I’m full of shit for a few seconds, long enough that it starts to make me uncomfortable, and then his expression changes. His eyes focus in on me, soft and hard at the same time, his hands coming out from underneath my shirt and sliding around my neck. He pulls my face to his and somehow makes me kiss him, draws my tongue into his mouth. My knees almost buckle. His kiss is so gentle, his grip on me so tight. His fingers comb through my hair as he pulls away, his forehead touching mine.

“You want to be collared?” I feel like I’m going to fall.

“Yes.” I can barely hear myself.

He unsnaps it in his fingers behind my neck, making me lean against him.

Silence.

For him.

A pounding rush of blood to my face and then between my legs for me.

It’s what I want.

His disapproval.

It floods me.

It’s what I crave.

His attention.

“Then earn it.”

…….

…….

“Okay.”

I almost apologize, but he hates that, so I just sit down on my heels and wait. He strokes my hair, my face, and tosses the collar on the nightstand. I lean into his hand. I need to feel him. I need him to touch me, to correct me.

“Good boy.”

He kneels in front of me on the bed and I back up a little to give him room, his knees framing mine. My head is down, not because it has to be, just because it feels like it should be. He unbuttons the last few buttons on my shirt, parting the fabric, his hands making quick work of it. He smoothes that same hand down my stomach, his other hand around my neck. I was hard, but I lost it when he took my collar away. I watch his fingers move through my pubic hair and then start stroking me, slowly.

“Let go of me, Justin.”

“Brian.”

“You can touch me after you come.” I take my hands off his arms and rest them on my thighs. He’s moving too slow.

……..

……..

“You want me to kiss you?”

“Please.” I look up at him and he leans in and kisses me, his tongue barely inside my mouth. I moan in frustration, pushing up on my knees to deepen the kiss.

”Sit down,” he orders me down, and I come in his hand, ashamed.

“Fuck.” He strokes me through my orgasm, smearing my come all over me.

“Now you can get up.” I push up, keeping my head down, and he lifts it, kissing me hard, wanting me to kiss him back. He leans over, grabs the collar, and fastens it back around my neck. ”I collar you. Understand?”

“Yes.”

********************
no place for beginners or sensitive hearts

His hands on my face mean more to me than anything; they’re warm and soft, but strong, as he tilts my face back up to his. I know this will be the last time I make direct eye contact with him for awhile, just the anticipation of that’s thrilling me and crushing me at the same time. His thumbs rub gently over my cheekbones; he leans in and kisses me. I can feel his fingers running along the lower edge of my collar. When his lips touch mine, his tongue flicks inside my mouth. My hands tighten on his upper arms. His kiss is soft and wet and over too soon. His eyes are dark and flecked with green, the morning sun coming through the curtains. I cover his hand on my face. It’s more or less what he’s been waiting for. He leans down as I look down, my eyes drifting over the muscles in his arms as he whispers in my ear,

“I’m going to take very good care of you, Justin.” I nod, noticing that he’s hard, wanting to touch him so badly. “I’m going to give you everything you want.” His breath’s scorching my ear. “Everything.” He lets me lie against him for a minute or so, lets me touch him. I moan when I feel how wet he is. “Feel how much I want you when you’re a good boy for me?”

“You want me.”

“Every bit of you.”

He lets go of me and walks around the bed to the other side so that he’s behind me. I hear him behind me before I feel him--his movements, his breathing. It’s bright enough in here, but I can feel the darkness. He lays his belt beside me on the bed; I can see it out of the corner of my eye. It unravels a little, touching my leg. I feel his hands on my shoulders, smoothing down my arms, in front of my chest, his fingers beginning to unbutton the rest of his shirt. I let out a deep breath when he touches my skin. His breath is warm and moist on my neck as he holds me, my shirt open, his hands sliding up my stomach and over my chest and down again as he talks to me.

“This was a nice way to wake up, Justin.” I smile. He kisses the side of my face, his fingers moving to play with my hair. I can feel his erection pressing into my back, he’s so close to me. His voice gets extremely low, “I know what you want.” I lean my face against his and close my eyes or he pulls it. I can’t tell anymore. His arms hold me tightly against him. “I know everything, Justin.” I tilt my head back a little, and he kisses me, my eyes having no need to open. It’s a short kiss, more of a promise than anything else. I can feel his shirt slipping off my shoulders. He holds me again, his hands pressing down my stomach and in between my thighs. I moan. He wraps his generous hands around my inner thighs and spreads them apart a little and then,

“Lean forward. On your hands.”

My voice escapes before I can stop it, “Not yet.” It’s just, he’s holding me, and I don’t want him to stop.

He urges me softly, “C’mon.”

