301/302 Gap Filler
Brian and Justin’s POV
NC17
Justin
The cheap wood of the packing pallet box spring jabs into my ribs, the stale
smell of mildew-ridden walls stings my nose and the sight of the belongings of
two people crammed into a space barely big enough for one fills my wandering
eyes. I’ve been lying awake all fucking night. I feel like I might never sleep
again. Maybe I won’t. Maybe this is my penance to pay for walking out, for
fucking humiliating Brian like that. Jesus, I didn’t mean to. It just happened.
I know people say that ‘it just happened’ and it’s total bullshit. But
seriously, with me, it just happened.
I went to the Rage party with the full intention of going home with Brian. I
went there hoping and praying for some kind of fucking miracle. I went there
thinking that if we drank together and danced together and watched the bashing
reenactment together and celebrated the release of Rage together then
everything would be fine. Everything was supposed to work itself out. But
somehow everything got completely and utterly fucked up beyond repair. It is
beyond repair, right? Yeah, it’s totally broken. We’re totally fucking broken.
I woke up the next day with a fucking headache, but not from drinking, I barely
had a drop. I think it was from the fucking musty smell in Ethan’s apartment.
And like I said, that awful smell, this shitty bed, this small space - it’s all
a small price to pay for what I’ve done. I’m not saying Brian didn’t push me to
the edge of that fucking cliff. Jesus he practically held me at gunpoint and
made me back up right to the goddamned ledge. But I jumped. I completely and
totally admit that I’m the one who turned around, looked at the deadly ravine
below and fucking decided to jump. I guess I thought it might feel like flying.
Wrong. I’m fucking free-falling now and it’s nothing like flying. Freedom
really is just another word for nothing left to lose. Janis Joplin knew a few
things.
Then I went to pick up my shit from his place. I knew I couldn’t leave it
there. I knew it didn’t belong there anymore, maybe never belonged there. Plus,
I fucking needed to brush my teeth and put on clean underwear. So I strolled in
- okay, it was more of a tiptoe - yelling his name just in case, but I knew he
wouldn’t be there. He couldn’t be there. It would have been too much. And I
would have known if he’d been there before I stepped foot in the building. Some
twisted honing device links Brian and me. I can sense whenever he’s in the
vicinity.
I was just so fucking tired of it all. It wasn’t that I wanted it to be over,
it isn’t that I want it to be over. I just can’t fucking try anymore. I can’t
keep giving that much of myself. I can’t keep compromising everything I ever
dreamed I wanted in a relationship just because I love Brian. Love really isn’t
enough. I thought for so long it was all I needed, but I need so much more.
Maybe this is what growing up is, figuring that shit out.
I stuffed my clothes and all my shit that took up space on Brian’s shelves and
in his life into a duffle bag I borrowed from Ethan. I packed away some of my
art stuff, grabbed the discs with all of my computer generated pieces on it. I
left a lot of stuff behind: things that I thought were mine, but realized in
hindsight were Brian’s. Almost everything I ever fooled myself into believing I
possessed belonged to him, including his heart. Sure he gave me plenty, they’ll
all say he gave me everything, but I want them to realize there is a difference
between a gift and a loan. Brian loaned me a lot under the guise of giving. He
loaned me a place to live, he loaned me space in his life, he loaned me false
security. But in the end he got all of his shit back. He knew he would. He
always knew. Maybe that’s why it was easy for him to give it up a little at a
time. He knew one day it would all fucking come back to him. All of it except
me. I won’t go back. I have only my conviction to keep me company now and I’m
not fucking giving that up. And I have Ethan. Yes, I have Ethan. Ethan, Ethan,
wonderful Ethan. All full of passion and love and flowery words. He’s great. He
really is.
Now I’m lying here, just lying here. It’s been a week. One week. I don’t think
I’ve slept for more than 20 minutes at a time and even those catnaps are few
and far between. I find myself so fucking tired during the day, struggling to
stay awake in class, at the diner, but the second I get into bed all I can do
is lie awake and think. Think about all of it. Every fucking second we spent
together. Every fucking second we’ll spend apart. How fucking long does the
ghost of relationships past linger? I know it’s only been a week and it’ll take
more time, but I have to get some fucking sleep one of these days.
