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4 - Kane Speaks – The Power Struggle
Ewan Kane’s POV
******************
I’ve known him for ten hours. Feels like a fucking lifetime. The second I
laid eyes on him I knew. I saw myself so clearly he might as well have been
a walking mirror. The curl of his lips and the sway of his hips, they said
it all. I was Brian Kinney in a past life. Well it was this life–but it feels
like I’ve lived through too much since then to still be in the same body.
I’ve got ten years and a lot of experience on him.
Still, I immediately felt close to him. That instant spark you get with someone.
You just know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that they will affect you. I
think, in one way or another, Brian affects everyone.
Here I am half a day later, wandering around his loft in my perfectly pressed
suit, playing his game. I feel 25 all over again. We’re discussing the innovative
lighting that glows above his oversized bed, but that isn’t what we’re actually
talking about at all. The cool, ethereal blue lights are haunting. They say
a lot about him, I think he knows that. I think he intended that.
The lights, they’re almost clinical. There isn’t much sexy about hot, hard
tubes of blue light. Their glow doesn’t make the room warm or inviting. Neither
is Brian. I’m playing right into his hand, though. I can hardly stop myself.
Of course, it is easy to argue that he’s playing right into mine. In a tug-of-war,
where the combatants are equally matched in all ways, the struggle could continue
indefinitely.
I show my hand a bit, I breathe deeper than I should. He touches me and it’s
electric. I haven’t felt a spark like that in a long while. The kind that
starts at the point of contact where your skin grazes his, shoots up your
arm and through your chest. It settles in your gut and moves around in your
brain. You can’t speak or move. All you can do is experience it. You feel
your balls tingle and tighten while your head gets light and cloudy.
I want to fuck him. I want to feel what he’s like, on the inside, in the worst
way. I want to take his pain away. A pain I am all too familiar with. It’s
a mix of things, at least mine is, but I bet his is too. It’s a shitty alcoholic
mother who let you raise yourself. It’s all the fag-haters whose taunts still
ring in your ears when everything is quiet. It’s the first time someone took
advantage of you. It’s the walls you’ve built around yourself to stop that
from happening again. It’s how jaded you’ve become at the cold and unimpressive
state of the world. It’s how much work runs your life, even though it isn’t
fulfilling. It’s about being held down and held back and underestimated just
because you suck dick. It’s about being repressed and oppressed and depressed
and distressed and a million other things at the same time. It’s about having
to hide all of that because you won’t let anyone see. It’s about knowing that
you’ll hurt everyone who ever tries to get close to you. It’s about how bad
it hurts to push them away when they try.
I’ve been there and I’ve done that. But I’ve also seen what it can be like
to move past that. I’m still that guy, that’s why Brian is drawn to me. He
sees himself. He’s so unsure of who he is that he doesn’t realize he’s looking
at his own reflection. That’s the real difference between us. I know what
we are. He doesn't. You have to own up to your demons if you ever want to
control them
His hand runs up the length of my back and I struggle to stay relaxed under
his masterful touch. It lands on my neck in a tight, but not uncomfortable
hold. He’s only touching my nape - that small swatch of skin below my hairline
and above my collar - but he might as well have his fist around my cock. I
try to mask my shuddering breaths by clearing my throat, but Brian knows better.
He licks his lips and the resulting sheen that appears on those two perfect,
red slivers of skin makes my heart beat impossibly fast. I want to grab him.
I want to throw him down. I want to explore every inch of his beautiful body.
I want to make him tremble. I want to make him beg. But, we’re on his turf.
We’re playing by his rules. All I can do is wait.
His head dips close to mine and he breathes, purposefully, right over my lips.
His moist, hot breath does a number on each nerve ending in my body. I stay
calm. I’ve had practice. He keeps it up, and so do I. I'm tempted to smile
and ask him how long he’d like to breathe on me before we can get on with
things. But I remain a blank slate, as unemotional and hard to read as Brian.
I don’t know if he likes it or hates it, but it’s the way I play the game.
Finally, finally, finally…we kiss. It isn’t slow or steady or sweet or soft,
but it is lots of other good things. His lips press against mine so hard I
think he might break the skin, but not if I do it first. I taste his tongue
and his cheeks and the roof of his mouth. I can sense a thousand nights before
this one, nights full of liquor and cigarettes and dick. It tastes…familiar.
It tastes good. Very, very good.
He grabs my tie and I can tell there is no turning back now. Not that either
of us would have the mind to stop anyhow. There is a professional relationship
going on here that we should think about. But, if Brian is as much like me
as I think he is…that won’t be an issue. I imagine he’s fucked coworkers and
clients and competitors before and it's never been a problem.