My hands leave the comfort of my body, of his body, of their own volition, somehow. I see them, my fingers spread against the sheets. I pretend he’s still holding me, until he lets go of my thighs, and I feel his hands on my ass.

“Up. Get it up.”

Oh god.

I want to look back at him, to see if the expression on his face matches the tone of his voice, but I don’t. I want to collapse, but I look at my hands instead.

His fingers wind in my hair and pull my head back, “Keep your head up.”

“Please, Brian.”

“No.”

I stare at my dresser, as it gets blurry. It’s way too early for tears.

Shit.

He hears me, my breathing gives me away. His fingers wind back in my hair. He doesn’t trust me. He’s no fool. I refuse to cry while he spanks me, while he warms me up. It’s a game I play with myself.

I never win.

He never lets go of my hair.

When he pauses, I look forward to him releasing my head, but he doesn’t. His right hand slips between my legs, warm from spanking me, and cups my balls. I gasp.

“Uh.”

“Why aren’t you hard for me, Justin?” I flush. My balls are on fire. His hot fingers wander to my cock. “Am I spanking the wrong thing?” I shake my head.

“No.”

He releases my hair.

“Down.” I bend my elbows and lay my face on the sheets. I’ve never been so grateful to be released in my life. “You will get hard for me, Justin,” his warm hand trails up and down my inner thigh. I moan and spread my legs. “Little more.” He pushes on my other thigh. I arch my back, raise my ass, and spread my legs even wider for him. “That’s perfect. Now, hold still for me.” His hand slaps my inner thighs while his other keeps my legs apart. I beg him to fuck me.

“Oh, I can’t wait. But you’re going to.” His cock presses against my burning thigh. “Feel that?”

“Yes.”

“I could come just from that. Christ.” He lets me feel how wet he is, rubbing against me, and checks to see if I’m hard for him now. I hate the smile in his voice. “I knew that would get you there.” He fingers my slit. “My wet boy.” I rut in his hand. He stops stroking me. “Way too early for that, isn’t it?”

He makes me admit it.

“Yes.”

“Hand me my belt.”

I reach for it and hand it to him, turning my head to the right after he takes it from me. His hands grip my hips and pull me back to the edge of the bed. I watch my fingers slide on the sheets. He leans over me, the belt wound in his right hand, and lays it front of my face. I cover his hand with mine and breathe in the smell of the leather. He kisses the side of my face.

“You’re such a good boy for me.” He brushes the hair out of my face. “I’ve never wanted to fuck you so badly in my entire life.”

“Please hold me.” I want him to so badly. I don’t want him to leave me.

“When we’re done. When we’re all done. I promise.”

“Please. I need you.” He wraps his arms underneath me, letting go of my hand. I feel safe, protected.

“You need to listen to me.” He hugs me tighter. “Are you listening?”

“Yes.” It’s a whisper.

“You’re fine. You’re perfect.” He kisses my neck. “You’re so fucking hot right now, you’re about to make my dick explode. Do you want my dick to explode?” He teases me.

“No.”

“I know what you want. Don’t I?”

“I want you so bad, Brian."

“Don’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy." His voice gets serious and lower. “You don’t need to worry about anything, Justin. I’ve got you.” His lips run down the side of my face. “I’ve always got you.”

Every bit of me.

I feel the tears filling my eyes when his belt is gone from my view, when his weight is off of me. His left hand spreads wide on my back, pinning me down.

This is it.

It’ll feel like forever, but then I’ll never want it to end.

It’s better and worse than I’ve been fantasizing about every night for three months, the sound of the leather against my skin, the feel of his fingers pressing into me when I flinch, the things he says to me. There’s nothing I can say to him over the phone that can let him know how much I’ve missed this. My tears become audible when he belts the back of my thighs. He ignores me, pushing me forward on my hands.

“Oh god, don’t.”

The leather cuts against the edge of my ass. He stops when I start crying his name and reaches for lube. I try to catch my breath. His slick fingers slide inside me.

“You’re doing fine, Justin. Calm down.”

It’s maddening, this, what he does to me, making me want him to fuck the shit out of me and deny me his affection and punish me hard and fast and hold me and never let me go all at the same time.

“This is what you want, Justin.” His fingers feel so good inside me. “Tell me this is what you want.”

No.

He pulls out of me.

“Yes.”

“Thought so.” And pushes right back in. It takes everything in my power not to fuck his hand. “You’d spend your life on your hands and knees if I let you. You want to come for me?”

“Please let me, please.”

……

……

He pulls out again.

“We’re not done.”

I bury my face in the sheets in frustration. He tells me to stop. I feel his fingers outside my hole, spreading me apart, and my words pour out of me before I can stop them, “No no no.”

“Shhh.”

