Gap Filler for 311
Brian and Justin’s POV
NC17
Note: Title and italicized song lyrics taken from Stabbing Westward’s
“Everything I Touch.”
Justin
We’ve got a rough rhythm going, one that has me panting and pleading and
tossing my head from side to side. I’m in that blurry space between agony and
ecstasy where you’re half in a trance, working not to pass out and everything
feels all wrong but so right. Moaning into his neck, I clutch him and ride the
wave, letting him do all the work, hoping I’ll hold out until just the right
moment.
Then it happens.
Knock, knock.
And again, knock.
Everything slows down. Brian stops, we get quiet for a minute. Try to hear
something other than our moaning and our breathing.
Fuck, more knocking.
Fuck.
Fuck!
Brain stops moving in me completely. I grip his arms. Want to beg him not to
stop, want to thrust my hips and taunt him onward, inward…
But I can tell by the look on his face that he knows it’s important. And I feel
it too. Only serious things come to your door at this hour. Only bad news
continues to knock after it hears passion piercing the night on the other side
of a closed door.
He pulls out, too fast; I gasp a little and he looks at me with apologetic
eyes.
He grabs the black briefs I pulled off with my teeth just thirty minutes ago
and covers his still-swollen cock as he opens the door.
I see Stockwell before he does. As my jaw drops, I catch Brian’s last moment of
ignorant bliss. In that half a second I want to run, want to slam the door,
want to save him from this horrible fate. But there isn’t a thing I can do
except cover my naked body with the big beige cushion and brace myself.
Brian
“Christ, never a moment’s rest.” I resign myself to answering the door, though
it’s the last thing I want to do. I give Justin a ‘please hold that thought’
look as I pull out of him, reluctantly, and stand up.
I don’t know why I’m fucking answering the door, but I can tell I have to. I
just feel it. And I know Justin does too, whatever this is – this sense that we
have to find out who thinks interrupting this is worth whatever they have to
say.
I yank the door open just enough to peer out, unfortunately the space is plenty
big enough for Stockwell’s angry eyes to peer through.
His head tips back in disgust as he soaks in the contents of my private life.
One half-fucked blond intern and a hundred hate-the-homophobe posters. Shit.
Fuck. Christ.
I have never been so royally screwed.
Fuck it.
His eyes widen with each passing second. It isn’t until he pushes past me to
get a better look at what’s really going on, a better look at the truth, that I
notice Vance fucking shaking in the hall. He just stares at me, disbelief
rendering him speechless. For some reason the look on his face hurts the most.
Like he expected more of me, like he truly can’t believe I would do this. What,
exactly, is this 'thing' I’ve done? Defended myself, my beliefs? Fuck Vance and
fuck Gardner and fuck the
rest of the fucking straight world. They’ll never understand and I'm not here
to play translator.
“What’s the matter, haven’t you ever seen two guys fucking before?” I bark at
Stockwell as he lifts Justin’s latest creation from the floor. The pile of
glossy posters shine as bright as the North Star, guiding us to a higher level
of morality.
The more I feel
The more I die
Nothing to give
Nothing inside
Justin
Brian clears his throat as Stockwell picks up the new poster I designed and had
copied today. Ironically, my first thought is whether Brian will still let me
hang them. That’s bad, isn’t it? Worried about my own game plan and not the
fact Brian’s boss and most high profile client are standing in his loft finding
out that he’s a double-crossing bastard. God, I love him for that.
Stockwell’s
eyes widen, darkening in a really scary way. I can see the sparks of anger and
hurt flashing in his pupils. They look like little lightening bolts and I’m
afraid they might start shooting little fire daggers out of his head,
incinerating Brian on contact.
He stalks back across the loft, crumpling the poster in his hands as he shoves
it in Brian’s face. God, we're so caught and so fucked. If Brian wasn’t so
tightly bound to Stockwell, I would love every second of this. Stockwell
figuring out the game, learning who his archenemies are. If Brian and I were
just two of Pittsburgh’s finest fags
instead of Vanguard employees, this moment would be pure poetry. As it is, I
just feel sick.
Brian slams the door behind the men as they no doubt run off to plot his death.
He huffs as he slaps his thighs in defeat, “Wanna finish?” He cocks an eyebrow
at me and I take one look at his limp, condom-clad, dick and want to laugh.
But, I don’t laugh.