He starts to strip off our clothes. I’m too tired to take much control, so
I’m letting him do the work. I’ve already given myself to Brian, but he doesn’t
know that. I’d never let him know that. I can hide my agenda so easily. I’ve
had so much practice. I’ll let him think he’s won a prize. I’ll let him think
he wore me down and got to me. Succeeded in making the aloof British business
executive his love slave for a night. He has no clue, nor will he ever, that
I knew we’d fuck before we’d finished shaking hands this morning.
He throws me onto the bed. Now naked, his body slides on mine as he lands
on top of me. Purposefully pushing his hips into mine, pressing his lips over
mine once more. I run my hands down his lean body. God, it’s beautiful. We
have a similar build and in ten years he will likely look like me. But for
now his skin has more elasticity, his muscles are tighter, and he has ten
pounds less on the same size frame. I remember how happy I was with my body
ten years ago and how every once in a while I long to have it back. Now I
do, in this bed, for this night.
His
appetite for skin and tongue and thrusts is insatiable. He moves at a frantic
pace and I match it. It’s like we’ve had all day to build up to this point and
we’re both exploding from the force of it. I watch his eyes glaze over as he
avoids my gaze. He’s too busy sucking and pulling and gliding his teeth over my
skin to even notice that I am purposefully trying to hold his stare. I remember
a time when I could never look them in the eye either.
He grabs and claws and tears at my skin. It’s like he’s punishing me for unseen
wrongs. He’s made me the surrogate recipient of his anger. I’ll let him,
because in a way I need the same thing. A release of aggression. A hard, long
fuck that will let me forget the bad things.
Brian clearly needs to forget. Need to forget something…someone. He is working
too hard at not looking at me. He is working too hard to make me into some
faceless fuck. Then suddenly he sits up, lifts his head, and locks eyes with
me. For a moment I see Brian. I wonder how many people get to do that. His hard
exterior fades for just a second. His jaw goes slack, his shoulders slump, his
eyes display a sadness that can only be attributed to a lifetime of disappointment…in
himself?
I want to nod when I look into those eyes. I want to grab him and say, “I know
Brian, I know.” I want to cradle him in my arms and tell him that I’ve been
there, hell–I’m there right now. But you can’t let your fucks control you. Brian
has convinced himself that he’s a heartless, worthless, irredeemable prick and
he wants to make sure everyone in his life knows it too. I know there is a
softer soul hiding beneath the chiseled exterior, trying to break through every
day. But it’s hard to tear down walls that you’ve spent a lifetime building.
The moment passes. He tosses his shoulders back, purses his lips and his eyes
glaze over. He goes right back to who he was 60 seconds ago and I know he’s
thinking he never should have revealed anything. He never should have shown his
hand. That’s where he’s wrong.
I decide to make life easy on him, for now. I lean up and grab him. Start to
kiss him again with that mad, passionate lust. We begin the dance again, the
give and take. Our bodies roll and thrash over every corner of this oversized
bed and I listen closely to the noises we make together.
I can tell by the state of Brian’s living space that he is a visual person. I
am much more auditory. I close my eyes and let my tongue do the seeing for me.
I open my ears and hear the rhythm of our breathing, the smack of our mouths,
the rustle of sheets, the hum of those damned blue lights. Everything moves in
time together, synchronized like notes on a scale, building a beautiful song of
sex.
I lay him down in the middle of the bed and trap his arms at his sides. Not too
tightly though. Some of the fight has left us now. We’re not trying to prove as
much as we were ten minutes ago. I let my tongue work its magic on his neck.
I’ve been told there are things I do with my tongue that should be illegal. I
show Brian a few tricks and watch him writhe underneath me. But, just when I
think he’s finally relaxed, when I think I’ve got him, he makes a power play
and takes me over.
Before I even know what is going on, I am facedown on a sea of deep blue
velvet, but the softness of the fabric caressing my torso cannot compare to the
feel of the hot, wet, velvet of Brian's tongue as it runs down the length of my
spine. I want to fight, I want to take back my hard-earned control, but I have
no will left. I have to surrender to him. I already have in so many ways. If he
only knew what kind of power he truly possessed, he wouldn’t have to assert
this control in bed. There are so many things I learned the hard way, things I
could tell Brian. I could whisper in his ear and save him more pain and
anguish. But somehow I doubt he’d listen.
Then he starts to give me the most amazing rim job I’ve ever had. I’d never
tell him that, but God it was so good. More than good. I’m sure he knows. I’m
sure others have told him.
Then he replaces his ever-so-skilled tongue with a finger…and then two. I’m not
sure I like where this is headed, but it isn’t as if I didn’t expect it. Brian
and I are the same fucking person. It wasn’t like I didn’t realize he was a
top. I just suspected that my age and my experience would give me the power
position at this point. I guess I didn’t count on the power of Brian Kinney.
He adds his tongue again and I start to arch my back and pump into the sheets below.