His belt comes down on my hole. I clench my fists underneath me.

“Brian, please, I’m begging you, don’t.” There’s no pain like this pain. His strokes are deliberate and perfect and quick, a means to an end.

“Now, you need to be fucked.” He tosses his belt next to my head, puts on a condom, and pushes inside me hard. It hurts. Oh god, it hurts.

“Oh god. Shit. Oh god.” He grips my waist, pounding into me.

“Don't come, Justin.”

“Please. Brian, please.”

“No.” He pushes my upper back against the bed, his size an advantage over me, especially when he’s inside me. I can’t move. “Such a warm little ass. God, I love fucking you. So sore and so tight.”

I try not to think about anything, to clear my mind, but this is what I want. Him. Wanting me. Having to have me. Just taking me. Whatever he wants. God, I’ve been waiting forever for this—

“Come inside your red, hot, little ass, Justin.”

“Oh shit.” I’m gonna come. He can feel it. “Fuck.” He pulls out and spanks me hard. Really hard. “You heard me.” I cover my face.

“I won’t. Please. I won’t.” He tells me he can’t even understand me.

He pushes back in, fucks me so hard, and comes so fast it surprises me. He doesn’t even let himself enjoy it before he pulls out, loses the condom and rolls me on my back, the belt in his hand again. He moves so fast, I don’t have time to think.

“Open your legs.” I shake my head, trying to wipe the tears off my face. “Do you want to come?”

"Yes."

"Spread your legs."

I spread them and his belt comes down hard and fast on my inner thighs, nicking my balls. I can’t look at him or the belt anymore; I can’t look at anything. I can only listen to his voice.

“Do you like this, Justin?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me you like it.”

“Yes, I like it.”

“You love it.”

“I love it.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” I feel his hands pushing my legs apart. I start to cry again. I didn’t know I'd stopped.

That he'd stopped.

“Look at me. I want you to look at me.”

“I can’t. I can’t look at you.” He takes my hands off my face. I can feel him breathing on me. He’s lying on top of me.

“It’s almost over.” He kisses me. “You need to come for me, Justin,” his voice is sweet and soft. I’m pushed up farther on the bed to make room for him. He settles quickly between my legs, his arms wrapping around either one of thighs, both numb with pain. He kisses them softly.

“Oh god.” He presses his face against my thigh. His stubble burns, I’m so sore. His lips feel like feathers on my balls. The room is spinning.

“I need you to come for me, Justin.”

“I will.” I will.

His arms are so strong around my legs, holding them open. His tongue sizzles on my thighs, then feels cool when it laps at my balls. I pull on his hair, something to hold on to. The licking, the sucking….

“I wanna hear you, Justin.” His fingers thread through my pubic hair. Something like a moan comes out of me. I shiver when his tongue touches my cock.

“Brian, Brian.”

“Much better.”

His shoulders push up under the back of my thighs, pulling on my hot skin. “Ah, ah.” My calves rest on his back.

“C’mon, Sunshine, let’s go.” He swallows my cock. I fuck his face, my hands slamming into the mattress for leverage, the burning skin on the back of my legs rubbing against his shoulders. He grabs my thighs even harder when he feels me tighten; the pain so intense, it makes me writhe to get away from him. He sucks my orgasm out of me, holding me down. I struggle, but I don’t want him to let me go. I squeeze his head with my legs when I come in his mouth. He lies on top of me again, holding me, petting my hair.

“Mmm, that was nice, being strangled by your hot, little thighs.” He makes me laugh. He kisses me.

“Thank you.” I mean the whole morning. He knows what I mean. I kiss him back.

“Roll over.” I figure he wants to fuck. Fine with me. I’m too tired to argue. But he doesn’t. “Just relax.”

He rims me.

I close my eyes. Every time he does this I think about our first night together. If you would’ve told me that night that four years later, Brian Kinney would be eating my ass in my bed in Hollywood, I’d have told you that you were smoking some shit that was cooked up in some bathtub in Tijuana.

But he is.

“I love eating your warm, pink, little bottom.”

“Room service.”

It’s so nice just to have him here and have him there.

“Jesus Christ, I’ve missed this. Your ass is a fucking delicacy.”

“You spoil me.”

His tongue is gentle and slippery as he kisses my asshole, pushing inside as he feels me relax for him, teasing me as he fucks me with it. I love when he puts his mouth on me like this, when I get all of his attention. I look over at the chair where our clothes are still laying from last night and then at the window seat where his suitcase is and my fantasy starts to unravel. I turn my head away from the window and look in the other direction, reaching back for his hand where it rests on my lower back. Our fingers intertwine.