I want to run to him and throw my arms around him and apologize for getting him
into this mess, but I know Brian and he’d hate that. At the end of the day,
Brian does exactly what Brian wants. If he didn’t want to be half of the
dynamic duo, he wouldn’t have been. If he didn’t want me hanging those posters
all over the city, he'd have tried harder to stop me
I release the cushion I was using as a shield and roll onto my back. I stare at
the ceiling, resting my hands on my chest. I keep Brian in my peripheral vision
as I try to remember to breathe. I have so many thoughts running around in my
brain that I can’t concentrate long enough to process any of them. I try to
figure out what I can do or say to help Brian right now, how I can make this
whole thing suck a little less. But I can’t think of a single fucking thing.
Then he starts pacing around the loft. Naked, condom on dick and briefs in
hand, prowling around like he might break something or punch something or
worse.
I’ve never seen Brian like this. It’s pretty fucking scary. He’s yelled at me,
been really pissed at me, kicked me out, shut me out emotionally and a million
other things. But this, this is something totally new. Brian’s career is on the
line, hell I don’t know if it’s even on the line, I think we just flushed it
down the toilet. The one constant in his life, the one good thing – his work –
is out the window. How do I fix that? How do I make it better when I fucking
started this shit?
Brian
I’m stalking around the loft, pacing back and forth, trying not to break
anything. I start out by actually looking for something to throw, but I think
better of it when I see Justin just lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling.
I want to yell and scream, but I can’t. That’s not me. Calm, cool, collected,
never let ‘em see you sweat Kinney is not going to lose his shit now. Not over
some job. Not over some homophobic politician who had it coming. He should have
seen it from a mile away; perhaps he did, perhaps that’s what brought him here
tonight.
Guess I should have been more careful. We were pretty fucking obvious today.
Maybe I wanted to get caught? Like the kid who fucking tokes his weed while his
parents watch TV in the next room. He knows gonna smell it, he knows they’re
gonna walk in, search his room and find it. So subconsciously, he wants to get
caught, right?
This fucking sucks. It sucks in a way I can’t handle, and I can handle every
kind of sucking on the spectrum. From fabulous sucking a la Justin to really,
really bad sucking like actually missing my abusive piece of shit father after
cancer killed him. Trust me, that really sucked but I dealt with it. I can deal
with anything. But this…I don’t know if I can deal with this.
I come out of my haze a little when I hear Justin clear his throat I have a
moment where I think I’m going to throw him out, 'cause I really need to be
alone right now, but I think better of it.
I walk over to him and gaze down at his naked body. I sigh when I think about
what I was doing just ten minutes ago and how much better I felt then than now.
I can’t go back, can’t hit rewind, can’t forget what I now know. I fucking hate
that.
“We gonna finish or not?” He stares up at me. I can tell he’s nervous about my
detachment at the moment. But it’s the only way I can deal. I just have to get
through tonight. It’s the only thing I can think to do.
I drop onto the cushion and roll myself on top of him. I snake my tongue into
his mouth and the moment I taste him my blood starts racing. I just let it all
flow out of me and into him. I start clutching his skin and raking my nails
down his sides. I pull at his hips, push him around, bite his jaw and his neck
and his nipples. I must be hurting him, but he moans under me. I want to stop
before I go too far, but this is the only way I know how to make it better.
I need to control something. I can control this. I can control him.
Everything I touch I break
Everything I touch I break
Everything I touch I break
I want to break you down
Justin
I know he needs me. I fucking know he does. He won’t admit it. He’ll never
admit it. Fuck. If he could just drop the fucking hard-ass routine and let me
in for one fucking second. His quiet pacing makes me want to scream, “Talk to
me!” But he won’t, so I don’t.
It’s frustrating, but I won’t get angry with him. I’ll clench my jaw and let my
eyes go icy, but just for half a second.
He suddenly walks over to loom above me. I gulp, a little nervous that he’s
going to kick me out.
“We gonna finish or not?” I say, with my best fake-cocky grin in place. I’m
nervous as hell about what’s going on in his head, but I try not to show it.
His eyes flash as he drinks me in. He looks me up and down, exposed and open to
whatever he wants to do to me.
He
stands above me, both of our flaccid cocks (scared limp by the big bad
politician) starting to pump with blood and race with promise again. He just stares.
I bet a million emotions are surging through his body right now, but not one
shows on his face…except for lust. A look I’ve seen a million times and I hope
I see a million more, hazy eyes and wet lips and burning need.
I throw my arms out to my sides and spread my legs, an open invitation for him
to take all that hurt and anger and silent disappointment out on me. It’s the
one thing I can do, it’s the only way he’ll let me help.
My own anger filling my voice, “Fuck me,” I demand, the words tumbling out more
harshly than I expected.
He drops down on top of me, thrown over the edge by the roughness in my voice.
He drills his tongue into my mouth and starts clawing at my skin.
His skin blooms with desire immediately. I can feel the heat rising between us,
approaching flash point. With his life flipped upside down in an instant, I’m
the one thing he can control. And I’ll let him.
