Brian/Justin
NC-17
Spoilers: through end of season three
I hate New Year’s Eve.
It’s the expectations that ruin it. Everyone thinks New Year’s Eve is supposed
to be life-altering and amazing and the best, most fun night of the year. You
want to get dressed up, you want to go somewhere new and different, you want a
kiss at midnight that makes your lips melt and your
knees buckle. None of this ever, ever happens.
This year could potentially be the worst New Year’s Eve I’ve ever had. I woke
up in the worst fucking mood this morning and then ten minutes later so did
Brian and we spent the first hour of the day bitching at each other before I
finally got dressed and left the loft. I told him I’d be back later, because if
I stayed he wouldn’t live to see the new year. He snarled and kissed me and
though things were a little better, I was still in as shitty, shitty mood.
Now I’m at Daphne’s and I’m bored. She’s not even here. Bitch went to Aspen for
the holidays with her family. She called me two days ago to regale me with
tales of the sultry sex she’s been having with her ski instructor. Frankly, I
was so jealous my eyes were burning. But, I acted slightly enthused and mostly
disinterested.
There is nothing on television, no food in the refrigerator and no money in my
pocket. I could read a book but I don’t feel like it. I could go for a walk but
it’s fucking freezing.
Do you ever feel like being a whiney bitch for no reason at all?
When my cell phone vibrates in my pocket I jump about six feet off the couch. I
forgot I turned off the ringer.
When I see the number of the caller displayed I roll my eyes.
“Yes dear?”
“Let’s fuck. We don’t have to talk while we do it.”
I laugh genuinely for the first time in days.
“As heart warming as that offer is, I don’t feel like taking the bus back over
there.”
“I’m not coming over there just to fuck you in a twin bed.” He’s dead serious.
“And I’m not suffering hail and public transportation for your dick. It’s not
that impressive.”
“Fuck you,” he sounds desperately annoyed.
“Apparently not today,” I’m trying not to smile as I say it.
“I got champagne.” He can be so, so random.
“Uh, okay.”
“I wanna pour it down the crack of your ass and…” His voice gets all low and
smooth. It’s so hot when he’s sexy on purpose. He’s sexy when he doesn’t try,
but even sexier when he does.
“Then you’d better bring it with you.”
“Jesus!” I laugh when he yells. He’s so pissed that his seduction tactics don’t
have me jogging to the loft by now. But shit, it’s snowing and it’s really
fucking nasty out.
“It’s fucking snowing. I’ll come over later.” I really, really want to go now,
but the bus ride and the six block walk isn’t appealing.
“Now,” inside Brian Kinney lives a petulant seven-year-old child.
“Daphne has a double bed.” I was always good at problem solving.
“I’m not going out in this weather either.”
“I’m just giving you options.” I love being practical with him. It makes him so
mad.
“You should never have left in the first place,” he sounds resigned and it
reminds me of a much greater issue that we’re pretending doesn’t exist.
“Well I did and now I’m here. So come over or jerk off.” When I hang up the
phone I get a very clear picture of Brian in my head. He stares down at his
phone just before chucking it across the room. I’ll have to go with him
tomorrow to get a new one and we’ll both pretend that I have no idea how it
broke.
***
I hate New Year’s Eve.
It is such a fucking pointless holiday. Celebrating the passage of time with
cheap champagne and ugly fuckers trying to kiss you at midnight?
Whatever.
Justin was in such a pissy mood this morning that I kicked him out of the loft.
I guess he went to his place. His place – Daphne’s, whatever. So pointless.
I got on the treadmill and ran until I wasn’t formulating ways to kill him
anymore. Now I’m just bored. I have no television. I have no money. It’s
fucking snowing out so there’s no where to go. I could get high, but I’d rather
fuck until I pass out.
Ten minutes later...
Fuck! Shit, I hate when I throw the phone at the wall. I have no fucking idea
why I do that. Like I didn’t learn my lesson the first four times Justin made
me crazy enough to throw the phone. I’ll have to get a new one tomorrow.
He’s decided to stay where he is, doing whatever completely stimulating
activity I pulled him away from. The bus ride is all of ten minutes. He’s such
a whiney little princess.
How is it that I live in Pittsburgh and no one I
know drives a car? That’s pathetic. This is not New York or
even Philadelphia. It’s fucking Pittsburgh!
Whatever, I can entertain myself. I did it for years before that fucker came
along.
