Three Out of Five


Gap Filler for 406

NC 17

Brian’s POV

 

I outlined five life goals on a crumbled up receipt when I was thirteen. I was in my damp backyard in the middle of the fucking night, hiding in the bushes from my drunk abusive prick of a father with nothing but a dim flashlight and false hope.

Gus fucked things up a little bit, but I’m not raising him, so he doesn’t count.

***

I took Justin to Babylon tonight to celebrate his possible movie deal (and by possible I mean not-fucking-likely). He was high on the possibility of being somebody, and I get that, so I took him for a drink. Which in classic Kinney/Taylor style turned into seven.

We’re wasted now, leaning on each other for support as we search for the ‘Vette. Where did I leave the damn car anyway?

“Maybe we should cab?” He stands still for a minute and starts to fall over.

“Only because I can’t carry you two blocks to the car.” I hail a cab, it’s safer for the whole city if I’m not behind the wheel.

“I’m not heavy!” I shove him into the backseat of the cab.

“Your ass is.”

He turns his head and looks down at his ass, nicely showcased this evening in fitted low-rise jeans. He smiles.

When we get to the loft he stumbles into the bedroom and gets his pants around his thighs before tripping and landing face first on the bed. The giggling that emits from the pile of blond boy on my bed is disturbingly endearing.

“Brian,” he says loudly as he rolls over and reaches up to grab for me. I step closer and let him pull me onto the bed with him. I slip a leg between his thighs and start maneuvering him out of his pants.

He laughs some more and tries to help me rid him of his clothes. “Should I remind you that I love you?” He suddenly puts one soft moist hand on my face and looks into my eyes in the way only he does (in the way only he is allowed to do).

I cock an eyebrow, “You’re drunk.”

“I mean I so do, I love you, but I don’t tell you because I know you hate it. But I really, really do. So if you need me to remind you, ever, just like double wink or something, okay?”

I don’t hate it.

“Shut up,” I press my lips to his in an attempt to stop the verbal diarrhea, but he pushes my shoulders a bit and stares at me again. God when he looks at me that way…

”Okay?” Justin is still a petulant child when he’s just the right amount of drunk.

“Justin,” I warn as I start to take off my pants.

“Brian!” He grips my biceps and makes me look back at him.

“Okay,” I acquiesce. It’s easier than fighting with him. I want to get to the sex and go to sleep. I can’t believe we stayed out after one when I have to be up at six. Jesus, did I just think that? I used to stay out until four and get a lot more fucked up than this. Fuck me, I’m getting old and depressing.

“So a double wink. It’s settled,” he slurs as he rolls onto this stomach, “now fuck me.”

“Yes, dear,” I stifle a laugh and grab a condom. This part I can handle.

I pull his pants the rest of the way off, roughly pushing his shoes and socks along with them. I smile slyly to myself as I start to kiss up the inside of his left calf. He loves it when I nip the backsides of his knees. I turn my eyes upwards only to get an eyeful of ass, which was the intention. I’m still often amazed by the perfection of his ass. It’s nice to have fucked someone this many times and still get a thrill from the sight of them naked.

He purrs a little and settles deeper into the mattress, his t-shirt pushed up around the middle of his torso and the rest of his body painfully white and bare and beautiful.

My tongue traces the delicate lines in his skin on the back of his left knee. I feel his muscles tense and flex, pulling and pushing in different directions as his body reacts to the stimulus. His hamstring involuntarily contracts and jerks his leg up a bit so his foot glides into my stomach. I catch it and hold it there, he laughs into a pillow.

I press my lips into warm skin and then let my tongue graze the thinnest, softest areas on the posterior of his knee and around the sides. I remember high school anatomy class, seeing diagrams of how the femur and the tibia set together, I always thought the bottom of the femur looks like a little ass and the top of the tibia looked like a small stool where the little ass was perched. The memory makes me hungry for his insides, like if I could just get in there and trace my tongue in the spaces of that joint. Run my lips over the mounds of his femur. 

Guess there’s a reason they call it a boner.

I move onto his thighs, taking wet laps over skin that tastes like clean cotton that’s been salted to taste. He starts to hum and hump the bed. He’s getting hard and impatient, but I feel like making him wait tonight.

“Brian,” he half-moan half-gasps and it’s sexy and needy, but I’ve got my own agenda.

I spend time high on the insides of his thighs where the skin is impossibly perfect. It is so pale, untouched by sunlight, and so smooth and free from imperfection. It’s a part of him that hasn’t changed since he was 17 and I’m envious of that and scared by it at the same time.

His muscles start to shake deep underneath his skin. “Brian,” he says my name so low and slow it makes me a little crazy. “Brian,” he does it again and I moan almost imperceptibly.

“You know that makes me crazy,” he huffs and I think well that makes two of us.

I grip the outsides of his thighs a little tighter, but not too tight…

He tries to roll over, to gain control. I skim my tongue on the underside of his ass and he stops. His breathing quiets, his muscles tense, his body stills and he waits.

A long minute passes of just my warm breath on his bare skin and finally…

“Please,” he says so quietly I barely hear it.

“Please what?” Begging never gets old. Never.

“Please, Brian?” He’s still drunk and that makes him funny.

I laugh a little, “Please, what do you want me to do?”

There is no hesitation, “God, put your tongue in my ass right now.”

Inside of a minute he’s gripping the sheets and rolling his head into the pillows and bucking his hips and chanting my name. I feel my dick, hard and leaking, pressing into his ankle. I feel my heartbeat through my chest into the back of his left calf and I feel my head swim from the taste and scent of him, my little Spielberg.

**

Three out of five isn’t too bad.

-end-

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