Brian
I bite a trail down his chest, pausing to suck hard on each nipple. My hands
grip his hips tightly enough to leave bruises in the shape of my needy fingers.
His back arches under me and he fuels my fire with whispers I’ve never heard
from him before.
“Mark me,” he hisses as I drag my teeth across his hipbone.
“Bite me,” he demands when I run my mouth along his smooth thighs.
“Harder,” he moans as my teeth dig into his pale skin.
“Fuck me,” he orders through clenched teeth after I’ve broken his skin.
I rise up, taking my abusive mouth away from him. My eyes move up his body,
absorbing the damage I’ve done in just minutes. As the outlet of all of my
frustration, he'll be sore tomorrow, marked and bruised.
I meet his eyes; his burning with a wildness that gets me right in the gut. It
hypnotizes me in seconds. It drives me on.
I flip him over without warning. He huffs as his face hits the pillow, but his
ass instantly rises to meet my dick.
“Hard,” he hisses as he struggles to get up on his forearms. The single word
makes my head swim, makes me even a little more drunk on him.
I push him down, laying him out flat, save for his perfect ass. I roll on a new
condom and shove into him up to the hilt, reveling in the noise it forces from
his throat. It hurt, but I can tell he wants more.
Kneeling behind him, I pull him up on his knees. I run my hand up nape, holding
his head down. I start to pump in him with swift, deep strokes that push the
air out of his lungs with every thrust. No lube, no down time between strokes…I
feel a fire starting where our bodies join.
He curses and struggles to breathe beneath me, begging for more with each
thrust.
He angles his hips as he moans, “Deeper, Brian.”
I bite my lip until it bleeds as I grip his neck tighter, reaching around with
my free arm to brace his body.
“Tell me you want more,” I say hoarsely into his ear as I cover his body with
mine and position myself to drive deeper inside.
“Uhhhh, fuck, yes,” he answers my question through ragged breaths.
“Tell me it feels good,” I bite his earlobe and push into him harder.
“God, Brian, fuck, yes,” he chants the words in answer to me as he struggles to
get up on all fours. With his hands finally beneath him, he pushes his hips
forcefully into me and we both let out deep moans.
“Jesus,” I struggle to regain my stance behind him.
“Fuck,” he pushes back into me again, even harder this time.
The air becomes filled with single-word obscenities, throaty moans, needy cries
and the sound of two bodies colliding every half second.
I scratch and tear
Until it bleeds
I do not want
I only need
I only need
I only need
Justin
Jesus, Brian’s pushing into me so hard I think I might break. It feels so
amazing to have him so deep inside, to have him need me so much. If I can’t
walk for a few days, well that’s a small price to pay. In our sick and twisted
little world, this is what I can do for him. And I will.
I egg him on, vocalizing how I want him to mark me, telling him to give me
more. Faster, deeper, faster, deeper…
He
moans with every thrust and asks me to tell him how good it feels and how much
I want him. I answer every question, nearly going mad each time his hoarse
whisper hits my ear.
With his right hand tightly wound around the back of my neck, his left hand
holding firm to my lower stomach, I feel strangely secure.
Finally getting my forearms pushed down under my torso, I force my body
backwards into him. My ass hits his hips and sends him reeling. His grip on me
tightens as he responds to my wantonness.
“More,” I beg, pushing back against him again.
It hurts so bad it burns, but it’s that good hurt, a hurt you can never get
enough of. I feel a sharp pain inside as he hits me deeper than I can ever
remember. I still push into him, letting him know I want it, letting him know I
want him.
“Justin,” he moans as he pulls my hair. My head snaps back, making me cry out.
“Fuck,” I scream as his hands get a better grip on my sweat-slick hair and he
yanks again.
I buck and moan and try to hold out. All my body wants to do is give up and
release. I’ve learned an unbelievable amount of self-restraint in the last few
years, but with his dick so deep in me, jutting against my prostate over and
over and over…
And then it’s over, one blinding, screaming, lightening bolt of a moment and
the world goes quiet.
Brian
My body, heavy and heaving on top of him, is weak. I know I should roll off,
give him room to breathe, time to lick his wounds, but I’m already thinking
about clutching his skin again, sinking my teeth in.
It was better than I even thought it would be. Pushing all of that rage into a
mad, frenzied fuck. It isn’t like I haven’t been doing that same thing my whole
life, making all the bad things bearable by fucking the pain away, but this was
different. Justin gave himself to me. He knew it was the only way he could help
me. That’s the fucking amazing part. He saw the psychotic glimmer in my eye and
tasted the crazy on my tongue, and he let me take him anyway.
And he’ll let me do it again.
End
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