Ethan knows every fucking time he touches me. I’m comparing them, contrasting
them, seeing if he measures up to the great fucking legacy of Brian Kinney. And
I hate that. I don’t want to do that. But my body betrays me every fucking
time. My eyes cross over his body harshly when I don’t want them to. And I
can’t will myself to moan when I don’t feel it…don’t feel that indefinable burn
in my gut that made me shake with pleasure every time HE touched me. It’s like
he stole every sweet spot on my entire fucking body and made it his. I have to
get those back, they’re mine, dammit!
I should be able to find bliss with another person. I should be able to come
just thinking about how fucking amazing Ethan is and how good he is to me. And
yet, every fucking time his lips find my dick I have to squeeze my eyes shut
and imagine a very different person working his magic on me. And Ethan knows,
he fucking knows. He sees me close my eyes, he sees me drift away somewhere far
from here. And for now he’s tolerating my neurosis. But for how long?
Brian
And then there was one. I remember a time when I loved this, fucking loved
living alone and having a stark space with no mess that wasn’t mine. I remember
when I loved coming home to an empty loft each night. I remember how the
silence was comforting. I remember when I fooled myself into believing that the
void I felt wasn’t loneliness.
When I threw the door open I knew. Shit, I knew when I was climbing the fucking
stairs. I could sense he’d been here and I could sense he was gone. My eyes
sweep the loft and I get my visual confirmation. Empty drawers, cock-eyed
hangers, my single toothbrush, all evidence that someone else inhabited this
space once upon a time. Things that were once commonplace now seem bizarrely
askew; a dining room table you can actually eat on, a bathroom floor not covered
in dirty clothes and wet towels.
Funny how the things that drove you crazy become the very things you miss. Like
last night, I was sitting on the couch drinking a little JB and thinking I’d
like to listen to some music. Before I even realized what I was fucking doing I
had some of his dumb ass, top 40 bullshit playing. I swear to God I used to
cringe when his fingers would dance across the spines of the CD cases on the
desk. I knew he was going to pick out one of his own shitty albums. The kid had
no taste in music! None! And yet, here I sit, bobbing my head along to Justin
Timberlake’s latest single. I guess it’s really not that bad. I could give his
cute little blond ass something to cry a river over.
Things
are fine. Totally fine. The kid was looking for shit I’d never give him in a
million years, so he went looking for it someplace else. I’m not saying I agree
with his comparison shopping methods. He should have just fucking told me he
was unhappy. That deception is the only thing that pissed me off. Other than
that, he was always free to go. And now he’s gone, and that’s fine. We had our
fun, and it was fun for the most part. Now it’s over and I can live with that.
This little part of the night gets to me. When I’m lying in bed, staring at the
ceiling. I guess the darkness and the quiet get your mind reeling. It’s really
hard not to think about shit. And fuck if I haven’t become a terrible
insomniac. I used to be able to get off and go straight to sleep. Now I just
lay here and fucking THINK, just think about the stupidest shit.
At first he was all I could think about. It fucking sucks ass to admit that,
but truthfully it’s understandable. I mean, one second he was in my face 24/7
and now he’s totally gone. So I guess some lingering thoughts about the way
things might have gone is normal, right? Anyway, so I finally got fucking sick
of thinking about him every night so I started forcing myself to think about
other shit, but I don’t know that it’s better. I’ve been thinking about Gus and
what I want for him in the long haul. I’ve been thinking about Lindsay and
Melanie and what kind of parents they're going to make. Then thinking about
that made me think about Justin’s parents and what a fucking prick his father
was and how amazing his mother really is. If I’d only had a mother who cared
about me half as much as Jennifer cares about him. I wish he could understand
how lucky he is. I tried to tell him but, well I’m not good about telling
people anything.
So I think about all of that shit and about a thousand other mundane things
from how I shouldn’t brew my coffee so strong to how I need to increase my leg
press reps at the gym to help keep my calves toned. I think about all of that
and as boring as it all seems I still can't get fucking sleepy enough to actually
go to sleep. So I watch the night pass and the clock tick and half the time I
find myself just getting up at 5 fucking AM and hitting the gym before any of
the sane people arrive. The other day I was walking out at 7 o’clock after a really
intense 2-hour workout and I ran into Ted. He looked at me and said, “Jesus
Brian, what the fuck are you doing here so early? Sauna room active at this
hour?” I just rolled my eyes and kept on moving. No sense in revealing my
sleeping disorder to Pittsburgh’s porn king. He wouldn’t
understand anyway. I’d imagine dating Emmett has him rolling over and playing
dead more often than not.