My eyes rest on his watch and his wallet on top of my dresser next to mine. I tug on his hand. He stops, kissing my ass good-bye like he’s leaving for work or something, and comes up and lies beside me without saying a word. He takes me in his arms, facing him. I feel drunk, almost hung over. I press against him, as close as I can get. We finally make real eye contact again. He looks at me, his gaze steady, a quiet, curious smile on his face, while he takes off my collar and throws it on the floor. His fingers stroke my neck where it was.

“Did I get whatever it was out of your system?”

“Completely.” I’m falling asleep, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to waste my time with him sleeping. He puts his leg over my body and pulls me closer.

“Only gonna be here a short amount of time. Had to kill a lot of kinks with one stone.”

“Very funny.” His fingers trail my face and then hold it in his hand. His legs rubs against my ass.

“I’m not gonna wake up tomorrow morning to see you hanging from the ceiling in a leather harness am I?”

“Yeah, right. You’re the most retarded Casanova I’ve ever met.” He thinks that’s really funny, but he knows it’s true.

“I just want a little bit of warning, that’s all. So I can be prepared.”

“Yes, you’re always prepared for everything.”

“Gotta get a remote control, like in 9 to 5, so I can zoom you all over the ceiling.” He pretends that’s what he’s doing, zooming his hand all over the place. He’s having a blast, and I’m not even up there. Seriously, the man can entertain himself.

“That’s a really old movie.” He gives me an evil look. I give him one right back. He changes the subject. Ha.

“Your bottom is still warm.” Much better subject. He kisses me. I taste myself. God, I’ve missed that. “I wanna be in it.”

“M’kay.” I roll over, listening to the condom open, feeling his fingers and then his cock as he pushes inside me fast. I love the fuck after the fuck.

“Sore?”

“Yeah.”

He whispers in my ear, “I love fucking you when you’re sore.” I reach behind me, touching his face.

“I love you, too.” He laughs.

I tuck my hands under my pillow, closing my eyes, as he moves inside me, painfully, slowly. It’s the kind of pain I love. Eventually, he lifts my thigh up a little so he can get even deeper inside me.

“There you go.” He feels it, how he owns me, how he always has. He’s wrapped around me so tightly; you couldn’t slide a piece of paper between us. His movements are forceful and intrusive and wonderful. This fuck is for him; everything else has been for me. He can have anything he wants.

“God, I want you. God.”

I love him.

I love when his voice sweats, when I can feel his words dripping on my neck.

“Let me have you, let me take you. Fuck, I want that so bad.”

He undoes me when he fucks me like this, his arms diving underneath me when I moan, when he knows I can’t take it anymore. He hugs me tight, pushing the air out of me, his hips snapping against me. I press against the bed for leverage. He comes hard inside me, “Yes, perfect, hot, and warm, and goddamn perfect,” falling on top of me. I don’t care if I ever breathe again.

“Exactly what I want. So fucking good, Justin.” He brushes my wet hair up off the back of my neck so he can kiss it. I try to keep my eyes open.

“Brian?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re exactly what I want, too.” I feel him smile on the back of my neck.

A few minutes later he pulls out of me, and I lie with him, facing him again. He pulls my low-thread-count sheets up over us and wraps them around us tightly, using his leg to keep me where he wants me. I smile at him, his face getting darker and darker as I lose the fight to keep my eyes open.

“Sleep.”

“Don’t want to.”

“You need to. Not for long. Just a little bit. I’ll wake you up in awhile.” His hands are soft on my back, my ass.

“Promise. Don’t get up. Don’t leave.”

“I promise.”

“Not even on Sunday.”

“Nice try.”

“I just want what I want when I want it.” He laughs quietly.

“And I want you to go to sleep.”

“Okay. You win.” He kisses me on the forehead and tucks my head against his chest. It's time for me to shut up, but I whisper anyway, “This time.”

The end.

Lyrics taken from Sade’s No Ordinary Love and Smooth Operator.

EVERYTHING AT ONCE-EPILOGUE 3.3-EXTENDED SCENE-FLOAT

JUSTIN’S POV

oh, won't you stay,
just a little bit longer?

I wish he wasn’t leaving tomorrow. These last few days with him have almost seemed like a dream, except for today. Today was a nightmare called Disneyland. When we complained about being worn out at the end of our excellent adventure, Matt said, “Well, if you hadn’t fucked the whole time…”

But we weren’t always fucking behind the old Lemonade Hut thing. Sometimes we were just making out. It won’t ever matter how old Brian really gets because his libido is permanently fourteen. My feet are killing me from walking all over that place, but my ass feels fine.

Go figure.

