Title: Hello, Goodbye, I Love You
Author: phobosgirl (phobosgirl@earthlink.net)
Date: 7.31.05
Rating: NC-17
Authors notes: This is entirely unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Feedback can be sent to phobosgirl@earthlink.net
Disclaimer: This is only for fun. None of this is real nor should any implication be made based on this manuscript that I have any insider info on either of these fine men.
Complete: yes


Hello, Goodbye, I Love You

You weren't especially surprised when he showed up at your place to say goodbye while you were packing. It was unlike him to want to do something so private in front of others. You were only moderately surprised when he held you so tightly that you couldn't breathe and felt just a bit of shock when his hands dropped lower and lower down your body. You were, however, completely nonplussed when, instead of actually saying goodbye, he pushed his tongue between your teeth. And you let him. And you liked it. And you didn’t tell him to stop until it was too late.

"Don't think," he said when you offered a weak protest, and then he sucked the air from your lungs, left your lips raw and tingling. You knew he was right, you did think too much, all the time, about everything, and sometimes it ruined stuff for you.

Sometimes, though, all that thinking kept you from doing the stupid shit that popped into your head and took over, like when you wondered what DanRon would say if you came into work with your head shaved bald. You'd almost done it, too. You'd stood in the bathroom with the electric clippers in one hand and a hank of blond in the other and stared at your reflection, a wild, half-sane grin on your lips.

Thinking had ended that little bout of "what if", but it couldn't save you this time because the what ifs had been piling up for too long and it was just fucking time to find out. So you let him kiss you and you liked it. You liked it so well that after a few moments you kissed him back and then your own hands began to roam. You stopped thinking entirely when you heard his needy, moaned response.

"Let me have you," he whispered into your hair, his hands fumbling to get into the back of your jeans. "At least once, before I never see you again."

"You'll see me again," you assured him, or thought you had. You couldn't be certain, though, because right then, he bit into your shoulder and the pain was so exquisite and blinding that you almost came.

He made short work of your oxford shirt, one of the silly striped ones you always favored despite looking a little geeky in them. He licked the insides of your wrists as he unbuttoned the cuffs, and it was probably the hottest thing you ever saw him do. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he went down on his knees in front of you, and your body moved bonelessly when he began yanking at the zipper that was stuck on your shirt tail.

You didn't have a mirror handy, but you were pretty sure that the same dangerous grin that lit your face the afternoon of your almost buzz-cut was back, and brighter than ever.

Jerking your jeans to your ankles and pressing his face into your cotton covered dick, he raised his eyes to yours and grinned back at you. The underwear soon joined your pants in a pool around your feet and just before he swallowed your cock into his throat, he winked at you and said, "I've always wanted to do this."

Your eyes rolled back in your head.

"Bastard," you called him in a rough, throaty voice, "why didn't you ever tell me?"

His answer was a hard suck to the end of your cock that made your heart stutter and threaten to burst. He was still grinning and you forced more of your dick into his mouth to make him stop. Sucking you off was one thing. Laughing at you while he did it was a whole other.

He was good at it, too. His tongue traced every curve, every dip, every ridge. His lips pinched hard, and caressed softly, and made you incoherent. His teeth nipped, and his throat opened like a fucking pro. And when one of his fingers found your hole and demanded entrance, making you come buckets into his mouth, he swallowed without gagging, and you loved him for it.

When you could see again, you looked down at him, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his forehead resting on your stomach, and you slipped your fingers under his chin, lifted it so you could see him. His eyes were glazed and dilated, and looked like deep, turbulent lakes. He grinned once more at you and while your body wanted to relax into the lull that follows an excellent orgasm, your breath hitched and you wanted him again.

Snagging one of his hands, you dragged him to the bedroom. You were past the age where fucking on any available surface was preferable to taking the time to find one that wouldn't wreck your back for a week. Your sheets were freshly laundered, you were compulsive about that, and you slid across them while he pulled off his clothes.

You were reminded of telling an interviewer that fans had never seen you naked because they'd never been in the room when you were undressed, but he'd seen you plenty. You wondered if he'd ever felt like he was looking at you, or if it was just Justin he had seen, and then you decided that you didn't care. You wanted him to see you this time, you without a doubt, so you leaned back on your elbows, spread your knees and licked your lips.

He didn't miss a moment of it, took in your debauched form lying open and waiting for him, and repaid your shameless exhibition with one of his own. His lips parted in something like a smile and his hand dropped to stoke his cock. It was as magnificent as you knew it would be, but him touching himself that way, showing you how hard he was for you, spun in your brain, making you giddy.