He knows every trick in the book and a few I’ve never experienced, which says a
lot. I knew he’d be amazing in bed, but I don’t think I was fully prepared.
My mind blanks, and I couldn’t remember my fucking name if you asked me. My
thoughts swirl and my eyes shut tight as I thrust back into him, wanting
more…wanting it now. He keeps taking me to the edge and then ruthlessly
bringing me back. One more time and I’ll reach around and strangle the bastard.
Finally I vocalize my need for some relief. One stern, “No,” and all is
understood. He lets me go. Sends me flying over the fucking cliff into an open
abyss of rocking hips, biting lips and the most perfect and filling orgasm I’ve
ever had. I don’t know if it was purely his skill or the heavy emotional
subtext of this interlude, but I’m left spent and breathless without a thought
in my mind. Which hasn’t happened in a long, long time…not since…
Regaining a little self-composure, I try to move out from under him. I can’t
stand to be this fucking helpless at the hands of a virtual stranger. He’s got
me mixed up in ways I didn’t think possible. Then his hands purposefully grip
my hips. He lays his body out on top of mine and I can feel the prod of his
throbbing hard-on in the small of my back.
His lips move to my right ear, “I’m going to fuck you…and you’re going to love
it.” My heart comes to a full stop. No matter how much I’d attempted to prepare
myself for this inevitable moment, I’m just not ready for it. I don’t know what
I thought I’d do. I don’t know if I actually thought I’d have any fight left in
me. Brian is a like a black hole, sucking away all of your good sense and
willpower the moment he touches you. All I’m left with is my need to be near
him. Does everyone who comes to lie in this bed feel this way?
My body is tense as his knee parts my legs. I haven’t done this in so long. I
don’t know if I remember how. The only time I ever did was lifetimes ago, in
the confines of a beautiful relationship. The one that made me who I am. The
one that took the Brian Kinney in me and gave him a heart. But, it’s one that’s
been over for as long as I can remember. I’m not sure if I’m ready to go back
there.
Brian
pumps behind me. Making our hips meet, his dick touches my hole, puts pressure
against it, but doesn’t push inside. He runs his tongue down my spine and back
up to my neck. He bites my shoulder and grips my tricep. All the while his hips
pump and his dick teases me. Finally I thrust back at him. He has no idea what
he’s doing to me. I promised myself I’d never get involved in another mindfuck
and here I am in the middle of the worst one of my life. I think Brian’s even
more fucked up then I was in my heyday. If that’s possible…
“Do you want me to fuck you?” He tauntingly whispers into my ear. I’d like to
bite his tongue out by now. But, even more than that…I find myself wanting him
inside of me.
“Fuck me.” I say it quietly, but sternly.
“What?” He’s mocking me, little shit.
“Just fuck me!” I scream it this time and suddenly the gentleman in me wonders
if he has neighbors. Doubt this is out of the ordinary though…
He slides in quickly, determinedly. He wants to get in and get off and get out.
That’s clear. The pumping begins. We quickly find a good rhythm, one that has
us both panting and swaying and whimpering for more. It feels good, better than
I remember. It's so easy to let yourself forget these things.
The way he pushes past me. The way my body parts to let him in. The way my
muscles conform to the shape of him. The way the heat shoots up inside of me
and fills every inch of my body. The way I can feel his heart beat out of his
chest and into my back. The way his sweat slides against my skin and mixes with
mine and becomes something more than sweat.
He moves faster now, at a manic pace. I have to work to stay on my knees, he’s
pushing me hard enough to force me through the mattress to the floor below. He
grips my hair and scratches my back. There is still anger there. He still wants
to hurt whoever I’ve become between these sheets. And then I find out who that
“whoever” is…
“Justin.” The name comes out of his mouth very clearly, very distinctly. For a
moment, we stop. The rhythm drops away and all those beautiful noises fade
away. All I can hear is our tense breathing. All I can feel is the tension
oozing from every pore on Brian’s body.
I could be a dick. In the past I would have been a dick. I could be offended, I
should be. But, it’s really not my style anymore. I don’t play the games that I
used to. Brian and I just met this morning. I was very clear about who he was
from the moment we met. I’ve known since the first kiss that I was filling the
shoes of someone who came before me. Someone who isn’t here now. Someone who
might not be here again. Someone Brian desperately needs. In a way he is
filling those shoes for me as well, but my wounds are much older.
So I understand. And that understanding leads to tolerance and immediate
forgiveness. I push my hips back at him, as it is the only gesture I can
muster. But it is enough to let him know that he can continue.
His thrusts are different now, forced and uncomfortable. I realize that my
willingness to continue was a moot point. He is the one who has to work at
moving past that name.
I buck back at him, trying to find a rhythm, trying to rebuild that thing that
was shattered with the utterance of two syllables. It’s so awkward now that I
have to force moans and stroke myself to get close again. It still feels good,
but it's no longer explosive or urgent.