Justin
If you’ve never had insomnia it’s a little like going mad. For the first hour
or so you try to count sheep, try to breathe deeply, try to fluff your pillow,
throw the sheet off, pull it back on. Then in the second hour you just stare at
the ceiling because you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that no measure of
fussing is going to make you comfortable. In the third hour you’ve played every
fucking game you can possibly think of, from name the 50 states in alphabetical
order to count the number of cracks in the ceiling, and that’s when it takes a
turn for the worse. You start to think about yourself, about why you can’t
sleep. I, of course, can think of nothing but Brian and how fucked up that
whole thing was. After I review the top ten reasons I had for leaving him the
anger fades away and the same fucking thing happens every night.
I look over to make sure Ethan is sound asleep. It’s pretty easy to tell, he
has a light snore that tells me when he’s finally drifted off. It’s somewhere
between endearing and annoying, I’m still on the fence about that one. Brian
never snored. Brian slept like an angel. Anyway, I check to make sure Ethan is
asleep, he ususally is by this hour. I turn away from him a bit and lift my
right leg to create a barrier between us. Then I slide my hands down my chest
as my eyes drift shut and I let my memory take over. My fingers find the tip of
my dick, close to leaking just thinking about what I’m about to think about. I
flip through my file, thousands of memories thick, and select one of my
favorites.
We’re under the blue lights, of course, on top of that deep blue velvet duvet,
of course. He’s naked and smiling, in a playful mood.
“Brian,” I smile down at him as I straddle his hips and say his name in a
child-like voice. He reaches around and pinches my ass.
“Justin,” he mocks the tone of my voice and then pinches the other cheek.
“You’re cruel.” I whisper as I take his ear lobe into my mouth. That elicits a
little moan.
“I’m cruel? You’re the cock tease.” He laughs and then in one swift move pushes
me over and pins me down on the bed. His hands feel like velvet wrapped around
my wrists. I wish he’d keep me trapped this way for the rest of my days.
His whole face smiles down at me. He licks a straight line from my belly button
up to my Adam’s apple. Then he pulls his face back and locks eyes with me for a
long minute. Finally he says in a husky voice, thick with sexual energy, “Talk
dirty to me.”
I raise an eyebrow as if awaiting more information.
“Come on,” he urges me, “Tell me what you want.”
I lift my hips to meet his and grind my body against him. It’s one thing to say
things in the heat of the moment, but it’s another when your lover requests it.
Not sure how to proceed I lean up to kiss him. He lets my tongue delve in deep
and curl inside of his mouth, seeking forgiveness for not honoring his request.
I kiss him deeper and deeper until his body relaxes on top of mine and our skin
starts to slicken with perspiration.
After petting and humping and kissing until we’re breathless, Brian pulls away
and just looks at me again. He doesn’t say anything, but I know what he’s
waiting for. And he knows his little trick worked. I’m so turned on now that
I’d say anything he wants to hear just to get him to fuck me.
I smile, deciding to turn the tables on him and see how he likes it. I bite my
lower lip before taking the plunge, “I want to fuck you.” I wait to see his
reaction, when all I get is a small smirk, I continue. “I love fucking you. You
try to stay all calm and quiet. Your breathing gets really deep when I first
slip inside and you try so hard to control yourself. Then when we find the
rhythm and you start pushing back on me I can hear your breath catch as you try
not to moan. But when I start moving faster you lose yourself in that haze, you
start to let yourself go and you moan and moan. It’s so different from when you
fuck me. It’s this satisfied groan, all low and deep. Every time you start to
moan I almost lose it. It’s so fucking sexy to hear you make those noises when
I’m inside of you. It’s so hot to know I make you feel that way.”
The words slip from my mouth before I can stop myself. I blink hard and then
watch Brian to gauge his reaction. He just leans in closer to me and trails
his tongue from my ear down to my collarbone. Then he stops and kisses me lightly
there. “Go on,” his whispers so softly that I can barely hear the words, but
I feel them on my skin.
I don’t think this is exactly what he had in mind when he asked me to talk dirty
to him, but it’s what he’s getting. If Brian wants to hear me talk, lord knows
that isn’t often, I’m going to talk.