Brian and I took a shower as soon as we got home, and that was nice, too. I’m going to miss just standing under the warm water with him. There are things that happen, things that transpire, in moments like that, things that can only be uttered under the rush of running water. It seems to give us some sort of emotional amnesty. He tells me that he loves me, that he misses me, that it’s too quiet in the loft when I’m not there—like I make a lot of noise or something. Eventually, I told him that we had to get out because I was getting all pruney. He called me a princess.

So now, we’re lying on my bed which is only a queen, and a queen isn’t big enough for him. I think he’s told me that about seven times since he got here. And my sheets are not as fancy or as soft as his.

And I’m the princess.

Right.

I could care less about all the little revisions he’d make to my life if I’d let him when he’s holding me like this, when he smells incredible and his hair is almost dry but not quite, when his skin has that beautiful sheen to it. Between Brian and a picture deal, I’m pretty much the luckiest guy in the universe.

“You do realize that Gus is just like you,” I tell him.

“Why?”

“Because when I took him to the bathroom after that water ride, he didn’t have to pee. He just wanted to take his underwear off.”

“My little commando.” God, he’s beaming with pride.

“Then he handed them to me, like I wanted them. ‘Here, Mr. Justin. Don’t want them.’”

“What did you do with them?”

“I threw them out!” he laughs and rolls on top of me. “What the fuck else was I supposed to do with them?”

He shakes his head at me like I’m an idiot, “Give them to Lindsay? Duh.” Brian’s his father but god forbid he touch the dirty underwear.

“She was all the way over at the Haunted House. I wasn’t gonna walk around with your son’s wet underwear in my pocket for an hour. That’s gross.”

“You walked around with my underwear in your pocket for a whole day at St. James after I fucked your waspy, virgin ass for the first time. Sure didn’t bother you then.”

……

“This is why I hate you,” I tell him. “You’re like an elephant. You never forget anything.”

“Well, it’s why I love you. You’re a sea of swirling contradictions.” There was a compliment in there somewhere. I try to find it. “You’re such an entitled, well-provided for, little twat and yet you suck cock and toss salad like you’ve never had a square meal in your life.” His tongue pokes inside his cheek. “Frankly, it’s baffling.”

“I still have your underwear, Brian,” I say smugly.

“I’m sure if I look inside your pillowcase, I’ll find it.”

See what I mean about never letting me forget anything?

**************
and I was in crazy motion
'til you calmed me down

There is something about being with Brian, being in bed with him or just being around him, that’s very soothing sometimes. That seems like an oxymoron considering that he’s not exactly a calm person, but when I’m around him I often get this overwhelming sense of him taking care of everything. And when that happens, it feels like a guilty pleasure that I can just relax.

And it’s not like I have to tell him what I need. I can if I feel like it, but it’s usually redundant because he just knows, although sometimes he likes to hear me ask. That’s his guilty pleasure. And it’s probably exactly that—me asking for what I want—that’s gotten us through these months of separation. A few well chosen words from one of us, and the other is coming twenty-five hundred miles away. The guys in the backroom at Babylon have often been our unwitting surrogates as I’ve whispered filthy things into a cell phone while some random trick was blowing him. Brian comes so hard like that; he’s always amazed that the trick doesn’t fly off and slam into the opposite wall.

He’s been reading too many comic books.

In my mind, they do fly off and hit the opposite wall, but they always bounce and come flying back, scaring the shit out of him. I think I’ve been hanging around the special effects guys too long. Occupational hazard, I guess.

I miss having my brains fucked out on a regular basis, but mostly, I just miss this: lying here with him as he kisses me and plays with my hair and tells me things that I love to hear, but I’ll never repeat. He’d kill me; he has a reputation to protect.

So no one needs to know that the great Brian Kinney is really a great big woobie that occasionally likes to shower and snuggle and run his hands all over me while I lie here just smiling at him. If something like that ever got out, it could threaten national security.

But it’s really hard to give a shit about national security at a moment like this because he’s leaning down to kiss me, and when I moan into his kiss, he presses on my hip and turns me away from him. My stomach flutters; this is what I want.

His right hand moves over my ass as he speaks to me, “Show me what you want.”

I press back against him, “Mmm.” And that’s all it takes. It’s all he needs to know. He reaches over me and takes the lube and the applicator out of my drawer next to my bed and lays it on the sheets in front of me. He wants me to get it ready. He hovers over my shoulder, kissing it, as I fill the syringe with lube and hand it to him.

I raise my knees to my chest and feel him put a little lube outside my hole. I’ll moan non-stop for the next hour. “God, you need to be spanked, you know that?” he tells me, running the body of the syringe back and forth over my hole to get it wet. From this point on, I won’t do anything I’m not told to do and he knows it. I lean my head back a little and press my face against his neck. “Be a good boy for me,” he tells me as I feel the applicator slide inside me. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you moan like that.” He pushes the plunger and the lube squirts inside me, and then it’s gone, and I’m already starting to feel empty. He leans into my ear, “Cock between your legs.”