Finally, we come together…a miracle in itself. He slides out of me fast enough
to burn my skin. He’s off the bed and headed to the bathroom, dropping the
condom in the trash on his way. He shuts the door and turns on the water. I can
smell the steam and soap mix and clean him. He makes shower sounds as I clean
and dress myself.
When he comes out of the shower he actually looks surprised to see me there. A
look of newfound peace drains from his face as he glances in my direction and
tenses. Without a word he turns away from me and starts to dress. Suddenly I’ve
been reduced to an inanimate object. I could just as easily be the duvet, as
opposed to just sitting on it.
I keep watching him, the way he moves across the room. The way he carries
himself. It’s so familiar it makes a cool chill run up my spine, even though
his hot shower has warmed the room.
He watches me watch him for a minute before spitting, “What?” at me in the most
irritated voice he can conjure up. I bite my lip a little to cover a sigh. I
want to help him. Something in me needs to save him from what I went through
after…
“Brian, you can talk to me. I know where you are. I was there.” Before they
leave my mouth I know the word choice is all wrong. Telling him I’ve been there
was stupid, and implying he might confide in a stranger even more stupid. I
need to be much more subtle if I’m going to get anywhere.
He starts to speak, “I…” and for a moment I think I might have actually cracked
the Brian Kinney façade. But, then he finishes sarcastically, “In my bedroom,
that’s where I am.”
I try to tell him he can confide in me, that I understand him. But, it just
comes out all wrong and within moments Brian is on the defensive. I quickly
decide that I’m getting nowhere but under his skin, and fast, so I shut up. I
secretly decide to work on this at a different time, under a different set of
circumstances. Hopefully I will have the opportunity. Of course, considering
who’s on the money-end of our business deal it would seem I am in a position to
see as much or as little of Brian as I choose. Sometimes it pays to be in a
position of power.
I ask Brian to drive me home and he continues to dress himself. He’s almost as
beautiful in clothes as he is out of them. Assuming his lack of reaction is a
yes, I stay seated and wait for him to finish primping in the bathroom. Nothing
like waiting for an overly attractive gay man to fix his fucking hair.
He walks out and nods, I assume to say he’s ready. I go to stand and against my
better judgment say to him, “I know you Brian. I am you. I have a Justin. But,
it’s too late for me. Go after him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
It’s
emotional and irrational and I shouldn’t have said it, but I did. I just need
him so desperately to not make the mistake I made. To not dwell in regret as
you lie in bed each night. To not silently lament every fucking day about the
one that got away. It’s a shitty way to live and I have to battle each day to
not slip back on the asshole cloak I wore so proudly every day of my life
before he changed me.
I expect him to yell, but he looks down and grabs his keys from his dresser.
His silence is more deafening than any scream. He starts to walk out of
the loft and throws a glance over his shoulder to make sure I’m behind him. I
am.
In the hall just outside of the loft, our arms brush against one another as I
move through the doorway and he slams it shut and locks it. I expect we’ll be
taking the lift. It’s the way we came up. But, Brian starts to fly down the
stairs like a man with a mission. I imagine there is a particular mission he
has in mind. Part of me twinges with guilt for wishing he’d stay with me and
not run to the man whose face he sees when he closes his eyes. But, the other
part of me is happy he’s doing something right. Probably the first thing he’s
done right in a long time.
I end up half a flight behind him. When I finally hit the front door of his
building he is waiting for me outside. There is an almost smirk on his face
that makes me wonder if he’s really thought this through. Is he shooting from
the hip? Does he have a clue? Is he counting on his lack-of-charm to get him
through? I grab his arm and say with a serious tone, “Brian, do you know what
you’re going to say to him?”
“That isn’t for you to worry about.” He bites back, but with a quiet and even
tone. He’s so beautiful out here in the dark night, with a street light above
making his skin look fresh and his eyes glow green. I kiss him. I don’t know
why. It just feels right.
When we break, he surprises me with an angry look, “Don’t kiss me. Don’t ever
kiss me.” His command stings and I furrow my eyebrows and remove the arm I’d
wrapped around his neck. I immediately see by the look on his face that’s
already won his lover back and kissing other men is no longer allowed. I want
to laugh at the notion. But I just curl the edges of my lips and partially nod
in understanding.
It starts to rain. We both look skyward as if to verify the weather conditions.
He nods in the direction we’re headed and we begin to walk away. Suddenly
something catches Brian’s eye and he stops dead in his tracks. I follow his
gaze to a boy across the street. He is bent at the waist and all I see is the
top of a blonde head that is slowly becoming soaked with rain. In wonderment, I
just stand and watch the events unfold. Any questions running through my brain
are quickly answered as Brian runs right into the street without any mind to
traffic and screams, “Justin!”
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