“I love that you trust me enough to let me in. When my dick is inside of you,
surrounded by all that warmth and softness, I could just die. It feels so good
to feel your body move under mine. It feels so fucking amazing when your muscles
push and pull on me. When you get all worked up and start writhing and your
body is slick with sweat I can feel your heart beating in every inch of your
skin.” As I’m talking Brian starts to litter kisses all over my chest. He sucks
on each nipple briefly and then trails his tongue down across my hips. I start
to breathe more erratically, but I keep on talking.
“But as much as I love fucking you, because it’s so amazing when you let me
do it, I can’t help but always wish you were fucking me at the same time. Riding
your dick is the most awesome feeling I’ve ever known. When you fill me up I
feel like I could explode. It feels like my skin catches fire and my ass wants
to split in two, but I always try to find a way to let you go deeper because
my body wants to swallow you whole. I’ll never get enough of you, never.”
My back arches as his tongue finds the underside of my dick. I’m already so
hard I can feel the tip throbbing and leaking pre-come. I want to jerk my hips
and fuck his beautiful mouth, but after all this sex I’ve learned a little self-control.
Only a little, though.
“More,” he says quietly before engulfing my dick. I suck in a sharp breath as
I watch his mouth close over my entire cock in one impressive sweep. I feel
the tip of my dick hit the back of his throat and I lose it, “Jesus Christ!
I want you to suck my dick every day for the rest of my life. It feels so fucking
good to have your mouth on me. It’s warm and wet and soft around my dick, just
like your ass. And you know when to touch my balls and finger my ass. You know
how to torture me in all the right ways.” I want to keep talking. I can tell
by the way he’s breathing and moaning and moving that this is really turning
him on, but suddenly my ability to form words escapes me. My head falls back
onto the bed and my eyes drift closed. I will them to stay open, if for no other
reason than to watch my dick disappear into Brian’s luscious mouth. But it’s
all I can do to concentrate on not exploding.
Brian holds my hips and sucks me until I’m screaming for him to stop. I know
I’ll come any second and I want to make it last. He doesn’t listen to a word
I’m shouting and sucks me until I shoot into his mouth, hard and fast. My hips
buck as a string of nonsensical obscenities leave my mouth. I finally shut up
and start gasping for air when his lips find mine. I look up at him as he pulls
away from me, “I wanted it to last,” I say exasperatedly.
“Why? You can come 4 or 5 more times tonight.”
“That’s pushing it,” I laugh at him.
His hand trails down to my dick he uses his softer-than-silk fingers to start
caressing my balls the way he knows I love. In seconds I can feel the blood
rushing to my dick again. “Jesus,” I murmur when I realize that Brian knows
my body better than I do.
“No, it’s just me,” Brian jokes.
His other hand works its way down the small of my back and his fingers make
soft trails over my ass. They slowly sneak into the crack, tickling my hole
and pressing lightly on the sensitive skin around it.
His index finger finds its way in and I groan deeply in response. When he adds
a second finger my hips rise involuntarily and I moan a little louder. “Like
that?” He asks knowingly as his other hand continues to roll my balls against
the palm. His fingers probe deeper and start to graze close to my prostrate.
My body shivers in anticipation. I gasp for air that isn’t there. When the room
gets heated like this I feel like someone is sucking all of the oxygen out of
it.
“Feel good?” He whispers as he adds a third finger, getting an all-out shout
from me. “Fuck me,” I demand.
I’m jarred when I realize I’ve said it out loud. Ethan rolls over and snuggles
close to me. His lips find my ear, “Now?” He asks through a sleepy haze.
I look down at my rock-hard cock tenting the sheet and then over to his closed
eyes and his smacking lips. “No,” I whisper quietly and will him to roll away
from me so I can finish what I’ve started. When he moves his body closer to
mine I sigh and get up out of the bed.
“Justin?” he whispers quizzically.
“Bathroom,” I reply solemnly. I stumble across the cluttered space and go into
the bathroom, shutting the door, leaving the light off. I slide down to the
floor as I lose my erection. I start to cry over the more important things I've
lost.
Brian
Here I go with all this thinking bullshit again. Another night of no sleep and
too much thought. He came by tonight. He was actually here. That just gave me
an entire new chapter of bullshit to think about.
I knew whose footsteps were ascending the stairs. I knew who was knocking lightly
on the door. I knew who was sliding the door open. And by that time he was close
enough to smell. God that smell, it’s…it’s fucking amazing.