He didn't move, didn't climb onto the bed and cover you like a blanket, the way you wanted him to. He only stood, his eyes like fire, burning your skin as they traveled restlessly over your body, his hand never faltering in its slow, languid stroking. He just stared at you, brutally honest and untamed, and you wondered how many times you'd longed for that look to pass over you, find you, and burrow deep into you. For two years, your need had been a constant thing, a fact of your existence. And finally you'd given up hope and moved on.

You thought briefly of kicking his thigh as sudden anger flared in you, how dare he make you wait for so many years, but you reminded yourself that you were happy now and it was due, in large part, to his friendship. Then you remembered that thinking would only make you put your clothes back on and lead him out the front door, so instead, you stretched your leg out and stroked up his thigh with your toes.

The smile on his face intensified and suddenly he snatched your foot up, pressed the sole of it against his rigid dick and rolled his hips. You groaned in unison, then, both of you transfixed by how thoroughly dirty it felt. You watched his eyes slip closed and his other hand covered the arch of your foot, and then he was pushing against you in earnest, seeking more delicious friction.

"I think about you when I jerk off," he confided, a secret smile pulling at his beautiful lips.

Your breath caught at the back of your throat when he said it.

"Tell me," you groaned, squeezing the head of his cock with your toes.

His eyes focused on you once more and he licked his lips, a visceral reminder of the way his tongue had swirled around your dick just a moments before. You were already hard again.

He dropped your foot after kissing the sole and climbed on the bed between your splayed knees. He inched closer until his cock was almost brushing yours, and then grabbed your hips in his powerful grip and yanked you towards him, positioning your thighs on top of his thighs, your legs encircling his waist.

His palms flattened on your knees and slowly slid towards your waist, a firm caress, as he spoke. He bumped your cock with his again, and settled it, heavy and hot, on top of yours.

"I think about fucking you so deep," he breathed, "so slow. I think about how you'd sound, and wonder if I could make you scream my name."

You knew he could. He'd done it when he hadn't even been in the room. He wasn't the only one who fantasized while masturbating. Your hand crept to your dick but he batted it away before his fingers resumed advancing up your body.

"I think about the way you kiss, and how my come would taste on your tongue."

Suddenly, you wondered how it would taste, too, and you began to salivate.

His thumbs rubbed circles on your inner thighs and gradually stroked past your lengthening cock to your lower abdomen, where he lingered, tickling you with his nails.

"I think about how you'd feel filling me, inside me." His hands skimmed your chest before he found your nipples and rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers, causing a welcome ache.

"And sometimes, right before I come, I think about-"

He faltered and for the first time, doubt entered his eyes.

You pushed your hips into him, rubbing your cock wetly along the length of his.

"Tell me," you groaned. "God, don't stop there. What do you think about?"

He studied your face while his fingers played idly with your nipples. Finally, he dropped down onto his hands, hovering just millimeters above you. You could feel the heat of his forearms radiating against your cheeks, his palms flat on the mattress on either side of your head.

"Sometimes I think about... being in you... raw." He dipped his head, brushed your lips with the barest touch, and then looked into you once again. "It's just a fantasy; I'd never do it. Not if you weren't mine for good. It's just a silly thing that makes me get off. I'd never hurt you, Ran."

Then he looked embarrassed and you desperately wanted to wipe that shame from his eyes.

"I know you wouldn't." Your tongue snaked out and licked his bottom lip, and it helped you bite back the question that set you on fire. What if I was yours for good? "I think about it, too," you confessed.

His eyes softened and he nodded at you. Then for a while all you knew was his lips, the intense way he nibbled and suckled at your mouth, your tongue, the way he explored kissing you as if it held a critical lesson he had to learn. His body pressed down on yours, the muscles of his upper arms standing out hugely.

You touched all of him, everything you could reach. His hair, short and soft, his back that was so long, so hard, his breathtaking face, cheeks rough with the beginnings of a beard. You ground your hips into him again, and you gasped at each brush of his cock against yours.

Panting hard, you finally begged him to fuck you and the real surprise was not how smoothly he slicked your ass and sheathed himself. It wasn't how confidently he prepared you, and it wasn't how he knew exactly when you were ready to take more of his wide dick into you. The real surprise, the thing that made your breath whoosh out of you in a rush, was the sudden and certain realization that he'd done this before.

"You- unnhh- have- experience- ohfuck- with this," you gasped into his open mouth.

"Some," he grunted, recapturing your tongue and sucking hard on it.

He was lying.