“Mmm.” I push my cock between my legs as his hand rubs the back of my thighs. Now he has all of me.

I want to be spanked like this. It’s totally different from being across his lap. There I have some control, some leverage, but like this, I have nothing. Nothing but a piece of my world breaking off and meandering out into space as I feel his finger trail the place where my ass ends and my leg begins. It’s one of the most sensitive parts of my body. I feel his left hand wiggle under me and pull me back to him, and I get wet because I know what comes next.

He starts to spank me and the sounds that I make and the tone of his voice ground me, “Perfect little ass.” My hand reaches back to hold onto him. It hurts when he spanks me, but in a way that isn’t pain. It feels like my soul starts to leave my body as the blows become more frequent and more intense. He stops every few seconds to rub my bottom and my legs, and then starts again. Only this time, he’s spanking right where my cock is tucked. My body jerks in his arms and he holds me tighter. “Good boy,” he tells me when I begin to settle back down. “Nice and still for me.”

“Oh god.”

His fingers start to play outside my asshole and then when he starts to penetrate me, I feel like my body sucks them inside me. I hear his low laugh in my ear and then he fucks me hard. I almost come, and he pulls out right before I do and spanks me, “You don’t have permission to come.”

“Uh.” He punishes me by making me hand him my dildo. The cool plastic moves outside my hole.

“Fuck this sweet, little ass,” he says as he pushes it inside me and starts fucking me again, even harder than before.

My fingernails dig into the back of his neck, “Please. Please let me.”

“Good boys wait, Justin,” he says smacking the end of the dildo, and I groan as it hits my prostate. I start praying that I won’t come. His knee comes up underneath me, holding the dildo in space as he slaps the back of my legs again. “Do you need me to lock you up?” he asks me, meaning a chastity device.

“No.”

“Milk you?”

“No.”

His knee moves up and down beneath my bottom as he fucks me and spanks me until I cry. They aren’t tears of pain, they’re tears of frustration. “Do we understand each other, now?” he asks when he takes the dildo out.

“Yes.” He rubs my bottom until I stop crying, occasionally toying with my trapped cock and balls.

“Get on your hands and knees so I can fuck you.” He moves behind me as I position myself for him. He praises me, tells me how beautiful I am, and then, “Spread your legs and arch your back for me.” My chest sinks into the sheets as his hand slides up and down my back, “You may not move, and you may not come.” I’ve lost all my privileges that quickly. I hear him fiddling with the condom, and then I feel him between my cheeks. His thumbs spread me apart, and he watches himself slide inside my ass. “Christ, you need to be fucked, Justin. You’re little ass needs to be pounded into this mattress, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He groans when he gets inside me because I’m so wet. A wicked pressure starts building in my body as he fucks me, as I fight to be still. The scent of our bodies when we fuck is intoxicating; I breathe through my nose to draw it inside me. I can feel the endorphins pulsing through me as he grunts through his quick thrusts and I want to come all over everything, tell him that I love him, and beg for him to fuck me harder. I think the only thing that comes out of my mouth is his name, but he knows exactly what I mean.

The noises he’s making start climbing to the top of a mountain and come pouring down the other side when he comes. His voice is like a warm rain after he comes, soaking both of us. He pulls out and flips on his back underneath me, between my legs, and slaps my ass so I’ll line up over his mouth and then he pulls me down, fingering me as I fuck his face.

It all happens so fast and so roughly, that I start to collapse when I come down his throat. His free hand reaches over his head and props my chest up as the tornado of my orgasm makes its way out of me. I pull my cock out of his mouth; my body so numb, I can hardly distinguish one sensation from another.

Then I feel him, his hands on my thighs pulling me back. He wants me to lie on top of him. When our hips line up, he presses on my back, pulling me to him, wrapping his arms around me. I feel like I’m being accosted by bliss as he holds me, kissing me, his hand on the back of my head.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?” he whispers to me as I lay my face on his chest. “Always so good for me.”

“Mmm.”

His finger trails down the side of my body, “So obedient. Makes me want to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you when you do what you’re told.”

“Thank you.” He laughs a little, his hand on my face now. He laughs because I can’t stop smiling.

“Feel pretty good, huh?”

“I can’t even explain it.”

“Like winning a million dollars?”

“Like not caring that you’d just won a million dollars.”

“Whoa. That’s good.”