I didn't get up, didn't even make eye contact. While I continued to watch one
of my favorite movies, I asked if he was coming in. It’s something I do when
I’ve had a bad day, week, month, year…whatever. I put a classic on, sit back
and lose myself for a little while. Nothing likes the trials and tribulations
of the Old West to put your life into perspective. If my biggest problem is
that some blond twink moved out of my loft seeking greener pastures then things
really aren’t that bad, are they?
He
started talking, I mean I know he was, but I didn’t really hear him. I was
trying so hard to focus, but frankly I felt a little sick. He came to thank me
for paying his tuition. He started out with some babbling bullshit about not
being able to take the money. I knew he was already resigned to it by the tone
in his voice. If Justin really didn't want to take the money, or didn't need me
to pay for his tuition anymore, he would have mailed me a check. But he came
here, to let me know it mattered. He came here to show me it mattered.
He didn't stay, though. He walked in and out inside of three minutes. I told
him he forgot something and he assumed I meant a “thank you”, but of course
that wasn’t what I meant at all. He knows me better than that. I meant his
computer. I could tell he was a little shocked that I'd packed it up and set it
out for him, anticipating that he would come by, hoping that he would come by.
It's funny though, how he didn't overreact to the news about the tuition or the
computer. That's what I always liked about Justin. He gets me. He actually
understands what kind of man I am. That counts for something. It means
something in the world. Maybe that’s all any of us need, just someone who gets
us.
After he left my eyes stayed glued to my flat screen television as it played
the ending of “One-Eyed Jacks.” Something about old movies makes me calm. I
think I was born in the wrong fucking era. Men in the mid-20th century got to
be men. They didn’t have to share feelings or fucking communicate all the time.
Of course, being gay 50 years ago wouldn’t have been the experience it is
today. But I look at men like Marlon Brando and think, ‘Fuck, that was the way
to live.’
That's another thing that Justin understood about me. My quirks, like an
affinity for old movies, were endearing to him. He’d even indulge those
idiosyncrasies. Of course, I did the same in return. I’d let him watch Saturday
morning cartoons and listen to him go on and on about the animation techniques
being used. Then he'd lay with me on the couch for hours on a Sunday afternoon,
as it faded into evening when we weren't looking, watching handfuls of old
movies I kept hidden away. He stayed quiet while I watched and smiled when I
whispered the lines, memorized from years of watching the same scenes, into his
ear from time to time. That’s the shit I miss. Good riddance to the drama, but
I do miss some of that other stuff.
After he left and the credits of the movie had run, I finally turned off the
television and took my feet off my new coffee table. I thought it was amusing
that he commented on it. I thought it was more amusing that he understood how
expensive it must have been. You couldn’t really tell by looking at him, but
Justin had good taste. I guess artists do have an affinity for that sort of
thing.
His smell lingered for hours, though he’d only been here a moment. I walked
around trying to get away from it, from him, to no avail. I poured a glass of
JB that I didn’t drink, I lit a joint that I didn’t smoke, I picked up the
phone, but I didn’t dial. Finally I just turned off all the fucking lights and
laid on our bed – correction – my bed, in the dark.
Now I’m just lying here, again, staring at the shadows dancing on the wall. I
thought about all of the nights we created those shadows. I remembered how
truly amazing his skin looked bathed in moonlight. He took on this haunting
glow that affected me in a way I still don’t understand. He affected me in a
way I still don’t understand. I’m not a thinker. I’m not an analyzer. I’m not
one of those people that sit around and stew over shit until it makes them
crazy. I just don’t do that. So tell me why every fucking night since he came
here to thank me I've lain in bed until nearly dawn thinking about all of the
things that might have been. This whole thing is really fucking with my 'no
regrets' policy.
I sigh as I resign myself to what I end up doing every night after the trick is
gone or the bar is closed or the movie is over. I slide under the sheet and let
my hands find my half-erect dick. Always standing at attention when I think
about him. I wonder how long that will last? I let my eyes drift close and I
picture his face. He’s smiling at me, smirking really, his pink tongue snaking
out between his teeth just a little to torture me. He’s crawling across the bed
trying to get away from me. I pin him down and do some torturing of my own. I
have thousands of memories just like this one. They’re all the same really,
they all kind of blend together. The specifics aren’t what are important to me.
It’s just him. It was just him that was important.
End
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