***
Rolling a good joint like being a good bottom. It takes practice and has
everything to do with being tight.
As I smoke I think about what we’re going to do tonight. And yes, by ‘we’ I
mean Justin and I. I want to kick him in the head right now, but he’ll come
around.
Babylon is always packed on New Year’s, but
that shit is so old. Same fuckers, different day. I’ve had everyone worth having
and I don’t have the fucking 20 bucks a head for us to get in anyway.
I’m hungry.
***
He is such a lucky fuck. I have no idea why I put up with his bullshit. In less
then ten minutes I was out the door and on the bus. I mean really I’m just
bored out of my fucking mind and sex with Brian sounds much better than the
“Who Really Killed Jesus?” program on the History Channel. But now he’ll think
he’s won and his half-assed offer of champagne and a rim job got me to come
running. Well, it will get me to come, so whatever.
I fling the loft door open and the smell of pot nearly knocks me off my feet.
It’s sweet and pungent and actually, very good.
I could get high. I don’t have shit else to do.
Wait a minute, where did he get weed? I asked him if he had any last night and
he said no.
Fucker.
“I thought you didn’t have any pot?” I snag the joint as I toss myself onto the
bed. I take a deep hit and struggle to hold it in.
“I didn’t.” His eyes are already glazed over and his fingers are ruffling the
hair on the back of my neck. He’s fucked up.
“Yeah right. Don’t you know good boys always share.”
“I was never a good boy,” he has a point. “And I share everything with you,” he
says in a totally non-ironic, serious-in-a-disturbing-way tone. Shit, if he
shares everything with me I’d hate to be the bitch he hides stuff from.
“And I love you for it,” I pinch his side to let him know he’s full of shit and
then I turn the joint so he can shotgun. I love smoking pot with Brian, it’s
better than foreplay.
He takes another hit and I regard him carefully, “Don’t get too high, you have
to fuck me in a minute.”
He leans over and blows smoke in my face, but in a gentle way. “Don’t worry
your pretty little head about that.”
I get up to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and strip down to my
underwear on the way back. Brian has the heater cranked, but there’s still
enough of a chill in the air to give me goose bumps from head to toe.
I lean on the end of the bed and drink the entire bottle of water, painfully
aware of Brian stroking himself as he watches me. I finish the last gulp and
throw the empty plastic bottle on the ground. I stick my right hand down the
front of my tighty whities (Brian claims their juvenile, but I only wear the
ridiculous things for him) and stroke until I’m panting a little.
“Come here,” his voice is raspy and needy. It makes my knees a little wobbly so
I crawl onto the edge of the bed but don’t get close to him. Not yet…
I give him a playful smile and push my underwear down around my
thighs as I shake my head. “Nope.” I bite my bottom lip and play with my balls.
He shakes his head.
I shake my head.
Why are we shaking our heads?
Shit, I’m high.
I laugh out loud. I love being high with Brian, fucking love it.
I keep shaking my head from side to side as I pull at my dick and arch my back.
I have to squeeze my eyes shut when I get a little dizzy from all the head
shaking.
When I open them again Brian’s on his knees a few feet in front of me,
mimicking my actions. Ah, so this is the game he wants to play. Mutual
masturbation is more of a turn on for me, but hey, whatever he wants.
It’s an I stroke, he strokes thing. We’re gonna go slow. We’re high. High is
relaxed and high is unhurried and high is good.
I pinch a nipple and he follows. I lick my lips, he does the same. I cup my
balls in one hand and work the head of my cock with the other, he’s happy to
follow suit.
I look from my dick to his and lift my eyes to his mouth, watch his eyes,
listen to him breathe, remember to stroke and pull and pinch a little. Think
about the way he feels doing all of the same things.
He’s got this slow, sultry smile and half lidded eyes and his chest is starting
to form the slightest sheen. It isn’t chilly in here any more.
Brian is beautiful. So fucking disgustingly beautiful. I would hate him for it
if I didn’t have him. It’s like he knows, but he doesn’t know. I mean, he’s
aware, but not fully. Am I making any sense? Fuck it. I have to concentrate.
Stroke.
Stroke.
Stroke.
I slip a hand between my thighs and lean forward a little so I can reach back
to graze my ass. Brian watches intently and when I stop to wait for him he
narrows his eyes.
I can wait all fucking night, this is his game and he’s going to play.
I smile a little and pull my hand out from between my thighs. I straighten up
again and keep stroking. Brian smiles, goes back to his little rhythm. Silly,
silly man.