……

He knows I just want to lie here quietly, want to feel his hands all over me, want to listen to him tell me things I’ve missed hearing for all these months. Sometimes he’ll tell me about something funny that happened at work, or that Michael is being a snot about something, or, “You know, ever since you’ve been gone, this is all I think about.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll be sitting at work and suddenly I’m a million miles away just thinking about being with you, and touching you, and your sweet, little voice begging to be spanked. The other day, my hand heated up all by itself. I was just sitting there.”

“You’re making that up.”

“No, I’m not. I felt it. It freaked me out.”

“Wow. That’s your new super power, Rage.”

“Whoa, maybe I really am a superhero.” He’s quiet for a few seconds while he thinks about that. He’s so funny sometimes. “I don’t think that’s a very valuable super power.” He sounds disappointed.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find a good use for it. You’ve saved so many lives just by raising your eyebrow.”

“Smart ass.”

“Rage needs to kick Zephyr to the curb and get a new sidekick--the undeniably adorable ‘Smart Ass.’”

“It does make more sense that Rage’s sidekick would have the words ‘smart’ and ‘ass’ in his name. So, um, make it so.”

“So.”

He slaps my ass, “Smart Ass.”

“Exactly…You need to have me around so your dork quotient doesn’t get too high.”

“Let’s change your name from ‘Smart Ass’ to ‘Sore Ass.’”

“I think the two are interchangeable.”

……

“Good point. You really are a Smart Ass.”

I prop myself up on his chest and tell him, “That’s because my ass got a really high score on the SAT.”

“Hmm, the ‘Smart Ass Test?’”

“Yep, I aced it.”

“My little ‘Anal Einstein.’”

“That sounds like a villain running amuck in Gayopolis,” I tell him.

“Amuck, amuck, amuck.”

We both laugh, “Oh god, I love that movie.”

“Every fag loves that movie, Bette’s in it, there’s a spooky old house that desperately needs to be redecorated, and, of course, the insatiably adorable Sarah Jessica Parker.”

“You love her because she loves shoes.”

“Don’t judge me.”

……

**************
I always get, what I aim for
and your heart and soul
Is what I came for

I lie back down on his chest, turning my head so I can look out the window. The sun is starting to set. We’ve been in bed for a long time, and I know we’re not getting out anytime soon.

……

……

“You falling asleep, Sunshine?”

I smile against his chest, “No.”

……

He tucks his pillow under his head and then I feel his hands moving down my back, his fingers following my crack. He whispers in my ear, “Get your paddle and face the window.” I reach into the open drawer by my bed, pick up my light, wooden paddle, and hand it to him, turning my body so I’m lying over his chest. “Good boy,” he tells me, smoothing the paddle over my bottom, his other hand caressing the side of my face. “I want your bottom red and burning when you ride me.”

So do I.

His hand becomes firm over my shoulders as I feel the wood smack my ass. “Stroke me,” he tells me and I reach underneath me for his cock. He gets wet in my hand as he paddles me, running it down the back of my legs, as he watches my face. “Spread for me.”

I open my legs and feel my stomach drop as he paddles me between my legs—hard. The paddle nicks my balls and I squirm. He holds me down even more, immobilizing me. Being forced to take this from him is the most naughty, shameful feeling in the world. And the shame is so fucking liberating. This nefarious place that he takes me must be some dark corner of some heaven-like Hell because when I’m here, I feel like he’s bathing me in humiliation. And I feel so grateful for this perverse ritual that I’m allowed to come here and be with him, do this for him, my eyes dry and dilated. He can look at them and know how far gone I am. He tosses the paddle on the floor, his hand returning between my legs to massage my balls.

“Get me ready, Justin,” he tells me in this low voice. And I do, but for a lot more than he thinks. He presses his hands on my thighs as he feels the head of his cock start to inch inside my warm ass, and then he moans when I take him fast, his legs wriggling underneath me. I lean forward, splaying my fingers on his chest and ride him. He bends his knees sporadically, pushing up into me, and then he grabs my face and pulls it to his to kiss me. I knew he would; I was counting on it. He’s too far gone to notice my hand slipping underneath my pillow, too far gone to resist me when I tell him to give me his hands and cuff them over his head. His body’s so long and lean when he’s suspended from my headboard. Brian doesn’t mind being bound at all, except when he’d rather be touching me. He gives me this feral smile when I start fucking him again, his fingers wrapping around the headboard for leverage.

I lean down and get right next to his ear, “Close your eyes, Brian,” I tell him, stroking the side of his face as I talk to him. “Before I left to come out here, I made you a promise, remember?”

His brow furrows, “A promise?”

“That I was going to teach you something.”

He smiles, “Oh, yeah. I didn’t think you were serious.” He’s lying.

“You knew I was serious, and you’ve been trying to find out what’s been up my sleeve since you got here.”

“You don’t have any sleeves. You’re naked.” I’m making him nervous. God, I fucking love that.