He didn't just have some experience fucking boys, he was so completely adept that he made you forget your question, your whereabouts, and your name by repeatedly jabbing the head of his cock against your prostate. He even made sure you came first, drenching his stomach with your semen, and just before he filled the condom a few hard strokes later, you heard him tell you in a shuddering voice how much he loved you. You've never mentioned it to him, will never hold him to it. People say insane things just before they come. You were fucking a guy once and when he shot all over the backseat of your car, he cried out to his mother. They never mean anything, those pre-orgasmic confessions, and you knew it.

Your legs fell away from his waist and he stretched out on top of you, breathing heavily into your neck. You stroked his hair, his back, his ass, while his name slipped from your lips.

Eventually, you were able to regain your breath, and he his, and he rolled off you, slicking away the condom and kissing your lips in a lingering caress. When your eyes met many minutes later, he was smiling and so were you.

You turned towards him, stroking his chest lightly, and propped your head up on one arm.

"Time to 'fess up," you informed him with a grin.

His eyebrows lifted in question and he turned his head, searching for his cigarettes. Finding them, he shook one out, lit it and flopped back down on his back with a groan, resting a small glass ashtray on his chest. You watched him watching you, the smoke leaving his lungs in wispy threads.

"How long have you been fucking men?"

Your blunt approach made him bark laughter and he choked on his smoke, coughing gracelessly into his hand.

"Who says I have been?" he finally answered with a staged laugh.

"I do." You nuzzled the side of his face soothingly to let him know that you weren't accusing him of anything. But your curiosity was getting the better of you, as it often did, and you really wanted to know.

"It's ok," you assured him quietly, "you know you can tell me."

He played with your hair, twisting it in his fingers, brushing it off your face, while he considered.

"Yeah," he said finally, "ok, you're right, I have."

"When did it start?"

You weren't sure why, but this question made him laugh again. He was silent a long time before finally telling you.

"It started pretty soon after we met, but you could have figured that out for yourself." He was right, you probably would have. But there was a mystery there and the more glimpses he gave you of it, the more you wanted to see the full picture, so you pushed him gently.

"Why then? Why not before?"

He shrugged but something in your eyes must have told him that you wouldn't let it go, so finally he huffed a long-suffering sigh, rolled his eyes, and revealed the whole story.

"First I just needed to know," his voiced barely filled your bed, let alone the room. You let him speak uninterrupted. "Like, really know if it was them I wanted or just… or just you."

You nodded at him to continue, your heart thumping heavily in your ears.

"There were a lot of blonds," he grinned suddenly, his cheeks flushing, and took a long drag from his smoke. "A lot of them. All young, none of them you." He shrugged again self-consciously. "There just wasn't any comparison."

Strangely, a lump of pride formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down.

"Finally, I just stopped. It was frustrating. Turns out, it wasn't them I wanted at all." He leaned over and pecked your lips and then ground out his cigarette in the ashtray. "That's all."

That's all. Jesus! He'd just rocked the foundation of your world and he said, "That's all," like that really was all.

He saw the storm building in you, as he'd always been able to, and he shook his head firmly at you.

"Don't, Randy," his voice was determined, his jaw set. "Don't make a thing out of this. This is the way it's supposed to be, and I've been a better friend for you than I ever could have been as your lover. And you have him, he makes you happy. I've watched you together, he's good for you. So please don't make this into a thing. Okay?"

His fingers slipped through your hair and his eyes pleaded with you as you fought tears that suddenly sprang to your eyes.

He was right, you were good with him, the man you loved, and he was good with you. Good enough that when you'd tell him about this evening, and you would because you never lied to each other and things like this had happened occasionally for each of you over the years, he would kiss your forehead and say something like, "It's about fucking time!" There was love there, and a life you'd lived for three years that felt whole and comforting, and even still wild and reckless sometimes. It was solid, and you loved solid.

Suddenly your tears were no longer for yourself, but for him, that gorgeous creature lying next to you whose shoulder kissed, sealing your agreement to never make this into a thing that could destroy how you care for one another. There were many reasons you two were best friends and you remembered all of them when he slipped his arm around your neck, curled against you, and fell asleep smiling.

Naturally, he was gone when you woke up. He had a plane to catch and you'd known that. Your cell rang hours later, as you were tucking the last of your belongings into a carton, and when you answered it, his warm laughter filled your ear.

"I'm a complete doofus!" he declared loudly, and you could tell that he was shouting to be heard over airport traffic as he made his way though LAX.

You laughed with him.

"Why?"

"Because I never did say goodbye!"

"You're right," you chuckled, "you are a doofus. This isn’t goodbye!"

The End