I wait until he’s getting close again, breathing is deeper, eyes are struggling
to stay open, strokes are coming faster now.
Fuck, he’s really beautiful.
Wait, my ass. I knew I was doing something.
I move my left arm behind me and slide my hand down my ass. I smirk at Brian.
He makes a grand show of very purposefully following my lead. He’s so funny
about his ass. It’s all private and precious, like a Faberge egg collection or
some shit. I think my mom used to collect those? I think they’re worth a lot of
money. Brian thinks his ass is worth a lot of money. He also treats it like it
might break. He can ride me like a mechanical bull, but if I put him on all
fours and…fuck, what was I thinking about?
I stick a finger in my ass (I’m not so elegant or sexy when I’m high) and moan
as I tip forward and nearly fall on my face. I wouldn’t go around announcing
it, but rubbing your own prostate is really more fun that letting someone else
do it for you. Of course, you can’t get your own tongue up there…but, I
digress.
***
Fucker wants me to finger myself. Thinks he’s all dirty and
dangerous and riding the edge and making me uncomfortable. I have stories that
in merely a PG-13, stripped-down retelling would make Justin Taylor blush. I’ve
seen things and done things that would freak him the fuck out. And he thinks
he’s got me cause he’s got his middle finger up his ass to the second knuckle.
Give me a fucking break.
It’s no secret I like to top. I am a top. Topping works for me. Like to slide
my dick into someplace warm and tight and own it for a while. Like the way I
know the perfect angles, the perfect rhythm. Like the way I can make them all
scream for more, harder, deeper…
I’m sure it’s a control thing, whatever, it feels good. Really fucking good.
Especially when it’s Justin.
I slide a finger inside and grit my teeth. I won’t gasp for him. Won’t roll my
eyes back in my head or moan and whimper. He wants me to jerk off while I
massage my own prostate, fine. But I refuse to thrash from side to side and
scream my head off.
I watch his body slump and his head roll forward. I see his arm moving behind
him, but of course I can’t see what his hand is really doing. I focus on his
thick little dick, all red and leaking and begging for more attention than it’s
getting. I’d really like to lick it. But, I’m not losing our little game. I
don’t know that it’s a competition really. But, it’s sort of a who can hold out
the longest when we’re doing the same thing sort of thing.
Not that there is really any contest, ever. Fucker still gets over excited if I
flick my tongue in his ear at the movies. But, I know he likes watching me jerk
off, and frankly it’s hot to watch him too. So, we’ll play.
He’s half gone now. Such a bottom at heart. Even his finger pushes him over the
edge. The thought of how much he loves something up his ass makes my stomach
tense and my nerves light up. I suck in a deep breath, his head comes up and he
looks at me.
Neither of us would have lasted this long had it not been for all the fucking
pot. I mean, I like the plateau. I could stay hard for hours, riding the edge
and pulling back at the last second. Sometimes you just need to fucking come,
but sometimes the torture is better than the orgasm.
His near-purple dick is pointing straight up at his chin now. He’s working it
in earnest, pulling and squeezing and taking long, fluid strokes like he means
it. Like he really, really wants it…
“Come for me,” my mouth is dry and my voice is hoarse as a result. I smile to
myself, that’ll push him over the edge.
“Fuck,” he mutters and slows his hand down. I move my finger in my ass just a
little and keep up the lazy strokes I’ve got going.
I move so that I’m closer to him. Let him smell my sex and sweat and precome.
That’ll do it. His eyes are nearly closed so I let out a small moan so he
realizes how close I am.
His eyes open. “Fuck you,” he laughs.
“Maybe later,” I stroke faster and breathe harder and hold on. I watch him do
the same, eyes drift closed lost in the feeling again.
The game’s over. He’s doesn’t give a shit what I’m doing anymore. I sit back
and watch him for a minute. He’s trying to keep his eyes on me, but having such
a hard time. I take my finger, wipe the come off the tip of my dick and swipe
it over his moist lips. His tongue darts out to take it and like a match
lighting up a barrel of kerosene, he’s coming and screaming and it’s over.
He’s so fucking easy.
***
“What do you wanna do tonight?”
“Whatever.”
“I mean for midnight and stuff.”
“We could stay in?”
“Stay in?”
“In, as in inside. It’s fucking snowing out and I know how much your precious
ass just hates to go out in bad weather.”
“Fuck you, Brian.”
“That’s a possibility.”
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