“You’re so funny. Now, keep your eyes closed, or I’ll blindfold you. And I don’t want to do that.”

“Okay, ‘Smart Ass,’ whatever you say.”

I reach under my pillow again, right next to his ear, and he gets goose bumps when I let my hand runs across the sheets. “You’re okay. You can safeword out anytime you want.” He swallows as my hand slides under his neck. I quickly secure the black, patterned necktie in a slip knot around his neck. I wrap the tie around my right hand and put my hands back on his chest. “Want me to fuck you some more?”

“Yes.” I can barely hear him, until I start riding him again and he moans. My fingers toy with his nipples and he licks his lips, “Harder. Ride me harder.”

“Anything you want.” I sit up just a little, and the tie tightens just a little around his neck.

“Justin.”

“Don’t talk to me unless you’re ready to come.”

……

……

He throws his head back and arches his back in frustration and the tie tightens a little more. When his head comes back down, his eyes are open. “Fuck me, now.”

Now he’s all mine. My how the mighty have supplicated.

I smile at him as I fuck him, making sure that I sit down hard on him each time, “Feel how hot that is, Brian?”

“Uh, Christ.”

“That’s all you. What you did to me. What you loved doing to me.”

He almost growls at me, “Fuck me,” pulling against his restraints.

“You need to come?”

“Fuck.” I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’

“God, I love riding you when my bottom is so sore and so warm, when you’ve spanked the—"

“Uh, god.” Every muscle in his upper body seems to pop out at me.

“When you make me be a good boy for you, make me hold still for you, spank me between my legs.”

“Goddamn, Sunshine.”

“You like that, don’t you? When I bend over for you?”

“Yes.”

“I like it, too. When you take such good care of me, make me follow your rules, punish me when I don’t—"

“Oh fucking Christ. Oh. Fucking. Christ.”

“It’s all I ever think about, Brian. Being across your lap—"

“Justin.” He’s panting.

“When you come from being inside my tight little ass and the sound of my voice.”

And then he makes that face and I know he’s done for. The second I feel him start to come, I yank on the tie and it closes around his neck. His back arches and he pulls on the headboard, trying to fight me, and I come all over him when his body bucks underneath me, decorating his chest and neck and face.

“Holy. Fucking…Shit,” he meters out, word by word, grateful breath by grateful breath. I lean over and still him with a kiss that he can barely respond to. His eyes are closed again. He may be bound on this bed, but he’s floating free wherever he is. I slide two fingers underneath the tie to loosen it so he can breathe a little, and he mouths, “Let me go. Please.”

I release his hands and they fall on the pillows. “Just relax.” I cover both of us with the sheet as I lie on top of him, kissing my come off his face. He smiles a little, but it’s random.

I can tell by the look on his face, by the pace of his breathing, by how relaxed his body is becoming, that he’s in some private utopia right now where everyone listens to him, respects him, and where he’s the most beautiful man as far as anyone can see. And he isn’t feared there; he’s adored. And when he’s there, the things that make him so strong can safely make him weak—just for a little while, just long enough to convince him that he’s truly loved.

And it’s moments like these when I know he knows that he’s the hottest, smartest, sexiest man that’s ever lived. Once he adds ‘richest’ to that list, he’ll stay in that private, magical place a little while longer each time, his insecurities long ago swept under some invisible carpet.

……

After a couple of minutes, his arms find me, wrapping around me, “How’d you know?” he asks me, quietly.

“Oh, I know you. I know what you like.” He looks at me like he has newfound respect for me all of sudden, but I know it’s just gratitude. It’s a rare and beautiful expression on him.

“Yeah, you do,” he sighs…“Can I keep this tie?”

I laugh. I knew that was coming. “Yeah, I bought it for you about a month ago, hoping you’d get your ass out here eventually.” He looks at the underside of the tie and realizes it’s Hugo Boss and smiles this ridiculously happy smile. “I told you I know what you like.”

He plays with the tie, looping it around his fingers like a child with a new toy, “I’m very, very happy right now. Feel like I won a trillion dollars and don't even care.”

I laugh and smile, “Good, I’m glad,” and roll off of him and onto my back. He turns over and lays his head on my chest. Within minutes, he’s fallen asleep—still wearing the tie. I wish he could stay, but I know he can’t. If he did, we’d never get out of this bed. Plus, I’ll be home in a few more months. I close my eyes as I hold him and picture the look on his face when he came, how beautiful his body looked. I think in the business that’s what they call ‘the money shot.’

Somehow I think that description fits Brian perfectly.

The end.

Lyrics taken from Franki Valli’s Stay, Paul Simon’s Something So Right, and Sarah Vaughan’s Whatever Lola Wants.

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